on writing out loud

I have kept some sort of personal journal for most of my life.

In my early teen years, it was a diary; later high school and college it was a journal. It was private just to me and it was a way I could express all my teenage wonder and worry. It was often an explosion of angst one day, all to be gone the next. It was where I gushed about my first girl crush and later the man I intended to marry. In short, it was a mirrored reflection of my emotional ups and downs.

Two years ago, I started to post “out loud” — that is, publicly — on WordPress. It was my first owner, Master Michael, who encouraged me to do so. I entered into public posting as if I was opening up my journal for others to read.

That was scary at first, but I got into it, and the early reality was that no one was there to read it. In the beginning I had very few followers. Later my numbers grew. Now by no means do I have a huge following, but a dozen followers became dozens, then more than a hundred, then more than that. In time my very private journal was being read by a more people. I’ve never paid much attention to numbers, but I was happy about more people signing up to read my stuff — if mostly in a “They like me, they really like me!” sort of way.

What I’m getting at here is that the nature of my posts have changed over these two years. I don’t think for the worse, and maybe for the better, but they have changed.

When my posts were originally like my private journal, I would sit down to write and ask the question, “How do I feel today?”

As more people started following me, the additional question became “What’s going on in my life and lifestyle schedule?” This is a kind of news reporting.

Additionally, I found myself in the position of explaining my submissiveness and my slavery to others. It was informational, answering the question, “Why do I do this?” This became almost a kind of educational writing.

Along the way, I started writing more explicitly about my sexual responses and sexual uses in slavery. I would sit down and answer the question, “What did it feel like to be fucked by Master K last night?” This has been a form of true-life erotica writing.

All of this is perfectly fine, and I will continue writing all of this.

But I was realizing that my post yesterday, “Wondering,” was more like my original journal writing — a rather impulsive (and polished ) expression of something I’d been thinking and feeling. In it, I’m not coming up with an answer to anything, nor explaining myself to anyone. It’s not a public “essay” with intentions to explain or persuade. It’s just something in me that I’m expressing to… me. Another thing: A private journal is not labored over, edited again and again. It blurts out onto the journal page. Blog writing tends to be more prepared and polished, and takes more labor to make it “fit for publication.”

Seems I’ve gotten away from my original journal writing purpose. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. These other kinds of writing are forms I enjoy. I would write a lot of this anyway, just not as part of my private journal.

This is also a question of whether I’m writing for me or for you. The answer, I think, is both. Writing about my life is only of interest because it’s my life, and what I experience. It has to reflect my real responses to slave life and how I am used and played with. It has to be true to the raw angst that I used to pour into my private journal.

At the same time, it must be presented to you publicly. The fact is, journals are not that interesting to read. My private journal experiences must translated from my inner vocabulary into a more public language.

I think that’s what a blog hopes to do.


I’ve become curious about how other dominants not named Amanda perceive me. No doubt this is brought on by my impending training at the hand of Master McKenna. But also there’s an age angle to my curiosity. It’s been pushing into my mind of late.

I just wonder how other dominant people see me in slave terms. How do they evaluate me as a girl they might, or might not, want to own? Is my stage of life part of their perception?

The age question is not about being too old. I know people are submissive throughout their lives and D/s can be practiced by people of all ages. But I am of an age when I would otherwise be someone’s mother. Does this make it different?

My question is a comparison — how am I as a slave in my mid-thirties different from a slave girl who is, say, twenty-two? How am I differently experienced than a younger slave by dominants as well as people who watch me?

What would neighbors think of me if I were twenty-two as I was walked on a leash by Mistress Amanda on the main road? How would that be different from their perceptions of me now in my thirties?

I wonder if the landscaper guys last summer, gawking at me topless and collared and leashed, saw me in a certain way because I was older than most of them.

I might presume to think that people would imagine the twenty-two-year-old Shae to be experimenting with her life, a bit too young yet to know what she’s doing, but free to try this alternative life. Maybe she’d more attractive as a slave because of it. Perhaps those same people watch the mid-thirties Shae and feel greater pity that she is in the prime of her life yet living as nothing more than a slave.

Does a dominant like Master McKenna perceive me as being so conditioned into slavery that it’s a lot of work to retrain me to his preferences and style? Or is there actually a greater attraction to me at this age for reasons of experience and understanding?

Just wondering…

heavy hardness

This week when I collected some of my “Kevin” posts and listed them for easier access — here — I went down memory lane and remembered my bondage times with him. I say that almost fondly, even though his uses of me were hard and heavy, debasing and humiliating — all in a “what’s not to like?” sort of way.

I am longing these days for something more physical and more visceral. Some of these feelings have leaked out in my writing of late. They swirl in my head and body. Maybe this is the result of COVID time — this relentless disconnection from other people’s hands and bodies, the starvation of touch. It makes a girl long to be spanked.

But even before COVID, I think I have undervalued and under-spoken my need for someone, a man, to have me this way.

This always feels to me like it requires explanation if not justification, though I know many in this space — sister submissives and D/s colleagues — understand exactly what I am feeling. It is not a self-destructive impulse, nor a “pain-slut” thing. No one in D/s should be hurt or abused against her will, against the established understandings of the slavery.

It’s not about any of that. But it is about a man controlling me with his physical strength and channeling his power into my body. It’s about how a man does me.

All of this can be true of women dommes as well, but there are certain men for whom this heavy physical exercise of their dominance just seems right — a natural completion of who they are by use and abuse of a submissive woman, namely me. They can command me psychologically and fuck me forcefully, but it is in their physical manhandling that they finish themselves and unleash their unique male dominance on and inside me.

Just as I have undervalued my need for this, I think I’ve also likely undervalued the special dominant that Kevin is in doing me that way.

I have been with other men, dominants, who have had me in physical ways. Michael, before Amanda, and then earlier in my life one other. They all have had this kind of visceral physicality with me. But no one quite like Kevin.

Back in 2019, when Kevin had me as his submissive object in the bondage room, he was a purely physical, carnal presence. It was his body of strength and steel pushing into mine of soft skin and fleshy curves. It was his power playing with my submission. It was his heavy hardness against my helpless acquiescence. There was no time to analyze or calculate what I should or shouldn’t do: I was strapped in, spread open, my flesh responding instinctively to his dominant intentions. I swelled and oozed and gasped breathlessly.

He called it a “claiming.” I thought beforehand that was hyperbole, his male preening and boasting. Then he took me and did me. I then knew what he meant. I was claimed.

The thing I realize about Kevin is how he knows what my body can take. It’s always a bit farther than I would want to go, yet never too far that I can’t take it, nor would ever say no to. He seems to know.

And so I’m a bit of a puddle right now, my time with Kevin being pushed back to the end of the month. I will need to be careful not to drip this into my time with Master McKenna this Saturday. He has a right to have me his way.

So many dominant men, so little time.

return to the bondage room… not

One thing I had not written about regarding my last visit with Kevin was the experience of him taking me in his bondage room.

I didn’t write about it because it didn’t happen, not really.

For those new to me, here’s the background to this: I was once owned by Amanda and Kevin together, slave to them within the same house. After about a year, Amanda moved to Denver and took me with her. As compensation to Kevin, she has allowed him to have me every six weeks or so for his sexual pleasure— but specifically not as his slave.

As slave to Amanda, I am now shared with Kevin as his escort.

Kevin has a bondage room, rather well-equipped — which is also an apt description of Kevin’s house and truck, as well as certain aspects of his physical anatomy. I have written about times when I was still his slave and he took me into the bondage room and “claimed” me in hours of bondages and humiliations, leaving me breathless and dripping and in submissive euphoria.

But after Amanda took me with her to Denver, I visited Keven as his escort-companion, not his slave, according to Amanda’s stipulations. No more bondage room.

However, after a year of visits to Kevin, in January this year, Amanda said to Kevin he could take me in the bondage room for one night each time I came to him. My January visit was to be our first time back in the bondage room since 2019.

He had told me that he would have me in the bondage room my last night there — sort of a climax, so to speak, of the four days.

He also suggested that during that day I go into the bondage room and wipe down the surfaces. I assumed this was because he had used the room with someone else and hadn’t cleaned it later. But instead I found it was dusty. He hadn’t used the room for many months, maybe more than a year since I was still his slave.

Well, I really don’t mean to tease this. He had me standing, shackled to a bar from the ceiling and with a spreader bar attached to my ankle cuffs. We were just starting.

He got a call from one of his employees. It was a dire emergency.

He uncuffed me, explained, apologized, and that was that. He was gone until very late. It was a bizarre and difficult night for him.

The bondage room will happen instead next time I’m with him, at the end of the month.


A personal note: I am feeling much better today after a good night’s sleep. I just needed a day. Thanks to those who expressed their concerns.

This goes back to Thursday morning: Mistress Amanda proudly mounted a dry-erase calendar on the kitchen wall with notations regarding my slated times with Master McKenna and also with Kevin through the next two months.

“You are so booked up with men,” she said with a wicked smile, intentionally exaggerating. I expected her to say something further about my now having “the schedule of a whore” — she was in that kind of mood — but she restrained herself.

I decided to play along. “I wish you wouldn’t have written in ‘sex with Kevin’ for all to see,” I said facetiously.

“I didn’t,” she replied, “but that’s an excellent idea…”

Later when I looked again, “sex with Kevin” had been added in. She’d also written “slut-training with McKenna” — the word “slut” crossed off and the word “slave” added above it.

I poked my head into her office and said, “Very funny.”

She just grinned.

It’s now been determined that I will visit Kevin again at the end of March, the weekend of March 26. This was pushed back from what had been scheduled and becomes a longer stretch between my visits with him than the original concept.

However, this was because of Kevin’s own requests. He has to travel the weekend of March 5-7 for business. The following weekend is the basketball tournament, which he’s submerged in with his guy-friends all weekend.

Apparently between me and basketball, basketball has a higher appeal.

Kevin’s changing plans took some of the sting out of Amanda having to explain Master McKenna in my life now. In fact, she had promised me to Master McKenna next weekend, so when Kevin had to reschedule his time with me then, it solved her problem.

But still she spoke to Kevin about McKenna, explained her intentions for me with him, and she and Kevin discussed it at some length. I don’t know how he responded — Amanda didn’t say.

It’s normal procedure for Kevin to contact Amanda first to coordinate schedules and for her OK for him to have me on certain days. Then he calls me, as he might contact an escort, to request my services. It’s a kind of redundant process, but it formalizes my status with him as an escort and not as a slave.

So he called yesterday, explained what I already had heard from Amanda, and asked if I could come for the weekend of the 26th.

This time I said I would check my calendar, because now I literally could: I looked up at the whiteboard in the kitchen where Amanda had written “sex with Kevin” in pink dry-erase marker.

“Yes,” I told Kevin. “That weekend has your name written all over it.”

shae, tired

I’ve been emotionally down today.

I think it’s just that I’m tired or something. It started last evening. This morning Amanda gave me the “day off,” meaning that I could be excused from her business work and she wouldn’t give me any slave things to do for her.

She didn’t have to say that I am “still her slave” — we both know my slavery is what am not what I do.

Amanda made sure I was fully dressed today, “sweatered-up,” possibly fearing I’m coming down with something because she likes to keep me half naked most of the time. Probably a little late for that, but anyway I don’t think people catch colds from being a little cold sometimes in a drafty house.

And now I’m too hot. My breasts need air.

I’m fine. More mentally and emotionally tired, I think. Not even notable enough to write about, except my posts are so often about my slaveness being used and displayed in various happenings, and perhaps I should report on the down days more. Sometimes the slave life isn’t eventful. Sometimes it can be boring.

And sometimes you just have to take a long nap.

shae, courtesan

I’ve had a different feeling the last few days. I’m not sure I can explain it, and I’m afraid in doing so it will be misunderstood. But I’ll try to anyway.

I have often written about the historical figure of the courtesan in European Renaissance societies. I won’t go into that again — I wrote about it here and here. Simply put, a courtesan was a kind of escort/slave in royal circles, accepted by those societies as having a legitimate functions that included companionship, conversation, creative arts, offering visual entertainment, and providing sexual pleasures.

I have obviously been fascinated by the role of the courtesan, and you might say in more colloquial terms that I have “wanted some day to grow up to be one.”

Well, now I think I “be one.”

I am, of course, Amanda’s sex slave, literally and fully, and also her friend and lover. All of those “relationship roles” were in fact the nature of a Renaissance courtesan in the royal courts long ago.

I am also a “companion” to Kevin, his escort and sexual companion. This is by proxy of my courtesan-ship to Amanda, a lending of me to another. This sort of social and sexual sharing was fashionable in courtesan societies.

I would mention as well our neighbor friends, John and Patricia Miller. Even though I have no submissive relationship with them, they are aware of most all of my slave life, and I am shared with them visually and conversationally. They are in a sense some of the side figures of our “royal court” who witness the life of my slavery.

And now there is Master McKenna. Much remains to be known about him, of course, but it seems I will be something of his surrogate slave-in-training. Again, this is in keeping with a courtesan’s variety of life experiences and uses.

Like courtesans of a previous era, I am now the property of a number of people in different forms and functions.

This is the different feeling I have now. I have stepped into this neo-courtesan life. It’s not a bad feeling. Like I say, I have kind of wanted to grow up to be one. I take a kind of pleasure in the idea of it.

No, it’s not a bad feeling, but it is, for sure, different.

posts about Kevin

A long-time reader and follower, Violette, asked me recently if there was a way of pointing people to my posts that are specifically of me with Kevin. (By the way, Violette is an excellent blogger herself, at DeepViolet, here. )

My blog, I know is a mess, but I found a way of collecting some of my Kevin posts, and I’m listing them below. I think these are roughly in chronological order of when they happened and when I posted them.

For newer readers, I might explain that I once was co-owned by both Amanda and Kevin, both dominants. We all lived together for about a year. The earlier posts reflect my life with him during this time. (I might also mention that Kevin used my middle name, Maura, as a code word…)

Later it was arranged for Amanda to move out and to take me with her to the Denver area. Part of the arrangement involved my visits back to Kevin, now in a different (non-slave) role with him as a kind of companion-escort. I am now a slave to Amanda and a “sex-something” to Kevin. The later posts were written in this newer arrangement/relationship with Kevin.

This is not an exhaustive list. Just posts I could easily locate quickly. There are others of me with Kevin in the blogroll, if anyone wishes to root around in it.

the claiming of shae
at his feet
monday, more practice
coffee is not just coffee
the ways he does me
quite a morning
this morning

Kevin time
how it goes with Kevin

after thoughts

After Master McKenna bid his leave Friday afternoon, Mistress Amanda has allowed me to be alone with my thoughts. She gave me much time over the weekend to write and post. And think.

She knows me well. She knows I have to get my heart around the conversations of that morning. She knows I have to live in what this will be.

There is something about my submissive need in this, how I am made for both male and female dominance. They are each so very different.

Truth is, my exposure to dominant men is limited these days. I am not often in their presence. In this time of COVID, there just aren’t opportunities to be in the same physical space with a dominant man. There is Kevin, of course, but for reasons all her own, Amanda has forbid his domination over me.

Alone with Master McKenna Friday morning, I was suddenly in the focused presence of a strongly dominant man. He spoke about my lower status. He made clear some of his expectations, how he required precise behavior from a slave. He said, “You’ll find I am not a dominant who caters to you. In a way, I don’t care about what you want. When I have you, you will be there to cater to me.” He called me “girl,” in the way a dominant man feels free to be dismissive of a woman who is to be his slave.

In all of it, Master McKenna was touching a part of me that had been sleeping for a long time.

This dom defiance of norms, his strong need to make a girl his slave and keep her in her place, his quiet but imperative assumption of my status — these are what I identify with male dominance. I know female dommes can be like this too, but I have encountered less of that in other women, and of course, I am with Amanda, who has her own style with me.

In my posts I mentioned the thought that Amanda doesn’t have the domme desire to handle me more forcefully than she does, that she keeps me in a kind of “soft” slavery. It occurred to me this is in part why she is setting me up in this with Master McKenna. She knows I need it.

I don’t mean to diminish Amanda’s dominance in any way. She can be tough with me, and she does not hesitate to punish me when I deserve it. However, her punishments are of the psychological kind, and outside of that there is no physical force or what some might call “roughness” in her handling of me. Amanda’s pleasures in owning me are about making me exposed and sexual around her. About playing with my sense of propriety, revealing my body to others, presenting me as a sexual object. About attending to her in intimate ways, woman to woman.

All of that is wonderful. I crave all that too. And she has, in her own special style, made me her slave accordingly. I’m a lucky girl in that.

But there can be a harder edge to a slavery, more forceful, more physical, more visceral — all of which I feel more in the presence of a male dominant. I go back to the early days of my time with Kevin, when he was dominating me. I sometimes wrote about him “manhandling” me. I was never really hurt or scared by it, but I experienced his power and weight and force. There’s perhaps reason the word is “manhandling.”

A case in point is the experience of spanking. It is something I desire (and dread), not as a fetish, but as a real corporal punishment and public humiliation. It’s a complex sexuality in me, for sure. I don’t think I understand it. But there’s something in it I desire.

It requires force, hitting my flesh. Amanda has shied away from doing this. She sometimes uses a flogger on me, but not a whip. And she doesn’t hit me with her hand. A slap across my face is rare. It just isn’t her thing. And that’s fine. It’s actually commendable she doesn’t want to hit me.

But I have this need to feel a male hand.

I wasn’t aware of all these thoughts and feelings until yesterday. While I fell into a good rhythm of q & a with Master McKenna Friday, I concentrated on my answers and his purposes in questioning. It was later that I felt some of this I’m feeling now.

I cannot explain why I respond to this heavier masculine style of dominance. Or what it actually is. Like my submissiveness in general, it defies description.

It is a yearning. It is a desire that is sexual, though not just for sex, but for being made sexual to a man in a certain way. It is a longing to be made to.

I felt this with him and it aroused in me a memory of what male dominance can be.

One aha of Friday was how easily I melted into his male dominance. I don’t mean in any romantic way — I still don’t know the man, and when I do I will be only his slave. I don’t long for anything else. I’m just talking about the unique dominance that a dom male presents. I melted into that because I crave it.

Saturday Amanda mentioned to me that after the interview, Master McKenna had gotten home and immediately called and told her he wanted me.

I had thought that was already decided, but I suppose it makes sense that he would interview me and then later decide whether to “give me the job.” It still may have been a foregone conclusion — just a formality for him to call her, say yes, and trigger the process. Even so, it’s nice to hear that after all of the talk on Friday “he wanted me.”

“He didn’t waste any time to let me know,” Amanda observed.

“And to think I had my clothes on the whole time.”

“A pity,” Amanda said.

So it looks like this thing is going to happen.

Master McKenna 2

I split this into two parts only because of length. Now continuing…

We come back from break, and he starts to explore aspects of my sexuality: “Amanda tells me that you are, more specifically, a sex slave. Do you agree with that?”

I take a moment to collect my thoughts. It seems he is patient enough with me to allow me to think first before answering, but I wonder in my more formal submission to him if he will be as patient. Amanda gives me space for that.

“Yes, I think of slave types as ‘specialties,’ in a way. I think one could work to specialize in one or another thing, although we each have certain affinities, I guess. But I could be another type — being a service slave, for example, would come somewhat natural to me. But at this point in my slave life, I’m a sex slave…”

“What does that mean for you in practice?”

“It means, of course, that I am used for sex by my dominant and sometimes by others. But more often it involves my being sexualized — presented sexually, undressed to one degree or other, perhaps displayed in sexual ways… In general, it all means that my primary purpose is sexual… I accept that.”

“Did you decide you were a sex slave as opposed to other types, or was this Amanda’s decision for you?”

“It honestly wasn’t something we talked about much. It was something that evolved. She started assuming that too. It just has made sense with me. And with her. That’s what I am. Or maybe she knew it all along.”

“You are bisexual, obviously. Is that how you identify? Is it even for you?”


“Attraction to women versus men.”

“Oh, right… Yes, I identify as bisexual. And I am equally attracted, though it’s different for me in the experience. But yes, I have strong attractions to men. Amanda teases me with that. I’m sure that’s partly why she is giving me to you, sir.”

More coffee, more conversation. He asks me about my own services to Amanda, what I like about how she handles me.

I answer, but I fear he is going to go into the BDSM checklist thing of my likes, dislikes, and limits.

He doesn’t. In fact he says the opposite: “You’ll find I am not a dominant who caters to you. In a way, I don’t care about what you want. When I have you, you will be there to cater to me.”

“Yes sir.”

Actually I am relieved. In saying that, he has just started feeling much more dominant to me.

“I will be training you,” he says, “in basic things that I like done in precise ways. We’ll start by how I want you to sit and stand and walk. I’m sure you have gone through that times before. But I have very specific expectations. I demand a certain precision. I will train you in how you appear and behave when you accompany me, wherever that might be. I will train you in how you speak with me and with others.”

I nod.

“Shae, I wish to hear your verbal assent.”

“Of course. Yes sir.”

“You will find I am more formal that what you’re used to. I believe in protocols, how I want you to behave in various social contexts. I will train you in those. I am not one to obsess about classic slave positions — I understand you have some training in that — but I will train you in a few positions that I want you to readily assume in specific ways.”

“Yes sir.”

“I believe a slave exists for service of her dominant. I will shape you into the slave I desire, the girl I allow to be in the same room with me. If nothing else, that itself pleases me greatly.”

“I will do my best to please you.”

“I’m sure you will… When we get past the basics, I’ll get into sexualization and objectification with you. I will enjoy humiliating you. I will use you in sexual ways but in ways that please me and perhaps not always ways that please you. Like I say,, you will find I don’t care much about that.”

“Yes sir.”

It occurs to me for the first time that Amanda is aware her dominance of me is “soft.” Our relationship is slave-mistress, for sure, but also girlfriend-girlfriend and lover-lover. Her dominance of me is influenced by these other relations.

Is giving me to Master McKenna her way of providing a harder dominance of me, something which she does not wish to provide?

We are toward the end of the morning. He asks me if I have questions for him. I have thought I might be asked for such, and I have a lot of questions in my head for him. However, I intentionally focus on just a few — and not questions about how it will work for me but how it can work best for him.

“Thank you sir. I think I just want to ask about how I can best meet your expectations. That’s way general, I know, but I can be more specific.”

He seems to appreciate my intent and jumps in: “I want your complete yielding to me. I know that Amanda is your owner and Mistress. Nothing changes that. But when I have you, I don’t want from you any hesitation or questioning or holding back. I expect your complete devotion and yielding to my will.”

“Yes sir… more specifically, I would ask if satisfying you, meeting your needs, involves bondage or not. Also pain or not. I am asking truly just to know what pleasures you.”

“Very well. Yes, I will enjoy putting you in bondages. I have a room. Pain, yes sometime I enjoy inflicting pain. Not a big thing with me. Amanda has suggested limits for some things, which I will observe, of course.”

“Thank you… Also I am wondering if my slavery to you would involve personal services. Amanda sometimes has me bathe her, do her hair and nails, pamper her in those ways. I don’t know what that would mean to a man, what is comparable.”

“I have ideas for that. Yes.”

“A final question… What was it that your former slave, Shana, did for you that you appreciated the most?”

He pauses. “An excellent question. Let me think about that. I’ll give you an answer before I go today.”

We take another break and then there is another short time of conversation before Amanda joins us again.

He asks about my earlier life and background. I talk about my schooling, writing, and real estate career before entering slave life. He asks about my parents. I don’t share too much about that, but simply report that my dad passed away some time ago and my mom is living in Pennsylvania.

He mentions that he is fifty-five, noting he is almost twice my age. He never asks if that is a problem for me, but I know that is what he is circling. As this comes out right after I’d mentioned my father, I suspect he is also thinking that he is old enough to be my father. But he doesn’t go there.

Even so, I volunteer that in my submissive life everyone I’ve served has been older than me. “I think age, and to some extent the older someone is, conveys to me a greater sense of one’s dominance.”

Which has always been true.

Master McKenna stayed for lunch. I put out some sandwich fixings and chips. I was then dismissed.

They sat in the kitchen and talked some of the logistics and details.

He requests of Amanda a final few minutes with me in the living room.

There he says: “Your question about Shana. What I appreciated about her the most was that she was strong without being defiant. I want a girl who is fully submissive but not fragile.”

“You want to be able to crush me while knowing I will still be resilient.”

He blinks at my response. I surprise myself with how it comes out, so forward like that. But I know when he said that about Shana it is what he meant.

“Exactly.” he said, smiling.

Amanda told me later about the arrangement they’d come to.

Initially, I will be provided to Master McKenna every other Saturday. The first two times, he will come here to the house. Amanda will be around, but not involved. If then it seems to be working out, she will continue this, but then I will be going to his house on those Saturdays. After two or three months, she will reassess.

Amanda had to work out schedules on the calendar with him, specifically accommodating my times with Kevin. That is still a bit of a wrinkle in this, simply because Kevin’s schedule with me seems to vary based on his work.

A day later, I am, of course, processing it all.

Being shared with a dominant stranger like this is not a casual thing, but neither, I see now, is it so big and potentially traumatic as I might have imagined it to be. I find I am more comfortable now in what it is and will be. Amanda wants to give me a new experience. She gets her kicks from seeing my submissiveness in the context of others. It is the next thing for me in her development of me.

Master McKenna, as I feel him, is a strong dominant man. At least with men, I am better in the presence of strong, clear dominance than something softer. (Perhaps with women I am better when it’s more relational.) Master McKenna’s style is formal and exacting, with, it seems, specific expectations — and that I will respond to well. He had moments when he smiled and laughed, so he is not without a lighter side. Perhaps he will enjoy my sense of humor.

In all this, I guess I am relieved. As a dominant man, Master McKenna is appealing in a certain way to my submissiveness. If that weren’t the case, this could be more difficult.

Anyway, that’s how I am feeling today. Tomorrow I may wake up in sheer panic.

Much to think about. I will share more.