ConsentOptional

It's very intimate. Which is paradoxical, because the piercee should be pretty well immobilized and probably have nice rubber ball in his/her mouth. But if the connection is right, there is something special about yielding oneself as a canvas. Branding is a message to the world. Piercing is communication between the dominant and the submissive.

All that and a long trek home. Take your vitamins. I doubt I have the psychological make-up for 2 separate scenes in a day. I don't even work on session days and don't make plans for after the session. If it's good, it's a lot to absorb on multiple levels. Even after a few hours I'd still be digesting the first scene. Maybe I'm too fragile that way? I need a conductor to synthesize the two experiences into a single piece of music; a guide to say, "CO, I have decided that you are going to submit to Mistress X; I don't need to consult you about that, do I, CO?" Nope, you don't, Madame Conductor. Hope it's all you wish it to be, A-D.

Touché. But there's still a place in the world for a well-placed lock.

Yes, in most cases I agree. The most interesting, appealing but also frightening aspect of submission for someone like me who has resisted, self-sabotaged, tried to tell himself that he couldn't possibly be submissive is this: it matters less what I am asked to do than who asks me to do it. I have glimpsed that I can find peace of mind in submission. But so far it has eluded me; or I have eluded it. But there are some forces of nature for whom my supposed "elusiveness" is merely amusing.

Yes I'd be interested if you wouldn't mind. It's another thing I've been wrong about. If I do find a Mistress the first thing she will say to me is, "You think too much." And hopefully she will make me stop...

One day a Mistress asked me to assemble a complicated piece of exercise equipment, one of these swiss army knife all-things-to-all-people fitness centers. There I was with my tool kit and the downloaded PDF of the assembly instructions. And wearing a fishnet body stocking and locked in chastity. And gagged for the 1st hour, if I recall. Took about 2 1/2. I had also brought several magazines and a bottle of wine (as directed). From time to time she would compliment my progress or note the contrast between my attire and the task at hand. But mostly she read and, I think, watched a documentary. I avoided looking at her. It wasn't a big protocol thing. Just needed to get on with it, and would quickly fall into reverie if not focused. When I was done, I gave her a massage. No groping, mind you. And still locked in chastity and dressed à la slut. Not gagged but in kind of a dreamy state where I tend to be quiet anyway. The whole experience was strangely therapeutic and pleasantly tranquil. I definitely don't identify as a service oriented sub. I'm as close to addicted to bondage as one can be. Service is a bit of a logistical issue when you are secured at 4 (or 5..) points. But it was and eye-opener. I could compare it to "forced feminization" to which I was abruptly exposed without ever mentioning it, asking for it, musing aloud about it, etc. I had in fact listed as a "please don't" for quite a while. The link between the two - and I am not qualified to do more than make a guess - is in the elaboration of the roles. I have a major thing for nonconsent (see screen name...). Both these two experiences fall into the category of "you are what we say you are." Also possibly that I come at my interests seeking relief from a stressful other life where I need to be more dominant than I feel suited for. So the "just listen, obey and don't try to understand, boy" aspect of the experience struck more of a chord than I would ever have expected. It's humbling to find yourself wrong about something you think you understand. But the good kind.

See left cheek. It's south of branding but pretty far north of using a sharpee. The device was a needle. The ultra-fine ones don't hurt much but can leave an impression that lasts a few weeks. In my case it was truth in advertising. Anyway - it's a pretty good compromise between being permanently marked and something that washes off when one gets home.

Tend to agree. The other practical issue with extremely artistic bondage is that it is barely less artistic to remove. If there's a cramp, numbness or just a position that has limited sustainability - the whole package needs to be unwound. Not that big a deal with 4 cuffs and 4 keyed-alike locks.

Well perved! (Well played - for pervs.) Ich liebe dominatrix + apprentice dominatrix tales; "slave radar" tales - kind of like gay-dar- a 6th sense for identifying submissive prey; and anything involving a sudden inexorable loss of control. Do you write these in their entirety? Would love to see the rest.

Wish I had known, could've tidied up a bit first. It's a mess up there. Anxious but oddly ... relieved? Comforted? Reconciled? How can that be... But won't be surprised if I have a new avatar this time next month.

She's in my head.

It's situational. Touring an abandoned anything with a very composed 12 foot tall woman in black latex - I'm automatically badly over-matched.

Anyone watched Secrets of New York on NY Life (local PBS)? It's hosted by Kelly Choi, who is absolutely killing me. For some reason, Goddess Kelly, who is already 5'10" seems to need to wear some kind of fetish-y spikes to do the show. This goes along with all the black leather and latex she adds to it. And the kicker. It's always an underground tunnel, abandoned building, an asylum on an island in the river. In my mind she is saying, "And this is the room where I keep people like you, Mr C.O. Just until I have fully corrupted your little brain." Consequently, I am getting very little out of the show. I'll bet it's interesting, but I'll never know.

I'd probably love it, perverse as that may sound. I have a major thing for remote control. Both remote control devices and being remotely controlled.

Most plugs have such wimpy vibration. Remote plugs even worse. This thing looks ready to jump off the table at the touch of a smartphone. (Check out the demo video.) Imagine meeting Mistress for a "check-up". Just making sure nothing that is supposed to be locked has become unlocked and that you are keeping up with any other standing instructions involving your health, well-being ... and complete submission. The waiter comes over. She orders a salad and a glass of wine. You start to order something involving melted cheese that has the word "dollop" in the menu description more than once. She busies herself with her phone as you address the waiter. Suddenly you find yourself gripping the edges of the table as you are very publicly yet very privately assaulted. A school girl's voice comes out of your quivering mouth. "I'll...have...what...she's...having...."

Another tawdry daydream. Kind of long, but hopefully the keywords help you decide whether to check or skip. It was triggered by this post, speculating on a dominatrix observing me being professional and composed and absolutely seeing through it. #### For the shy and socially reserved types out there - the trick to these meetings is that they're all the same meeting. Few variations. Looks hard, but isn't. Prepare an agenda, read it a few times, stop thinking about it. Attendees are people from the firm and maybe some outside consulting companies. While there's a full room, only a few are crucial. Get a sense of the room, go at a good clip, finish on time. No one will see the other you or even suspect there is one. Today was different. I didn't know if she was maybe a consultant? Someone from another firm? Just happened to be at that hotel during the conference? I can usually tell. But I couldn't this time. Her authority didn't emanate from the usual sources. She was also one of those women who managed to make professional attire disturbingly hot. But it was her eyes that overpowered. It felt like she could instantly read any unacceptable thought that popped in my head - and they were coming in waves. I did the only thing I knew how to do - reminded myself that she was too young and uber-sultry to have any interest in me and then avoided looking at her. This seemed to work tolerably well. Since she insisted on sitting toward the front, I had to brace myself every time she crossed her legs in that dress. My hopes soon faded that she would diddle with her phone constantly, like most girls would who were as stunning as she and sitting through a fiduciary policy presentation. Instead I sensed her studying me. Not the material I was presenting, but me. Like something pinned to her dissection table. But I pressed ahead, trying to lose myself in the material and the task at hand. When it was finally time for Q&A, she waited til everyone had finished. Then, when it was completely quiet, she asked if I was available for "private instruction." Avoiding the devouring vacuum of her eyes, I looked slightly past her as a blind man might when answering in the direction of a voice. I said arrangements could be made with the firm for individualized presentations to small groups. She corrected, "No, I meant are you open to receiving private instruction. One on one." My mouth went dry. I reached for my water and spilled it, which fortunately created enough of a diversion to end the presentation. People started shuffling out and I reminded them to fill out their feedback surveys. Two remained at the end. She and an unconscionable nerd. I was thankful for him and his potato-headed earnestness. I answered all his questions and some he hadn't even thought of, hoping she would get bored and leave in the meantime. She didn't. The over-indulged nerd left at last and we were alone. I busied myself to the point of theatrics packing my papers and laptop. "You didn't answer my question about private instruction." Trying to keep things general and corporate I managed to say, "Well, I'm always open to learn new material. It would depend on the course. Feel free to leave a brochure or website with your feedback." I gave her a completely idiotic nod and smile and attempted to leave. She dropped her gloves as I passed. "Could you get those?" Her voice was a kind of narcotic honey. I dropped to the ground without realizing it. As I reached for the gloves, she stepped on them with her black spiked sandal. "How do you like these shoes?" My mouth was dry again. In my mind her shoes were glowing with an intense debilitating fetish power. But they somehow went with that dress. "V-very n. Nice. Very. Both." It was barely english. She was pleased with what a wreck she had reduced me to and continued. "It's not what I would wear for your private instruction of course. Then again, you would be dressed differently as well. Slut." She lifted my chin with her hand and looked through my eyes to the back of my head. "Mmm, yes. I was right about you." As she released my face to take her gloves she scratched my neck and cheek. My first marks by her hand. Something fluttered to the floor. It was a black shiny business card with red script lettering that said simply, "Your Goddess." There was a phone number on the back. I watched her perfect ass drift toward the door and out. It took several hours to compose myself. But I reminded myself that she was just a cat playing with a mouse. She was having fun at my expense. It was mean really, playing with someone who would never be part of her world. I felt sufficiently renewed to read the feedback cards. Most were the usual crap. Longer please, shorter please, talk more about my little problem please. Etc, etc. Overall positive as usual. I left hers for last. I knew it was hers because it was scented with her perfume. What part did you find most beneficial? The presenter kneeling in front of me. He looks very natural this way. He is confused about it, but we both know it. I could see it in his eyes. What part was least beneficial? The presenter avoided eye contact when I asked about instructing him. He knows better than that. It will be addressed later. Firmly, I'm afraid. What would have made the presentation better? The presenter should have been locked in chastity and wearing panties. But this can easily be corrected. And will be. Other comments. Hello again my little fool. Were you able to stop thinking about me? Rhetorical. I scare you, don't I? Poor thing. But then you comfort yourself with "the age difference." You feel protected by it, don't you? "What am I to her," you think. "Invisible," you tell yourself. But here is what you should understand about the difference separating us. I am a fully formed dominant woman, and you are a lost little boy. I can snap you like a dry twig. And you already know it. But I have no wish to harm you. I am, however, considering making you my slave. Does that paradox worry you? It shouldn't. You have no part to play in MY decision. But just re-imagine this morning. Waking up, taking your shower, looking down and seeing my name engraved on a lock to which you will never have keys. How lucky you would feel under my control. You would shave yourself bare because that is what your Goddess requires. And then put on your panties and go to work. No more trying to deny your secret self. I would not allow it. But I have not yet made MY decision about your fate. Here is what you will do. Shave yourself bare and lock yourself in chastity. Put on a pair of panties. At 8pm get on your knees, naked except for panties and chastity - and call the number on the card. Until then, Your Goddess. Outrageous. Absurd. Just more head games, I thought as I put an even coat of shaving cream everywhere from my abdomen to mid-thigh. Ridiculous, like this is anything real, I added, fastening the lock and putting on the panties. I hope you enjoyed the little joke at my expense, I muttered, listening to the phone ringing at 8pm as I waited on my knees. No doubt it was routed to a call center in Bangalore, I assured myself. But then it stopped ringing. For the first little while I only heard her breathing. Finally she spoke. "Why, hello little slut. Right on time. Do I even need to ask if you obeyed your Goddess? Of course not. You are kneeling, shaved, and locked. You will begin all of our conversations this way. "You will take tomorrow off. You were planning to lose yourself in work to forget what happened today. That is cancelled now. Forgetting your Goddess is unacceptable. I am the balance you desperately need. Deny me at your peril. "To teach you a lesson about such foolishness, you will spend a week in chastity. Two weeks if I think you need it. Then and only then you will come to the address I give you, and we will begin your transformation. Good night, slut. Don't try to understand. Everything is taken care of and beyond your control." Click. I barely made it to bed. Never slept like that before.

With the path I've taken (or has taken me), I am very accepting of unexpected learning and even sub-optimal results. For a long time I listed feminization as a definite 'no'. Then one day someone put a bra on me, tied my wrists and arms to a chair (because - total, unfixable bondage slut) and drove me crazy through the strips of tape on my mouth. I had to re-think feminization then and still struggle with it, now that the certainty is gone forever. Then you wonder what other things you were sure of that are waiting to fall. That leads back into the subject of safety and losing all control to the right someone. And the curious feeling of security that comes with it. A lot of dommes think non-consent is about creating a theatre of self-loathing for the sub and tend to use revenge-based roleplays (grabby lounge lizard, evil boss, dirt-bag SO, some manner of chauvinist). All of those are way off - at least for me. I find those people distasteful myself so pretending to be one to give a session impetus, isn't great. But i get it... It's more the benevolent dictator that lights up that part of the brain. Knows my consent is better left in her hands, will not take 'no'. But somehow knows how far, how fast to take me under her control. Regarding shyness - bingo. It's contextual. I can talk to 50 or so people at once and not betray any inner turmoil (though if there were a dominatrix in the room, she might see it and find the contrast amusing). At the same time I am pretty sure I couldn't remember my name in your presence. You would have to name me. Who knows, 2017 could be a banner year for the socially reticent. A certain orange buffoon has thrown us in a very positive contrasting light.

Hi Atl. I didn't intend to denigrate your experience. I was making an observation about the limited degree of input you seemed to prefer and what sounded like some sub-par results. I think I understand it better now. Would it be fair to say that the more you prescribe the scene the less it registers as inherently submissive? Personally a nice second skin latex dress absolutely makes my knees buckle. I guess they gotta deal with all of us loons.

Interesting situation. Hope you get what you want. I don't trust myself with the controls. Would be disappointed to discover I got them back.

I don't really know your scene of course. But there's a whiff of past resentment in the reference to "bitchiness." And it's coupled with limited involvement in creating the scene on your end. Taken together, that's worth some discussion when you go to schedule. A Mistress can try to fill a perceived void with something that seems tried-and-true but ends up feeling trite. As a bit of a nonconsensualist myself I have made most of the mistakes you can make, the ones from being ambiguous, the ones from being over-prescriptive, the ones from confusing the psychologically intriguing with the physically tolerable. And the inevitable latex blindness, ie, someone so hot in her latex fill-in-the-blank that I don't take sufficient time to consider whether this is the right someone for the level of vulnerability I'm looking for. With where I'm guessing you want to go, I might suggest showing a bit more of yourself at the outset. Including why the tone you describe bothers you (recognizing that some guys, me not included, love it). A then what is the tone that you are seeking. What is she like with your eyes closed.

Yes, in my case it's a radical loss of control that is sought (and needed). Like a lot of us, I'm guessing, the public and private self are at odds. In professional life I run maybe 20 meetings a week, something like 1000 a year. Without getting into the underlying projects, there's a fair amount of pressure. Meanwhile, I'm personally socially reticent and shy by nature. So it's kind of an out-of-body experience for me to be the person you'd see in an office. The more control I exert in one world the more I want to lose all control in another. Yet, feel safe... The "twisted pleasure" is mixed up in there. The avatar is from a session a couple years ago. Not satisfied to call me a slut, treat me like a slut, and dress me like a slut, she took a needle and pierced it into my ass. Lasted a few weeks. Quite memorable. She and I didn't connect on that level that's needed to sustain a relationship. But always appreciated that wicked gesture.

Thank you, Mistress. It's a blessing and a curse. I can think my way into trouble that I can't think my way out of. But maybe that's ok...

Interrogation with no correct/acceptable response. Two Examples. #1. Issues with Massage Quality. Most of my sessions involved very limited 'consent'. They take some time to set up because ideally nothing is negotiated once the door opens. So things need to be worked out beforehand. I have taken to suggesting a foot massage as a pause. It keeps things in role; you can remain leashed wherever leashes are deemed necessary. The posture will be submissive, physically and otherwise. It's a limited chance to communicate which can be used to address concerns or other thoughts so everyone's hard work to get here won't be wasted. But I can picture it leading back into the paused session once the dominatrix is satisfied that her prey is doing well enough psychologically to continue. "That's very nice." Thank you. "Where did you learn that?" No where really. Just an empath--- SLAP! "I asked where you learned to massage feet." I didn't, I don't, it's just--- SLAP! Leash-dragged back to the equipment and placed in a very taut spread position. "Last chance. We do not share our property. And that is what you are going to be, little one. Yes, that's right. Nothing you can do about it now. Your mind is already slipping under my control, and you know it. So tell me the name of the Mistress who taught you to use your hands. I will have a brief chat with her about your decision - let us say, impending decision - to place yourself under my complete control." I don't, there isn't... What 'decision'? Gagged. "Hold up 2 fingers when you are ready to end this foolishness and tell me the truth." She assembles implements to be used.... Inwardly she is aware that there probably is no one else. But she is giving me a taste of what will happen if I falter. She is hardly the jealous type. But she will not have her reprogramming interfered with. It's a fantasy of enforced exclusivity. But as yet, just that, a fantasy. #2. Who sent you? Whenever I had meetings in the city, I would go there at lunch time. Not there actually, but what I thought was a safe distance away. I would watch the women entering and leaving. My first thought was that it was a modelling agency. But, pretending to have business in the building, I checked the address board. No agency listed. But wasn't surprised. The women exuded a raw power, authority even, that I didn't quite associate with models. I was not far wrong. Inside, in locked, sound-cancelling rooms, males were being taught the ways of submission. Most were there willingly, addressing the need for balance in their lives. Some were not there by choice, having been identified by wives or girl friends or would-be wives or girl friends who required full subordination in their partners. Others had been selected for that role by the women themselves. A temporary crime was necessary while unwilling males were transformed into the willing submissives. Physical resistance was quickly eliminated; psychological resistance a little later with a 100% success rate. But this "service" required complete secrecy. Which was very dangerous to anyone who seemed to be watching from down the street... Did he know something? Probably not. Perhaps his Mistress sent him to find out about her disappeared slave? Probably not. But no chances would be taken. He was doomed. He being I. An email comes noting my interest in their "facility" and inviting me to take a tour. So excited by the prospect that I didn't stop to think how they found my name and email. I was invited to visit "after my meetings" on Friday. Again, not thinking clearly enough to ask myself how they knew I was only there for meetings. There were a few details. The tour had a set non-negotiable fee, payable at the door which would not unlock without it. Males on the tour were required to be locked in chastity for 3 days and arrive in chastity, handing over all keys with the tour fee. I complied. On 'tour' day on knocked on the door at the time specified. The fee and keys were in my breast pocket as instructed. The door opened to a darkened hallway. I called, hello? Stepped inside. WHAM. Hands everywhere, something pulled over my head. A voice in my ear said, "Do exactly as your told, bitch." I felt something sharp against my throat, but it wasn't necessary. They were tossing me around like a ragdoll without it. Dragged away, stripped, gagged, stretched and left to wonder. I was alone long enough to discover that the restraints used were impossible to remove or resist. Finally, I heard the click of heels and the door open and close. "How is your escape coming along, slave?" It was the woman who had ordered me to do what I was told earlier. Her voice hit me like a drug, an erotic sedative. Perhaps it was the 3 days in chastity... "You know what I want to know. Who sent you, slave boy? Tell me and I'll see if I can find the keys to this device. Otherwise, we are going to have a problem. You don't want me to have a problem, do you, darling?" She dragged the tips of a flogger over the chastity device. "Here are your only 2 choices. You can tell me who sent you and begin your slave indoctrination. Or you can let me twist your will into a pretzel, and then tell me who sent you, and then begin your slave indoctrination. I am really hoping you will go with option 2......" And so on.

Probably so. I had fetishized bondage well before I started to care about social norms. I can remember first tying myself up around 6 or 7. Not "slut bondage". But just endeavoring to make myself helpless with belts.