Kevin proposal

I had mentioned in a blog post that Kevin had made a call to Amanda. The timing of the call was puzzling to me, but I thought it needn’t be my concern. Amanda didn’t tell me anything about it, which was fine — I put it out of mind.

Last night Amanda told me what it was.

Kevin has proposed to her an adjustment to my visits with him. He is requesting that on an occasional basis, he would like to have me as his slave for an entire visit. Other visits would continue as they have been — Kevin told her he likes my being his escort. But once in a while could he have me to dominate for the full visit of five days?

Amanda hadn’t told me this immediately, because she was mulling it over. She didn’t want to get me all ado over it if she was going to say no.

But last night she told me she was going to tell him yes.

She has yet to figure out frequency and certain limits and a few other details.

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.

return from Kevin’s

I am just back from Kevin’s, tired and filled and, as always, wondering what the hell have I just done?

It is interesting, isn’t it?, that my sense of normal is being a sex slave in a lesbian relationship, and my five days in hetero-equality with Kevin feels novel and strange and scandalous.

Which is not to say I don’t like it.

As always, when I’m with Kevin, I always intend to write more than I actually do. Yes, he is “active” with me every day (and I don’t know why I write that euphemistically) — but there are times when he is at work or with his golf buddies, and so I do have my quiet and some private times for writing and reading.

But for some reason, I cannot focus much on writing blog posts.

Saturday morning Kevin hung out with his buddies at the gold club. Too cold to golf, but they get together anyway over coffee and breakfast. Earlier I already had my breakfast, which is another euphemism that refers to me in the kitchen on my knees between Kevin’s legs. I had ample time after he left and wrote to a new email friend, but much as I tried, I couldn’t put much into words for a post.

I think part of it is that I usually write blog posts after I’ve had time to process events, sometimes two or three days later. When I’m at Kevin’s, I’m there for five days, and it’s as if it all happens at once. I am “in it,” so to speak, all the time I’m with him. I don’t actually process much.

I think another part of it is that when I write about my experiences, usually I am writing from an angle of my own submission and some aspect of how something dominates me. That’s what interests me and motivates me to write. When I’m with Kevin, things are sexual and erotic, for sure — and it’s lovely — but I don’t find it so compelling to write about.

Now, this time, Saturday night, he had me in the bondage room. I will write about that this week, but otherwise I’m not sure the rest of my sexual adventures with Kevin are so interesting.

But perhaps I simply need time to process and get a good night of sleep.

morning musing

I drive back today, in a few hours. Kevin is out early, helping a friend with his truck, but will be back soon. I asked him when I should leave, and he said he “wants some time with me before I go,” but then was cute in trying to tell me he wants to “watch football at a friend’s house at eleven and so….” the implication being that I need to vamoose by then. He’s had me, had me all week, and now he wants his life back. I find that amusing, and understandable.

I think he has been negotiating his relationship with me. Not negotiating with me as much as negotiating with himself, figuring out who he wants to be with me, how he wants to be with me. Last time it was like dating, a kind of woo-and-romance thing. This time it was sex-forward, impulsive and sometimes forceful, sudden and rough-edged.

I imagine it must be something for a man to have a woman like me — which I mean only in the sense of a man having a woman with whom he can do anything he wants. I don’t know, for I do not claim to understand men, but just on the face of it, I would think it is a giddy feeling to have access and permission without responsibility of relationship.

I am free of charge for him, available on demand. He says the word, gives a look, takes my hand, and I am open for him, willing and wet. I am so fucking easy. He has to be thinking that I am some dream girl, not that I am so great in bed, but that I am in his bed as he wishes, when he wishes. All of this without strings or attachments of relationship. That has to be some kind of feeling when it’s real like this.

But it’s a funny thing when a man has you for sex repeatedly over time — relationship happens. The cost of having a girl available is that in being available, she’s around all the time. Kevin and I are living together and, well, sleeping together sometimes. All of that requires understandings and conversations and sensitivities. Which is relationship. Maybe that’s what Kevin is working out now. What this weird, damn thing is.

I kind of think when Kevin had me at the start of this arrangement he thought of me as a commodity, as a sexual service, as what an escort offers. And that was fine with me, what I had expected too. In the end, it might be best like that. But the third and fourth time doing this with me, perhaps he is realizing there is a relationship of necessity. Maybe he is trying to figure out what this is — what he is with me.

I am very fine with however he wants it to be, and it is not an offense to me when he circles around cutely with words to tell me that he would rather watch football than have another hour with me. I am not his wife or his girlfriend. He has no responsibility to me that way. He has his life.

I don’t think he knows how much I already understand and accept this. As his escort (and submissive that I am), I just need him to tell me what he wants to do, with or without me.

I am always better when I follow orders.

in good standing

He is impulsive but not wild, urgent but not violent.

In the midst of our conversation, he suddenly stands, holds out his hand, and says, “Come here.”

He leads me to the living room wall and pushes me against it, face forward. He tells me to spread my legs, and I obey.

I hear him unbuckle his pants. They slide from his hips and I hear the belt buckle clink when it hits the ground.

He lifts my chemise from behind, and I feel him against my thighs and then my ass cheeks, until he guides his cock and finds my opening. He pushes himself into my pussy. I breathe deeply from his fullness inside me.

He slides his feet behind mine, his legs aligning against mine, his torso leaning into mine. He pins me to the wall, his weight pressing me there, flattening my breasts into fat disks against the wallboard.

This is the closest he has come to force and bondage. He would dearly love to take me in the bondage room, but Amanda has forbidden it. He can have me but not as his submissive, not as his slave. Instead he pins me against the wall with his body. It is a different form of capture.

His urgency is exciting to me. I like being pinned, and truth be told, I would love for him to drag me into the bondage room and humiliate me there like he once used to. This here is not enough, but it’s what he can do, and I give myself to it, and to him, and to his heavy body pressing the breath out of me.

He swings his hips and pumps me from behind. It is raw and rutting, a primal fucking.

And quick. In a few minutes he tenses and pushes his length deep inside me. He groans, releases, comes.

Between heavy breaths, he kisses the back of my head. He steps away and I hear him pulling up his pants and buckling them again. He returns to his chair.

I remain against the wall, catching my breath and my composure. I turn and walk to his chair. I touch his shoulder and ask if he wants something to drink. A beer.

I go to the kitchen to fetch it and feel his slick semen between my upper thighs.

I bring him his beer and return to my chair. In time we start talking again.

kept

After my last visit with Kevin, I had returned to Amanda saying that next time I needed to bring more lingerie to wear with him.

He likes me in chemises and the occasional babydoll, elegant styles not see-through, fabrics that drape and shape my curves. Last time he had said something about this. I realized he prefers seeing me in lingerie during the day not just at night.

With him, I needed to think of lingerie as my “always” wardrobe.

I mentioned this to Amanda, and in her newly assumed role as my pimp, last week she took me shopping. I came here to Kevin’s with a lingerie outfit for each day of this week.

He has worked mornings this week, coming home early afternoons to find me in lingerie and heels. “Always ready to be taken to bed,” he says, “even in the middle of the day.”


Each new time with Kevin is a little different. The character of his sexual need, I am finding, changes with each visit. Last time it was like an extended date, with him taking me out on excursions, even a picnic lunch one time. It was a slow woo.

This time we have not had day trips and, with the exception of the Labor Day party, he has kept me in the house. Whereas last visit he was slow and gentle, this time he has been impulsive and urgent. Perhaps he feels because he has me fewer days this time, he has to get his shots in, so to speak. Which is fine. I am to be what he wishes.


I have wondered about paid companions and how their relationship with a regular client changes and evolves over multiple times. What is the relationship she has with him?

I don’t presume she actually loves him, but are they like friends, friends with benefits? When he calls and says he’s going on a ten-day trip and he would like her with him, is she excited to be with him again or does she feel apathetic about him, perhaps enjoying the travel but not so much the man? Does she feel that ten days with a man she doesn’t care about is way too long?

Is she like I am with Kevin? That is, not “in love” but loving, comfortable in his company, and feeling safe with him? Does she also long, as I do for sex with a man? Does she dream about a man’s cock?

Or is that just me.


I confess I like being “kept” — by Kevin in this arrangement and also by Amanda in my slavery to her. It is the submissive nature to want to be kept.

I think in another life I could do this kind of work, being an escort or companion. What I could not do, I don’t think, is the random sexual business of a prostitute, because it is so un-relational, at least as I imagine it.

But being an escort or companion with regular clients, men you get to know and maybe like, that seems like something I could do.

Mostly I think I just like being kept.

used

It is not a great difference — my being an escort or my being a slave. In both I submit, albeit in different ways. In both I am objectified, reduced to my physical attributes. In both I am used.

I have long thought that the most important “skill” of a slave is to find personal value in being used. As a slave, I am good at this. In being an escort of sorts, I am still learning, though much seems to be a transferable skill.

Kevin’s sexual need is immense, and my value is to be a container for it. I am a bucket, not just for his sexual liquid, though certainly that as well, but also for his manhood. It is as if he empties his man-stuff into me and that provides him capacity for more of it to fill him again. Where testosterone and manhood and male ego all come from is a mystery to me, but they come from somewhere, and they reload him with fresh juice.

I really believe I have value in being this container for him, as ignoble as that sounds. I find satisfaction and purpose in receiving Kevin’s manhood in all its forms, willingly allowing him to fill and coat me with himself. I find there is an art in doing so without creating emotional complication or relational obligation.

But this doesn’t mean I do so without feeling. Kevin wants to know I thrill to him, that after he has pounded and emptied himself into me, I feel his use of me. He wants to know I experience him deeply.

Again, some of this is just the natural attribute of being submissive. But some is also learned. Frankly it is hard, when a man is inside me, for me not to love him a little in that moment. What that is, I don’t know — perhaps the love of being used.

What I have had to learn is to understand that “love” for what it is, know what it isn’t, and to let it not become a complication or obligation for Kevin.

morning

This morning he has me straddling his lap while he is sitting in the breakfast nook.

I wear a short satin robe, but barely, as Kevin has already loosened the sash and opened it so he can play with my breasts. He has big hands, but not large enough to encircle them. I like the idea I am too much for him, even as I know it’s not true. He lays out his flat palm under them, lifting up and letting them fall and bounce.

I am his toy doll, only life-sized and made of flesh not latex. Barbie’s third cousin perhaps, the dark and sinful one with red hair and flashing eyes, the one pulled from the assembly line because she wasn’t perfect, exceeding the variances, too anatomically explicit, suggesting thirst and desire too scandalous for a normal doll.

My arms rest on his shoulders and my hands stretch behind his neck. I look into his eyes as he plays with me. He kisses me, savoring my lips, my taste, my presence in his life. Kevin is a smart man. He knows the unusualness of these moments, this time with me. A man does not get this, not like this, in a lifetime. I am his dream, not because I am a perfect Barbie, but because I am not. Because I exceed variances. Because by this strange confluence of events, I am available to him, completely, without complication.

I like that I am this for him. Later I will sort out my feelings about love-making without love, or how being passionately fucked makes me adore him, or why being played with like a toy feels so insanely lovely. In another time I will long for him and wonder if, as I drive away, he gives me another thought.

But not now. I will gladly open myself up to these luscious moments with him.

He cups my right breast from the front, like he his gripping one of those massive doorknobs in the center of the door to an English mansion.

And soon he will enter my rooms.

Kevin time

Sunday I will drive to Kevin’s place for a long-delayed visit.

Though it’s been a while, I think my relationship with Kevin found its comfort level before the pandemic kept us apart. As I go to be with him again, I am looking forward to it, not anxious. That’s because I know Kevin and he knows me and because I have a clear sexual role with him. We know where the relationship cannot go and where it must go, and in our times in January and February we got to a point of navigating that.

A key to it, I have found, is to realize he doesn’t want me 24/7. I respect that he does not want the responsibility of entertaining me, or occupying my time, or even paying attention to me. No matter — it’s my nature to be self-occupied. I have an inner life. I read. I write. I think. So I am not a woman who needs his time and focus. And he much appreciates that. There’s no obligation he has toward me, no requirement of him to attend to me. And I try not to impose on him in the house and the shared living space.

Even so, there are things he does do with me — besides sex, that is. He will take me out to dinner — usually with friends of his. Sometimes to a country music bar, which is interesting. The hot springs. He takes me to his workplace sometimes. By now, his people know what I am to him, which comes with a range of judgments, but that’s OK.

Of course, I need to be available to him for sex when he does want me. It has been nice that a lot of the times Kevin has liked making out, as on the couch in the living room or in his study or even in his truck. Touching and kissing and fondling, all like real foreplay (oh my!) leading into the sex du jour, whatever he wants. Afterward, he stays awhile, as he might with an escort — he’s actually a gentleman — but maybe that’s the one point of obligation he does shoulder, those moments with me coming down from coming, so to speak. Soon, we go back to our separate corners. Until the next time. Which is fairly frequent. Let’s just say Kevin recycles quickly.

He has done well to keep from falling back into his dom treatment of me, treating me as his slave. And that goes for me too. It’s hard for me not to be submissive — in general, in all of life, much less to a man who used to have intense bondage sex with me. So if he went there, I would follow him in little submissive steps. But he’s been great not going there.

The one thing, though, that he trotted out again was using my middle name “Maura,” which was a code word he had for me before, when he was my dom. You can read about that here and in some other posts of mine around that time. He spoke the word “Maura,” and I gave him a look as in you’re not supposed to do this, but I smiled, dropped to my knees, and opened my mouth. Just like old times.

When this was being set up last fall, I thought it was mostly an accommodation between Amanda and Kevin, visitation rights as part of the settlement, so to speak. It is that, all of that, but I wonder if Amanda didn’t know even then that Kevin would be good for me. She knows I need a man sometimes.

Of course, it’s a fine gig for Kevin too. Back in February I asked him, “Do you realize how good this is for you? You have me like this, no strings.” He was driving his Ford truck, and he got a big grin on his face. “Yup,” he said, “I sure do.”

Kevin

It’s been decided that I will be going to visit Kevin again within the next few weeks.

Since I was last with him in February, he has been in touch with Amanda regularly and has called me about once a month. This is our established routine in normal times — to check in with Amanda regarding my schedule, then call me to arrange my presence and visit. During COVID, Kevin has faithfully continued these check-ins and calls, even though he knows I have not been able to travel to him because of state restrictions.

He talked with me late last week and requested me.

In fact, I am happy for this. I have missed him, being with him. Ours is an unusual relationship, no longer dom-sub, not traditionally romantic, yet personal and sensual. Of late, even given absence and distance, I have felt wed to him in a certain way, not in a matrimonial sense, but otherwise. I feel like I am a woman meant to be had by him. Which has given me a kind of longing.

I don’t presume to think he feels any of this toward me. I am his escort-companion, and his desire for me is more objectified and raw and sexual. That’s OK. It still is personal in its own Kevin way. I am one of his.

Back in January Kevin shared with me about other women in his life. I always knew he had his “others,” but I didn’t know about them so specifically. When I was told of them by him, I didn’t act jealous (I have no reason to be that way), but rather responded from the assumption that he deserved to have women in his life, deserved to be fulfilled sexually. I was content to be one of them.

After that, it was like he saw me differently. I was still his escort-companion that he would pleasure in, but he relaxed with me. It became more casual, less guarded. It meant there wasn’t this black hole of personal reality he’d had that we couldn’t talk about. It was a trust. That made our conversations easy and better. That was then. I hope we can pick up where we left off.

I think a trip for me to Kevin would be good for Amanda. She may need a break from me. Although if COVID time has revealed anything it’s that we are famously compatible and get along well in the closest, rarest conditions. Still, maybe this is good for her.

I must confess it has been a long time for me — that is, since a man has had me. I don’t mean that just sexually, but, yes, sexually too. I miss how a man handles me, both physically and emotionally. Amanda knows this. In that, in his style and manner with me, emotionally a man gets inside me. And then he gets inside me. This is what I miss deeply and crave. To make a point, this is what happened — or didn’t happen — with Blake.

When I talked with Kevin last week, I asked about one of his woman friends by name, as I knew he had, before COVID, been seeing more of her. But no, she had traveled to her home, to her parents, and sort of got stuck there because of state shelter-at-home and her mother’s health. And so, Kevin has not been with a woman for a long time, it seems.

We haven’t decided yet which week it will be. I will drive there, not fly.