A Special Dispatch from Our Senior Correspondent

Mistress is flying off to the East in the morning with our surly teen II for some college visits. She leaves early for the airport. I plan to spend the time she has in the morning with her here in the executive suite at the World HQ, rather than composing a blog. Fortunately, our Senior Correspondent Donna sent me this very personal reflection to share with all of you.

 

I have something amazing to share. Those of you who have known me for some time are aware that one of my great pleasures is encouraging those working in the medical community with clients having paralysis or nerve damage to include BDSM as one of the issues discussed as a potential means to provide sensory and sensual stimulation. Imagine my joy when I received this email last week. Hello Donna,  I wanted to share with you about a session that I did a few weeks ago with a man who has Spina Bifida. His parents were on board and very supportive. The session was absolutely a fantastic learning experience. I am so glad I had the opportunity. xo, Collette Believe me when I say that when that email came in, I was doing my own version of the dance of joy! Not only was the twenty-something year old man willing to express his desires and needs, but his parents heard, understood the depth of meaning behind his words and set out to find a way to help him. I felt elation that my friend was willing to help. The creative, intelligent and beautiful Mistress Collette, a Domme who evaluates and trains other Doms, Dommes, subs and slaves, chose to honor this man's request. Clearly it would have been less involved, less time consuming and less risky for her to simply decline. With all the support she has graciously provided me over the time I have known her, I am not at all surprised she agreed to help, but I am deeply touched to have a person of this character and quality as my friend.   And I was also honored to know that it was the work of Master R, who has for many years faced down the stigma, judgment and pettiness of others while operating a training chateau, who refused to listen to naysayers and took yet another bull by the horns in writing the history of BDSM in the US. That book, when read by this young man’s parents, gave them the confidence they needed to put things in motion for this to unfold for their son. After getting everything set up, the young man’s parents drove him to La Domaine and visited upstairs with Master R while their son had a training session with Mistress Collette.  It went wonderfully well and the young man is more confident and happier than he has been in a long time. His parents will be taking him back to visit again. And just to be clear, this wasn’t about sex; it was about bondage, domination and the sensory stimulation of BDSM. It was about providing a non-judgmental environment with someone familiar with BDSM methods and tools to assess how this man’s body best responds to sensory stimuli even though he is paralyzed from the waist down and has others major health concerns. What amazing parents these people are!  To me, everyone who had a role in this is amazing. The young man, his parents, Mistress Collette and Master R all deserve gold stars in my book! You know, I realize it may be hard for folks not living in or near the disabled world to understand the freedom that comes with BDSM scenes and/or sex. The last time I attempted to write about BDSM and disabilities (at a different blog) there were a few comments made that led me to believe I hadn’t been clear enough to help people understand the differences between vanilla sex and BDSM sex for those with nerve damage. I can’t speak to all disabilities, but I can tell you how this works for me. The very basic missionary position of vanilla sex leaves me helpless on my back, unable to provide stimulation for Bill or to receive enough stimulation for either of us to orgasm. While vanilla sex can be much more than missionary position, the end result is most often a penis in a vagina, and that is not a successful sexual scenario for me. I am confined by and in some parts of my life defined by assistive devices. That's just the way it is and it isn’t always a negative thing, but it is fraught with frustration and sometimes I need a release. Not just a sexual release, I need a sensual, sexual and emotional release. I need to feel that I have some power, and in my BDSM relationship with Bill, my power is as a sub. In the exchange of power that is at the heart of BDSM, when Bill ties me to a chair or the bed with rope or straps, he knows it is what I need, what I want. And even though I am more confined within his ropes than by the assistive devices I use during the day, in the ropes there is a feeling of peace, of freedom. Sometimes Bill stimulates my butt, dribbles lube down my crack and inserts a plug. He swings a paddle and heats and reddens my cheeks, the flogger stripes my back and feeling all those sensations makes me feel alive, really alive. He flips me over and ties me to the bed, uses the flogger on my breasts and beginning near my feet, he crawls slowly up my body, dragging his warm skin against mine. He kneels over my chest, he tugs my hair and feeds me his cock. I feel, I smell, I taste, I hear the sounds we are both making and I need them all. They heal me. I feel whole. I am this man's sub and he is pleased by my service to him. All I need to focus on right then is Bill. He will lead me through all these sensations. On a psychological level, I know I can do this physical thing as well as any able bodied person. It matters to me, and I think it would matter to most people. I suppose the point of all this is to say that while most people can find their way through the maze of life to meet their sexual needs, some can’t and need a friend or sometimes even a parent or two to listen to what they are really saying and offer a word of encouragement, suggest a book, or send an online link. It would be a most wonderful thing if BDSM wasn’t shunned as some dark terrible thing, but for now the best we can do is attempt to lessen that perception one person at a time. BDSM isn't right for everyone, but people should know that it is something to consider, especially for those folks who might benefit from the special gifts BDSM has to offer. Hugs, Donna -- Molly and Mick Collins Reply Forward

The Perfect Storm

Poor Mistress.

It was Switch Day, and she confronted what a perfect storm of confluent events.

The kids were away.

We had missed our last two switch days do to family events.

And my bottom was still reminding me how she had dealt with her Slave the afternoon before.

Slave had some pent up demand to take her in hand, and without the need to “stifle” in deference to prying ears and eyes of our sullen teens, I had a good deal of flexibility.

(unfortunately, the kids were already on the Big Bus heading back from Chicago, so there were some temporal limits on what I might accomplish at her peril…. We’ll save the languishing in bondage and every hour orgasms for a later date).

After we read the paper in bed a bit, and I teased her with my tongue and lips as she read the blog, Mistress knew that her time had come.

She even tried her cute little seduction trick, cuddling with me, exchange romantic kisses as our legs interlocked, probably hoping I would surrender to that little voice from down below my waistline looking for some quick and easy indulgence.

“Sorry, Mistress…. You’re not getting off that easy.”

I locked the red leather cuffs on her wrists, linked them together, then, after assembling some useful supplies, helped her up out of bed.

“We’re going for a little stroll, Mistress….”

Of course, once downstairs she tried to delay the inevitable by making small talk with her cute cats, lounging on the living room furniture.

“Enough with the kitty talk, Mistress….”

I took her by the elbow, and led her to the threshold where a steel hook had been screwed into the woodwork for an earlier occasion such as this.

Soon her wrists were locked tight, over her head, and she began to squirm a bit.

“My arms are going to get stiff like this, Slave…..”

“Ohhh, poor dear…. I’ll try to distract you as best I can….”

And so I did, embracing her from the front, teasing her with my kisses and my questing fingers.

As I dipped a digit between her thighs, I discovered se was already quite sodden and needy.

I know that will surprise you.

But my bottom still had that glow, and It reminded me that at least Mistress deserved a few spanks from her devoted Slave.

I pulled the black silky nightie up , reached around and gave her more than a dozen stern slaps with my palm, making her jerk against the attachment holding her wrists in place, and hop a bit on those well pedicured toes. But of course, she could not escape the punishment she so richly deserved.

Having turned her ass cheeks pink, and knowing that in fact her arms might well be getting stiff, I figured it was time to bring this little drama to and end.

I could see her cunning little smile when I pulled the Hitachi out of my bag of tricks, and plugged it in.

I knew she was thinking ---- “Oh goodie, I’ve gotten off easy and now I get my reward.”

But it didn’t work out exactly that way.

With the Hitachi sitting in ready on a nearby table, I began sucking on Mistress’s easily accessed nipples, making the one on the left nice and firm before I reached into my pocket for one of her least favorite toys …. A clothespin that the WC had prescribed for her some weeks back.

I’m not sure she noticed it until it squeezed down onto her poor little nub,

“Oh…. Damn…..”

She jerked against her wrist bindings in response.

Soon I was working on her other nipple, and then reached into my pocket for the matching clothespin. Symmetry is so appealing.

“I can’t even watch…” she whined, looking away as the other peg found it’s home on her right nipple.

Of course, I knew that she would not tolerate much of this, so I immediately reached for the Hitachi …. Well not immediately…. I had to take this photo first ... for the record.

Mistress moaned in delight (and for the distraction), as I thumbed on her favorite power tool and applied it immediately where she likes it….

Soon she was humping against it, on tip toes to purchase as much leverage as allowed. I enjoyed watching her lovely breasts bounce to and fro with their little wooden accessories as she built herself up to release.

“Remember to ask permission, Mistress….”

Well she did, but I must say it was a little too late …. Murmuring “may I please come, Slave…” into my ear, even as her body shuddered through a rather powerful climax.

As “punishment”, I forced her to endure one more cum before reaching for the clothespins and easing them off her lovely red nubs.

The poor dear.

I eased her cuffs off the hook, and let her rest on our carpeted floor a bit, before sitting on the hassock nearby.

By now my shorts were off.

“I think this would be a good time for Mistress to practice her cock sucking.”

And as she squatted on the floor, her head buried on my lap, wrists still cuffed together, a fan of her dark thick hair covering my thighs, applying herself skillfully to the task at hand, I almost wanted to interrupt her and get my camera to capture that lovely image too.

Almost.

Slave's Comeuppance

It had been a stressful week for Molly and Mick. So with the kids gone for two days, we had made sure to have a very unscheduled Saturday.

Of course, there was time for some morning sex, then Mistress had an appointment for hair maintenance, while I did some yard work. By 11::30 or so, we were back at home together, getting on our bikes and doing a good hill climb before some time at our local swim club.

Mistress swam about 40 laps, as her dutiful Slave read the Times. Then we hopped back on our bikes for the ride home.

That left a good bit of the afternoon for us to loll in bed, before heading to an evening party at some friends’ home.

“I do like the kids being away, Slave…. it almost makes me feel like we are newly weds.”

I agreed, and look forward to their more permanent departures in just two weeks.

I stopped in the kitchen to prepare a snack, and when I got upstairs, Mistress was already in bed, in the buff, chatting with the WC.

He was curious about whether it was one of those Saturday’s when Slave gets a good ass fucking.

“We’re both pretty tired right now, M. But there’s plenty of time.”

She gave me a look as I was stripping off my bathing suit and t-shirt … one of those knowing smiles, laughing with M about my likely “plight”.

Once she signed off, we settled into some books, but were soon snoozing. About an hour or so later we were woken by some text messages from Molly’s sister, and a phone call from our second sullen teen.

The “drama” was about the teen’s apparent unhappiness that her slightly older sister was going on a college wardrobe shopping spree on Michigan Ave., while the younger one was shut out because she had already spent too much on “stuff” during her recent NYC trip.

This provoked the Slave into a bit of a huffy rant about spoiled kids not appreciating what they’ve got…. Yadda … yadda….

Apparently Mistress filed this away for later.

When it came time for is to shift our attention to more carnal pursuits, Mistress asked me to get her “equipment”, her harness,  her faux cock, and the container of lube.

Once I obtained what she was looking for, and placed it on the little table at her side of the bed, I noticed something I’d not gotten out, laying on the sheet next to me.

Her riding crop.

“Uhhhh…. What’s this doing out, Mistress?”

Actually, I thought I’d been a pretty worthy slave this week, not that any particular excuses are required if Mistress chooses to discipline her Slave.

Se told me to get on my stomach on the bed, she picked up her crop, and I could feel it slowly tracing little patterns on my ass.

“save, you were very helpful and supportive this week …. But that rant this afternoon …. You know I don’t like all that complaining and whining, it suggests maybe I’ve been a bad role model for our girls….”

I considered trying  to explain that they are virtual adults, and that when I complain about their behavior it is not intended to criticize their hard working Mom…. But that train had already left the station.

So I simply took my medicine.

Mistress lit into me with a flurry of slaps from that nasty crop. Hard ones, in quick succession. She had me squirming on the bed, my mouth biting into a pillow to squelch my “yeowwls” of discomfort.

She clearly was determined to instruct me on the error of my ways.

And she definitely succeeded.

After a brief pause she said, “Hmmm…. I think those really hurt, don’t they slave….”

“Uhhh….. yeah…. They really do…..”

“Well then just one or two more then.”

They were two particularly hard ones. Mistress is wielding a mean crop these days.

When she finally put down her weapon, I moaned in relief. Her hands rubbed the little stripes she had left behind.

That felt nice.

“Ohhh, my…. Your ass really is  pretty red, Slave. I think I’ll take a picture and send it to M, since he was so curious about what we might be up to today.”

She took up her I-phone and texted it off to M.   And she sent it via email to me.

“Make sure you post this tomorrow, Slave….”

"Of, course, Mistress."

I’m sure M enjoyed seeing the sometimes arrogant Executive Editor get his comeuppance.

By then she was cinching up her harness, applying  some lube and telling me to assume my position.

My ass now just had a warm glow to it, which seemed to warm up the work-a-day cock too. The combination of a firm cropping followed by Mistress’s deployment of her strap-on certainly pushes my buttons, it seems.

And Mistress certainly seemed to relish the moment as well. She seemed to come more than once in little jerks and enthused moans as she pumped into her Slave from behind.

When she had her fill of me, tossing her harness aside for me to clean and tuck away later, she took another look at my ass.

“You know, I think it’s even redder now, Slave.”

She picked up our camera and took another shot --- so you now have another shot, for comparison’s sake. 

And even this morning, I can still feel that glow. An extra motivation, no doubt, for Switch Day…. Kids away edition.

Mistress's Fashion Rules

With the sullen teens off to the Windy city, Mistress and Slave made sure they took the opportunity for some open door sex yesterday, along with some socializing last night.

When I woke her (and after worship of course) Mistress once again enjoyed the extra heft and desperation that comes when my cock and balls have that hard steel ring of my cage in place.

And then, after our playtime was done, and I had slid the cage over her cock, she closed the lock and sent me on my way to work.

At the end of the workday, before we headed off to a birthday party for one of her close friends, there was more time to simply rest in bed, catch up on the blogs, and worship. It was then she remembered that she would have to unlock me if she wanted another dose of her work-a-day cock.

Fortunately for me, she did.

The birthday party was for a woman prominent in the local GLBT community. Her partner was a woman I once described as “ravishing”, earning me a rather severe punishment here at the World HQ.. But you can’t argue with the truth. She’s just ravishing in a different way than Mistress.

The event was out on a veranda of a local botanical garden. It was hot and very humid, but the sweet Prosecco being served let us wet our respective whistles.

Not surprisingly, we were among the few hetero sexual couples there. But the crowd was about equal men and women.

One thing I note when with a group of gay men is that…. Well… Mick can sure lose a few pounds. Not meaning to stereotype, but these guys were almost all in slim trim shape. On the other hand, this Slave is a little too thick in the middle. If there’s an explanation in science, please advise me. (not why I’m paunchy ---it’s because of my Irish penchant for potatoes, you never know when the next famine might start – I want to know why those guys are all so svelte).

The other thing I noticed, and pointed out to Mistress, was that almost every guy in the room other than old Mick had their toes showing. You know, sandals …. The expensive leather kinds, not flip flops.

Slave used to wear sandals back in the 60’s. They went well with Jefferson Airplane and the Dead. And I suppose I do still have a pair of Tevas, for when we go done to the Rio Grande and slip into that rocky river to cool off.

But Mistress has very strict rules about men and sandals at social events.

“Men’s feet just are not attractive, Slave….”

I can’t disagree with her, and it would never be my place to try.

We did get talking to a cute female couple. Mistress knew one of them – a red headed Colleen – from years ago. But we had not met her other half. And the story of how they got together resonated. Like us, one of them was married (to a guy) when they met on a local campus.

But here’s the strange karma part…. While they clearly had the dark, yet to be acknowledged attraction … nothing happened until they found themselves in the funky, mystical community where Mistress and Slave have their mountain hideaway.

They told us about camping at a local hot springs we’ve described on this page and ….. zap.

“It was that Arsenic tub…. We went back to the tent and…. “

Blushes abound.

That was years ago, and we described how the hot springs have now been fancified a bit. We described our own adventures there a year or so ago, when we reserved an intimate private pool with its own tub and keva fireplace….

Remember this picture, of Mistress taking the waters….
I told them how Georgia O’Keefe found her own karma in that little town all those years ago, and recited a line from a local songwriter…. “Where the four winds dance on the mesa, and the spirits come out to play.”

Clearly, those spirits played their part in breaking down those walls of inhibition for this charming couple, despite their old school, catholic backgrounds.

It’s those spirits that keep drawing us back there, year after year.

After the party, Mistress and Slave headed to a downtown jazz club. It was a little late by now, and maybe hot Friday nights in the summer don’t bring out the jazz aficionados. But it turned out we got a private concert from River City’s finest jazz singers (and another one of our close friends) and her small combo of piano and clarinet.

I persuaded Mistress to dance with me to “Moonlight in Vermont”, before we closed the place down.

Muy romantico.

But I did take a photo of the clarinet player for you…. As it turns out he and the piano player both were making a fashion faux pas under Mistress’s rules.

Was I the only guy in River City last night not showing off my toes?