Gratitude and attitudes

"Thank you."

Two of the most beautiful words to roll off a submissive tongue, or ping up on my phone. Those two words sweeten my feelings towards those under my charge, making me smile as I recall (or imagine, if I'm not present) the occurance that I am being thanked for. The act of saying thank you places me in a position of power, instantly, like a sugar rush. I am a benefactor, a gracious giver of sensation. I've actually recently started to use the word patronage to describe my leverage as a dominant, it expresses the exchange in a way that has pleasing reminders of lords and ladies keeping valuable artists, perfected servants and objets d'art. It also emphasises the fact that dominance is not all about taking, or even about simply doing, what I want without consideration, there is method and reasoning in what I am doing. I offer something very valuable which cannot be taken for granted.

Gratitude, when truly felt, is a surprisingly complicated emotion, relying on an understanding of the value of what is being given and the cost of giving it. There's a balancing act to be struck with using it - rather like apology it can be overdone (I have a pet hate of people who say sorry too often and try to drum it out of those around me). The trick is to use it sparingly and at specific points that are outside of the normal framework for when that person might use that word.

I require politeness in general, but messages of thanks form part of my stated protocol with my pets. I want them to be reminded of our relationship at certain key instances - orgasm is a particular favourite, but equally after punishment or an order is issued. I'm deliberately framing and highlighting the nature of our power exchange, that I am responsible for both the pleasurable and the painful parts of our sexual interactions and that they should feel grateful for it.

It can form a useful training tool not only because repeated actions and phrases can help ingrain a sense of structure but because the act of thanking someone establishes a bond between two people. The more genuine thanks that are offfered, the more connected we become. There are other, alleged positives in even the act of saying thanks itself. There have been various studies which show that gratitude can act as a mood enhancer, improve mental health and even improve sleep. Whilst I'm tending towards taking that with a pinch or five of salt I do like the idea that I could make the lives of my submissives even better by getting them to feel even more grateful towards me - it certainly sounds like a virtuous circle worth working towards.

Horses sweat

Muscles vibrate in his back, clenching and unclenching in spasms that wind tighter and tighter. He's coiling up like a spring, My hands are wrapped tight around his hips as I thrust my new, larger dildo into him. Saturday night, Mannequin has gone to bed. Mr Smith and I are still awake and I'm using the small hours to engage in a very active search for male prostate orgasm. Determined to drag him through it.

All the pre-signs are there. He's prone, arms splayed out and fingers grasping at the bedsheets, feet curling. The muscles in his thighs are trembling and he's bucking against me, pressing his hips against the cock. I fuck him, building him up through faster, harder strokes, then slower, deeper ones that take their time to press him open. I can see his desire for release in his body, and I watch him carefully, judging depth, speed and playful little thrusts upon his own movements. I can hear it too: the tell-tale type of panting, tiny gasps that lift upwards, getting softer and more lost as he begins to hyperventilate. A few times I need to calm him down, to force him to breathe more deeply, relax and stop striving so hard.

I stroke his back, I can feel the heat rising from his skin, feel the sweat pinprick, then run in rivulets over his naked body. I love that moment. Sweat is an under appreciated fluid: I love sweat. The cold sweat that starts from fear, shock or pain. The sheen from flushes of excitement. The gentle overnight sweat where the scent of two (or more) bodies mingles with sex, sleep and animal contentment. And this. Pure fucking exertion and mindless force, flowing - literally - from his pained efforts at my command. With it comes his smell, now familiar and resonating with my own dominance, already part of the attraction I have for him - scent is a hugely important thing for me. I can track pheromones and those the rise from him are heady. Sweat. It's a power trip. Emperors must have felt this way when gladiators roared and bled in the arena.

The orgasm isn't coming, but he's working really hard towards it. Perhaps too hard, in that desperate, uphill struggle that climax can sometimes be, especially unfamiliar climax. I remember the effort (and surprise) of my first orgasm through cunnilingus, and later, from someone else's fingers. To this day I've never had an orgasm purely through vaginal penetration. Each first time was hampered by the fear that it wouldn't happen, that I would fail, falter and collapse. Which is what happens to him, eventually, both of us worn down by the exertion. I've led him up and down the waves of rising almost-orgasm several times before I decide we need to stop. His entire body is shuddering through with tiny convulsions and he is almost without speech (a rarity for this one) for several minutes. He's angry, frustrated and - as expected - feels like he's failed. Submission and failure are tricky but often present bedfellows, I can certainly call on my own experiences, especially the desire to produce orgasm for a dominant, but also for oneself, to give a true sense of completion and finality.

Eventually I get up and fetch a dry towel and begin rubbing him down. The long strokes across his back and limbs seems to calm him, and he quietens. Even that action is pleasing to me. He's a horse ridden hard and in need of stabling. What I'm doing is very familiar to me from teenage years spent riding. And the minute I think "horse" is the minute everything falls into place. The more I think about this one, the more I think of horses, and all the pleasures that come with that.

I tend to visualise my submissives as animals, so they generally go by a moniker like "kitten", "puppy" or even "bear" to recall a name from my almost-vanilla past. And so this one is a horse. Sweat like horses do, with all that impressive power and force behind them, yet passively following a bit and bridle. Groomed, trained and even bred for purpose. Sure, they whinny and nicker every now and then, but generally fall into place if treated correctly. I smile as my brain fills with all the thoughts of leather tack, hay-filled stables and my thighs twitch a little. Once he's dry, I curl up around him, wrapping him up in my arms and holding him tight whilst he continues to give the odd twitch and moan. I stroke his hip, and my brain reads "flank", whispering soothingly into his ear. There's plenty of time for all sorts of training for this boy.

Magic number

The plan was a threesome, but given it was going to be an fFm threesome, with myself as the dominant, there were a number of assumptions I was looking forward to playing with and overwriting. An object lesson in submission and an overturning of what a threesome looks like: it isn't about what you want, it's what I want. Which is what you will want. Eventually. It was a training experience for Mr Smith as part of the ongoing project to move him beyond swinging scene attitudes and normalised modes of "masculine" sexual behaviour. I knew he was interested in Mannequin, which was ideal because she's mine, she's very well trained and so I could be sure she wouldn't let him get away with anything.

It was an opportunity for a spot of decadence, and I'd been looking forward to it. A rare Saturday night dinner and cocktails date with two of my pets. I spent the afternoon shopping in Soho, doing the rounds of the gay sex shops for penetration toys - I like them industrial looking, nasty and a little alien. Certainly not the fleshy-pink types that look queasily like laminated penises. When I fuck with a strap-on I want to look artificial, strange and a little other-wordly. Shock and awe, baby. I have no desire to mimic a cis-male: I'm a fabulous beast, a unicorn, a woman with a horn. A cyborg having new adventures in fucking. I went over to see Mannequin and we prepared the space, discussed strategy and engaged in a bit of dressing up. A rare occasion for ultra-femme stylings: silky dresses, make-up and high heels. To most people, I would have looked like a woman dressed up to the nines - looking good but not looking strange. For me, it was a deliberate change from how I usually look, especially with Mr Smith because I tend to the more tomboyish. This would look unusual for me, and hopefully sow a bit of confusion which always helps increase the anxiety and anticipation. He knew that there would be a play session with both of us, but that is all he knew.

We went to Hawksmoor, which I thoroughly recommend and spent a while flirting and chatting over drinks then aphrodisiac foods: steak, oysters, red wine. Later, there would be hard drugs and harder BDSM. The opening to the evening was soft and seductive, about creating a genial sense of liberation with a touch of mild exhibitionism along the lines of being an obvious threesome in public places. We got enough raised eyebrows to satisfy ourselves, but nothing especially salacious or kinky was done in public (I like both the restaurant and the cocktail place and would like to go back). I enjoyed the fact that whilst in the minds of those around us Mr Smith must have seemed like a lucky man, he certainly is, but not for the reasons they might have expected. Both of them were under instruction that if anyone asked directly what was "going on" they had to answer truthfully.

Eventually we found our way back home and the night began. A simple enough start: strip and tease. Of him. Clothes came off, blindfolds, cuffs, collar and ropes went on. As did a CB2000, although not as effectively as I'd hoped (I'm starting to think that chastity devices are needlessly complicated, I love the theory, but the practice is very finicky, especially with an unwilling or at least unaware victim). We secured him to a chair, toyed with him with ice and tiny clothes pegs for a while. We then removed the blindfold to let him take in his predicament. There's a balancing game to be played with sensory deprivation - on the one hand it can make people feel more free and allow them better, easier access to sub space. On the other there are times when you want them to feel constricted and to be unable to float away to sub space. And sometimes seeing is believing: I needed him to feel completely helpless and under my control. For that, he needed to see what was happening, where the deprivation was coming from.

Mannequin stripped me, I stripped her, putting a collar around her neck. We were ostensibly playing on a trope - the strippers who kiss to titillate the male viewer, but ultimately they are there to service him. In fact, he was there to serve us, if we needed him to. My ultimate goal was to use him to teach her how to fuck boys with a strap-on.

I went quickly into dom space, having been teetering on the brink all evening anyway - awash with that smug satisfaction of a plan playing out. He was a body-in-waiting, a toy on the rack that may be needed later but for the moment was not. A voyeur has more power because at least they wanted just to watch. He wanted to do. And could not. At the back of my head, I knew he was present, I could hear him moan, feel him wriggle a little. But she was in front of me, she was right there and she was mine. I got a rush of it, the knowledge that the flesh in my hands belonged to me. I hadn't seen her in a while, I'd missed her and there she was. Perfect skin and all. I lay back, put her mouth between my legs and closed my eyes. Smiling. I think he said something. It could have been anything.

We untied him after a while, and I put her into the strap-on harness and talked her through what to do, using him as a model for her experience. I enjoyed the situation because it meant that he would be fucked by her under my control, which was effectively (for my own D/s purposes) the same as being fucked by me. I remember a flicker of pride at his passivity, he was actively trying to "be good" to behave, to ask before touching and to ask me rather than her. I knew that he was very tactile and that depriving him of that was difficult. He allowed himself to be led, to be put in position. The training was working.

Temple Prostitution

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Zen and BDSM

A brief posting, due to my ongoing lack of regular Internet. I've recently got back on the horse that is Internet dating following a review of my sexual portfolio (something someone once kindly referred to as my "chocolate selection box of fucking" which creates all sorts of puns relating to fudge, nuts and walnut whips).

I'm currently running a series of D/s relationships in tandem, primarily with Mannequin and more recently with Mr Smith. I'm fond of both of them, but very aware of their needs outside what I can provide or what they want from me, which means I'm looking for other people. Specifically, for a suitable long term (probably male) partner. In the meantime - I'm in no rush so happy to enjoy what comes along and play the long game - I've got something of a balancing act on my hands, particularly regarding time and how D/s operates when you are not the sole partner.

I'm able to view my previous musings on the subject in the context of being a submissive and either being in love or certainly falling in love with The Photographer. Those two factors made life hard, too hard to bear in the end. Now, things are a lot easier. Perhaps because I have learnt from my mistakes, and learnt how to better manage my feelings. I can keep a lighter emotional touch these days, I care about my partners, certainly and could see myself caring more. I am passionate about them and about what we do. But these are "in the moment" passions, remembered fondly. Zen BDSM, if you will. These people are not always mine and there are places these relationships cannot go, ways in which they will not develop and that creates a remit that must be adhered to.

The dominant position means I am more in control of what is going on and taking a more active part in what I am doing and with whom rather than being controlled. This requires a certain amount of self-control, as well as control of others. I order my personal expectations and need to keep a cool, pragmatic approach when managing the "externalities" of our interactions, especially about where the lines are drawn, and not getting too territorial when they need to be re-drawn because of the needs of my partners' other partners.

To take a good "lines" example, I recently had a discussion with Mr Smith about marks on his back. His wife had seen them and been upset. Now, I had spoken to him about marks - because they were going to happen if he wanted to submit to me - and he had told me that the usual standard was fine (nothing visible in a suit and shirt). However, nothing can really match seeing marks, realising them for fact and she had reacted to that in a way that had not been predicted. Upon hearing about this, I went into two parallel thought modes: D/s and open relationship management. The dominant in me was annoyed about this shifting of goal posts, especially over something I had checked and thought was fine. There was a spark of anger over interference in my play. All of these D/s reactions needed to be absorbed, understood and left to one side because I do not have full D/s control over him. On the wider relationship front I personally felt uncomfortable about upsetting someone else, even though I hadn't known it would be a problem. My response was to change the sort of play activity (for the moment) to something less marking but not less in terms of D/s and to try and arrange a coffee date with his wife to set ground rules face to face.

Time is another issue. I'm busy. I do a lot of things. Add to that multiple partners and the need to find time to locate new partners (as well as blogging about it all) and my diary becomes a very serious piece of work. I have stopped fledgling engagements in their tracks because the other party couldn't organise themselves out of a paper bag. My partner's time is important, my partner's partner's time is important. But mostly, my time is important, because it is my D/s time.

Whatever they do elsewhere, whatever other relationships they have, when they are with me they run to my clock. I take my time, because it is my time to take and to indulge in. Taking and indulging is part of the power exchange, they give me themselves and they give me their undivided attention. From stepping into the restaurant until I leave them in the morning, those hours are mine to do with as I wish. Afterward, and before, are blank pages for other people to write upon. The sense of transitory ownership and the anxieties or difficulties that can present is mediated by ring fencing specific points in time. My D/s only works because I can view these people as belonging to me for the moments they are with me, allowing me to appreciate them to the full when they are with me, but leaving well alone when they are not.

Power, protocol and punishment

I slip the condom off and straddle his chest, quickly shoving it into his mouth before he can react. I press my fingers against his tongue, pushing his semen down his throat. His eyes widen from their relaxed post-orgasmic state. He makes a face, a sorrowful, confused moue.

"The next time you don't say thank-you immediately after you've come, that happens."

I surprise myself with how much force I can put behind that statement, I am genuinely cross with him and the punishemt, together with his obvious unhappiness, satisfies me. He begins to make excuses but I slap his leg and he quietens down. I lie down next to him and explain the importance of such things to me, reminding him that this is what he came to me for.

Punishment is a part of D/s training that needs to be delicately managed. I've learnt that it must happen quickly after the transgression so that the two are linked. It needs to be distinct from other parts of the relationship, clearly enshrined as a punishment: I want it to be obvious, isolated, unpleasant and cathartic. An action delivered to teach someone a lesson, ultimately it is instructive and (hopefully) constructive. My goal with my partners is to make them "better" through the training I'm delivering, they are of course marvellous and delightful already or I wouldn't play with them, but there's always room for specific tailoring to my own tastes. Reward has its place, of course, including praise and pleasure, but there must be punishment too. Enduring something unpleasant is part of submission: the ability to put distance between what the submissive wants and what the dominant wants and enforcing the latter to the detriment of the other strengthens the bond created by the power exchange.

I like punishment that is appropriate - this seemed like the obvious punishment for ungrateful orgasm. When pain is used for punishment it must be carefully contextualised, which is part of the reason why I don't often like delivering something such as a beating for punishment: it's too close to something I might want to do, whatever has happened. I don't want there to be a confusion of association because effectively I'm attempting to create reflexes and those require repeated, similar, stimulus.

Punishment reinforces and protects the rules of engagement: protocol. I love protocol because I want my relationships to be very clear in how they operate for my own piece of mind and assurance. To know who stands where and how so that each relationship I maintain is enshrined in its own little empires. I may not be the king of the world, but I will be king of that which I command. It's part of being the only X that does Y, I've got to have my particular space and protocol helps me define that space.

I don't run detailed protocol, and most of it is under the surface or private rules that will not be obvious in company. I prefer a few simple, brief rules that are "always on". Anything else can be delivered as an instruction when required. Micro-management holds little charm for me, it removes the space for the submissive to delight, surprise and please of their own initiative. I have smart, funny, capable partners - I want them to show flair in what they do.

One of the interesting training challenges with Mr Smith is overwriting the sexual behaviours from the swinging crowd, particularly the freedom to act and reversing his "naturally" dominant tendencies, particularly around women. He's very tactile, for example, which is nice but has caused a number of wandering hands incidents that needed correcting. We had a conversation in a taxi about how he had touched a submissive friend of mine and her dominant had a twinge of annoyance - I can certainly empathise with that. The act itself was relatively insignificant, and done because of casual friendliness. However, both myself and my submissive friend felt it was inappropriate. When I talked to Mr Smith about it he bristled and was annoyed that he wasn't informed at the time, because he would have liked to have been able to account for his own actions. I explained: "When you are with me, in a kink context, you represent me. You don't have authority for yourself, I do. I am responsible for your actions - how you behave reflects upon me."

The specifics of good protocol should be invisible, except to those who are aware of it and (certainly for me) it is akin to good manners, which is something I look for in submissives in general. What should be obvious is that there is a relationship of command, I love it when people comment on how "good" and "well-behaved" my submissives are. They don't need to know which rules they are following in order to appreciate the total package...

...almost as much as I do.