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.

life changes

It’s a strange moment we’re in.

Amanda has decided to extend our office moratorium through the end of next week. Meetings by teleconference only. That’s not great for recruiting, but will have to suffice for the time being.

She’s also decided not to have other people in the house, even friends.

And she wants me to be fully clothed during this time, to keep me from catching a chill and compromising my immune system.

“Does that mean,” I ask, “I get to wear a bra and panties again?” As I say it, I know I am a little too eager in my tone.

“No. We’re not going that far.”

So we’re changing some things, but not bounce and sway.

Amanda didn’t specify this, but I guess boot-licking is also banned. The literal kind. The metaphorical kind in which I am her gofer and helper and chief boot-licker will continue as per usual.

In regard to the literal, I prefer licking other things anyway.

This next Wednesday was supposed to be the time for me to go to Kevin’s. He himself called and asked that we reschedule later. He’s in the throes of managing his construction company through this virus scare, keeping as much going as possible while yet sending “non-essential” people back home. He’s having to work sixteen-hour days.

“I have ways of relaxing you,” I say to him on the phone. I’m still working on my escort voice with him. “I could help you fall asleep, and maybe I would come into your dreams.”

“You always come in my dreams,” he says.

Nice line from the man who doesn’t talk much. Nonetheless, I won’t be going to Kevin’s for a while.

Amanda still wants to go shopping today. She’s checking now to see what stores are open, if anything other than grocery stores.

For Amanda, shopping trumps everything, even a virus.

Kevin time

I have been at Kevin’s this weekend. This will be a shorter stay, due to Kevin’s own work circumstances, so I’ll be going back to Amanda tomorrow afternoon.

This time life with him hasn’t been so urgent. My first week with him in this new role as escort companion was busy, so to speak. It was as if he had to get his money’s worth for the time I was there. He got his fill of me by filling me with himself. Literally. But it was social too — we had several outings with friends of his, which perhaps was about him showing me off, which is nice but tiring.

None of that is a criticism, just a true observation. In fact, on my first night with him that first week, he took me out on a date, and he was charming and lovely. He wanted to reset “us” in this new reality, and he did. But it was quite a week.

This time is more relaxed and less driven. I think Kevin is realizing he’s not paying for me by the hour and that he will have ample access to me through the year ahead. He’s got plenty of time to have me as he wishes. Maybe I have helped relax him about me as I have settled into his arms in a new way. Truth be told, I like him.

I find that travel brings out in me a measure of life reflection. This is true for me especially on plane trips, as if the literal act of rising above the clouds prompts a view of one’s life from a higher perspective. But it also happens when I have a long drive in a car.

Thursday afternoon behind the wheel coming here, my thoughts and inner dialogue (sometimes said aloud in the car) navigated my sexual tale of two cities.

After an hour, I spoke a self-affirmation: I am a woman who is highly sexual and I don’t need to apologize for it.

After another hour, I acknowledged, out loud to my empty car, that my life has resolved itself into two sexual lifestyles — slavery and escorting. I proceeded to explain to myself why that is, why I have landed here, why it is OK.

Which precisely is apologizing for it.

My coming out to my mother in the fall seemed to quiet my need to apologize for my submissive life in slavery. If she could accept me in that, then I didn’t feel I need to explain my sub life to anyone. Of course, a lot of that had to do with Amanda’s mom-wooing skills, but even so, my mother’s acceptance changed my apologetic.

Around the same time, of course, I became an escort to Kevin. Which is another thing entirely. So here we go again.

This is a new inner argument.

I tell myself I’m not an escort really. I just play one on TV. The TV of Kevin’s mind.

I remind myself I am not doing this for money. I am doing this out of my obedience to another as her slave. In my former Baptist morality, this would have been an interesting discussion question in Sunday school: Which is worse? To have sex with a man for money or to have sex with a man because you’re obedient to your lesbian lover?

In my current “Shae” morality, sex is good, important, and why it happens might not matter. Yet, some part of me feels wrong about the money part of this, even though I don’t get money from it. Again, I personally am not paid, but I am paid for in some arrangement between Kevin and Amanda. Still, I feel like I’m paid for this, for sex with Kevin, and that I am nothing other than, in fact, an escort.

The other night Kevin took me to a bar to meet two of his friends from a previous era — Jason and Owen. I had not met them before, as Jason just moved here and Owen has returned home from military service. As Kevin introduced them to me, I was called Kevin’s “companion.” It was obvious what they took that to mean. They were polite and we had pleasant conversation, but I was categorized by them. They learned I live in Denver and come to visit Kevin about once a month. When we were leaving, as Kevin was getting my coat, Owen slipped me his business card and said to call him, that he wanted to “use my services.”

I wanted to have the conversation with Owen that “oh no, you misunderstand… I’m not actually in the business, and in fact I am not paid directly… see, the payment is arranged through another person… not really cash, you see… it’s a different thing… let me explain further…” Once you play that out in your head, you realize it sounds pretty lame and there’s no way of changing minds. At the end of the evening, the see you taking Kevin’s arm, and everyone knows he’ll bed you later, and so you, in any practical definition, are his escort.

I think it best that I learn to accept myself this way, rather than try to develop a clever apologetic for it..

Many escorts, of course, charge by the hour or by the specific sexual service. I don’t know how a woman does that. They have to, I guess, driven by financial need. But I know also there are escorts who charge by the event or the evening, or even for a weekend or week or month, not measuring hourly time or offering a sexual menu, but providing themselves for a while to a man, an experience, whatever that turns out to be. For them, I wonder how many are regular clients, men who are repeat business.

Maybe that’s me and I have just one client.

The conflict, though, is in my mind and my sense of who I am. It isn’t with Kevin. Whatever the circumstances, he has been good with me, and I respond to him, and not really just because I have to.

Tonight he will want me and reach for my hand. He will draw me into him, and my hands will slide along his chest to his shoulders. And he will kiss me, a real kiss, full, soft. And then he will take me.

He is a man of significant sexual need.

I am a woman who is highly sexual and I don’t need to apologize for it.

thoughts at 30,000 feet

Sitting on the plane on my way to Kevin’s. Window seat, a pretty day for thoughts.
Imagining, to the thrum of engines, the week about to unfold.

I am going to him now as his call girl. Paid companion. I’m not troubled about being thought of as being paid for sex. It’s a short distance to that from what I used to be for him as a slave. I don’t get the money anyway. I don‘t know how social he will have me be, whether in the company of others I will face some stigma in people’s judging eyes, but again as a slave I’ve been “prosecuted” before in public opinion and can handle humiliation. Those are the possible negatives.

In fact, there are things I like about this. I rather like the difference and variety this new identity provides to my already unusual life. There is a “sexual healing” aspect to this, as there is in my slavery, that I embrace — the sense that I am providing someone an aspect of “life therapy” through their sexual release in me.

I’m not nervous about going back to him — in fact, I’m eager to be with him again in this different way — but I am ever wondering if and how this new relationship will find its comfortable place of being.

Usual suspects: My concerns are as they have been — will Kevin adjust in some way to this new reality with me? I can embrace being his personal escort, but can he? Will Kevin be conversational and personal with me? Or will he default to making me his slave? Will his sex with me be anything other than what he’s done with me before — bondage room sex?

I’ve been a little dizzy about this for four months, and now I’m about to discover how it will play out.

As for me, I know I also need to break out of my own patterns of submission with him. Every bone in my body is wired for submission and slavery. My natural instinct is to defer, obey, follow, kneel, passively submit. While being Kevin’s escort will involve fulfilling his “client” wishes, which is maybe a submission of a sort, it’s quite different. I can’t just sit back as usual and wait for him to give me orders. I can’t let myself settle into the same slave-master relationship we had before. I need to assert myself as an independent woman and navigate the special role that being a paid companion must be. I need to take responsibility for my half of this new relationship.

“Eager to see him.” If I am perfectly honest, I have been thinking about sex with him. I want it. I would too easily default to a time in the bondage room with Kevin and his forceful, masterful impalings of me that leave me dizzy and gasping. I may need to let go of that. Damn. But maybe it’s just that he and I haven’t found the alternative, haven’t discovered really what making love is.

The plane ride has been bumpy. Flight over the mountains. But the pilots have found some air space for a smoother ride. I will lean my head against the window, feeling the steady thrum of the engines. I’ll doze off now.

adventure happens

It has been a mostly good and positive week with Kevin.

While it wasn’t always smooth, mostly we blended into a relationship of some definition and understanding. I am indeed his “companion,” in the fullness of what that means — he showed me off to friends, at dinner once and an after-work happy hour another time. He has also made me “his” sexually, always the plan, whether you call me an escort or call girl or something else more graphic. I think I can handle being known that way, at least with Kevin, being that we’ve had a relationship already and given the nature of this arrangement. I’m not sure how I would feel if I were made an escort companion to other men and women, or if that’s what Amanda intends.

I go back this afternoon, and it will be good to be with Amanda once again. That’s not to say this has been unpleasant. Again, with a few ups and downs, this has been good with Kevin. Actually quite lovely.

It happens that this is an anniversary of sorts for me. Four years ago I entered into full-time slavery. In a way. In fact, my November through January period four years ago was dotted with a number of decisions and events, so I may rightfully claim a number of anniversaries of one kind or another in a period of weeks.

But it was four years ago today that I said yes to entering a 24/7 slavery to Master Michael. (I think one of my writing projects will be to detail the process I went through in those three months. A lot happened quickly, but I was ready for it, and I’ve never looked back.)

It’s interesting that I am now slave to a woman and companion to a man, in a life I never imagined when I started on my submissive journey. I don’t know what to make of that. Maybe some significance of this anniversary timing will become apparent to me. But I don’t know.

One thing does come to mind. Something I was told four years ago by a good friend: “When you open yourself up to adventure, adventure happens.”

learning kevin

I’ve known Kevin mostly in the biblical sense, as they say, and not much in any other way. Whereas Amanda had designs on me from the beginning that have gone beyond slavery and sex, Kevin always has related to me only through, literally, physical connection — his cock inside me. As a result, I know his sexual cycles and responses and throbs better than anyone on the planet, but I don’t really have much of a clue who this man is.

Slave sex is different (at least as Kevin conducts it) in that it is not the intimacy of a bed and pillow talk. I don’t imagine he is much for that anyway, but it is a way that a woman learns about a man, in the quiet after-entanglement of bodies under sheets, and things said, things shared, things confessed. I have not had that with him.

Which is not meant as a regret. He has always used me as his sex slave, and to an extreme submissive like me that is a beautiful thing. It’s the life I’ve given myself to have with him or with others who dom me. And he has made the most of that, taking me, claiming my body. It’s been utterly satisfying in its very carnality and humiliation.

But it doesn’t provide a girl a knowledge of who the man is.

I’m not quite sure what I’m writing about here, and maybe I’m rambling, but I’ve been trying to capture for my own understanding who Kevin actually is. My attempts at “writing him” haven’t gone well so far. As I’ve said before, the man of few words is hard to describe in words. This is another attempt, I guess. I also think this is about my new relationship with Kevin that is to be as his “companion” when I still don’t really know him. No complaints, but normal people go on a first date before having eight months of sex.

Well, I will contradict myself: I do think that D/s sex has revealed a few things about Kevin. There is something in the way Kevin handles me. His hands on my hips, he could throw me across a room, his power latent and coiled within him, but he doesn’t, though still maneuvering me into positions he wants with forceful strength. To a sub like me, it is the best kind of manhandling: he roughs me yet protects me. It’s as though I am a piece of construction lumber, a redheaded hardwood, cherry, for fit and finish, which he pounds into place, yet carefully so as not to gouge or mar. It’s not tenderness — I would never use that word to describe him — but it’s an understanding he has about the properties and uses of the materials — wood or flesh — he has before him.

This matters only in the sense that I feel safe with him even as he puts me, literally, into place. He could hurt me, but doesn’t. Never has. And this feeling of safety carries over from the bondage room into the living room. We are not yet comfortable about we who we are to each other in the living room, but there too I feel safe in his presence.

His dominance is deeper than he lets on. I just sense he has caverns within him of dominant desires that are unexplored or otherwise held in check. I also think he does not see me as the one to fulfill those desires. I am to him (I believe) a kind of “maintenance slave,” a submissive he uses to attend to his daily needs. Those needs are dominant more than sexual. Dominance is experienced by him most effectively through his use of me for sex. When he has me give him a blowjob, his satisfaction is mostly in the visual of me on my knees before him, obeying and being his sexual pleasure.

I accept this subjugation and sexual objectification, and Kevin values that I give myself to it. I can sense his appreciation for my submission. This is another subject to write about, but I think in good D/s there is a kind of respect a dominant has for the very submissive he his degrading. My only point here is that this is to me a notable trait of Kevin. His may still be an appreciation of me as a good piece of lumber to be worked with, but it’s nonetheless a positive attribute in him.

I do have some other experiences of who Kevin is. On a few occasions he’s taken me to his work. I don’t think he’s done so as a means for me to know him, but these times have helped that way. A former construction worker, Kevin formed his own successful business and these days manages a lot of people. He is an important person in his industry, but he started out in the jobs his people are currently doing. I’ve seen how they respect him for that.

I have observed him at home in the evenings. From that it’s clear Kevin is a rather extreme introvert. His work days, so filled with people, exhaust him. He comes home mentally tired. He may be somewhat trapped in a life of his own making. Since his former physical work in construction has become desk work in the executive suite, he has a pent-up need to expend physical effort when he gets home. So in the evenings he doesn’t want to talk. He longs to disengage his mind and work with his hands. I know that “work with his hands” means two things to him — his truck and me. He escapes under the body of his Ford and inside the body of his Shae.

In my new reality in Kevin’s life — companion aka escort aka pretty woman — I might hope to “learn Kevin” more than I know him now. I guess I want to know more of who he is because I want to be something to him. That isn’t a romantic urge. As a submissive, my nature is to serve. I am just hoping maybe I can serve a “higher” level of Kevin in some way.

Now Amanda will scoff at me writing that. And she is right, I need men — she would correct even that, saying I need sex with men — and so I will be that for Kevin. I have no illusion that this arrangement is mostly about fulfilling Kevin’s sexual needs and my need for sex with men as well. (So, Amanda, is that better?)

To be clear: I will gladly share Kevin with his Ford 350. But I would still like to “learn Kevin.” And perhaps be something more to him than a nice piece of cherry.

pretty woman

In the noise and fury of the move to Denver, there has been in the background a low hum of conversation between Amanda and Kevin, occasionally including me, about my new place in Kevin’s life.

To explain it to those who have trouble keeping up with our little soap opera, I was previously owned by both Kevin and Amanda, slave to them both. In September Amanda bought me out from Kevin, so to speak, and I have now moved to Denver with Amanda. However, the two of them agreed to an arrangement in which I would travel back to Kevin once a month for about five days each time.

The question at hand is what is my place in Kevin’s life now? I am not to be his slave, but I am given to him by Amanda for his sexual pleasure. I will submit to him sexually, but, outside the bondage room, I am not to have a submissive role with him, so what am I to be to him in the living room?

As it turned out, this wasn’t just my concern. It became something they came to address between them in a number of discussions.

There were thoughts about whether I am to be his housekeeper or cook or maid or laundress or barmaid or some other functionary of practical service. There was talk of Kevin’s time in the evenings, relaxing, listening to music, watching TV, garage time, and what he wants me to be and do in those contexts. Also, he expressed his wish that there be an expanded social life for me with him, not as a romantic date, but as someone whom he takes out with certain groups of friends, whether dinners or parties or even his sacred golf outings. How does he present me, introduce me, to others?

So this has been the conversation, and the problem. Alternative relationships can be extraordinary in ways, but they are really complicated.

(I wish to say that in the course of things, I have had a few lovely and meaningful conversations with Kevin one-on-one. I have tried to write those, report and post here, but I’ve not been happy with how my words express Kevin, his personality, and how he comes across through my writing. A man of few words, he is hard to put into words. And I don’t feel right about posting something that doesn’t do justice to who he is. But I’ll keep trying…)

I, for one, actually enjoy servitude — that is, the work of serving and cleaning and functioning in practical ways to keep a house. I actually like scrubbing floors, and Kevin likes watching me, so you’d think that’s a marriage made in heaven. In these conversations, I have offered to be his laundress or maid or house cleaner. However, I have removed my name from consideration for the position of cook, because it would likely result in a culinary homicide: Kevin would wind up on the floor in the kitchen, the weapon would be a turkey leg, and the suspect wouldn’t be Colonel Mustard but me as Miss Scarlet, wearing an apron. And that, for sure, would be a whole different soap opera.

Ultimately it was figured out that the serving roles were not appropriate for me now. They just placed me right back in the context of sub-slavery, and they were hard to jibe with what will be the social and sexual life with Kevin.

So Amanda and Kevin listed a number of other designations: acquaintance, friend, woman friend, girlfriend, companion.

“Acquaintance” was too distant a relationship. “Friend” was too platonic. Amanda would not allow him to call me his “girlfriend,” though he likely wouldn’t go there anyway.

This was all so strange. For me, the wordsmith, this should be fascinating. But it’s more than words. We’re coming up with a label that is to describe a relationship for me with Kevin that is to be created. And there is such irony in decidedly not being called “girlfriend” of a man who will be fucking me till kingdom come.

It was finally decided that I am to be considered Kevin’s “companion.” That seemed to them a designation appropriate to my new place in his life and could work for Kevin socially. So it shall be.

To me, “companion” sounds like one of two things: a female character from Victorian literature or Julia Roberts as the escort companion to Richard Gere.

I’m guessing most people will see me as the latter, though I am no Julia Roberts.

random acts of mindfulness

I’m up way early this Saturday morning. Can’t sleep.

Amanda and I celebrated the news last night. She brought home champagne, and later took me into her bed. I am fizzy, from both.

Also, there are too many things rolling around in my head, including stuff I’m realizing I should share with you, watchers and followers and friends. So here, rather randomly, I will unburden my mind of random stuff to you. Maybe it’ll become my own special dose of melatonin.

Another time I will find a way of describing the new house in some way that isn’t dreadfully boring. It’s exciting to us, of course, but I know it isn’t to others to hear about the rooms and spaces.

But in a way the house speaks to how my slavery to Amanda will be executed in the future. It was her primary desire to find a property that provided her outdoor spaces that were private, semi-private, and public. All three. This for the purpose of her uses of me.

This house is smallish compared to what we’re in now. But it’s got a lot of land around it, and extends back into a wooded area. There are neighbors within sight, but not real close. There’s a public road in front, though it’s a rural road, traveled more by locals.

Amanda saw all this and envisioned walking me on a leash to the back (private) and through the side acres (semi-public), and on the road in front (public).

Amanda has assured me that in our new life our relationship won’t change, but my slavery will be somewhat different. Specifically, she says, we will be socializing more with others in the lifestyle.

I don’t yet know what this means.

She is also not yet sure about how she’ll use me in the work of the new office. She is considering employing me formally, probably as a temp. I am grateful to hear her say she needs me in this endeavor. But she says she’s also thinking of how to do that in a way that maintains my submission to her 24/7.

More to come.

Some of you have emailed me and mentioned how you enjoy reading my posts while imagining me, visually, physically, in whatever I am wearing or not wearing. This has probably been more true during this summer season of my toplessness. In part it’s why I describe myself as I do — so others can “see.”

I’m sorry to have to tell you that that season of going without on top has come to an end. I could not tell you and have you still imagine me so, but that wouldn’t be true.

For Amanda, it wasn’t practical on our trip to Denver, of course, and since returning, she has laid out complete outfits for me each morning, including both a skirt and top. She has said that because it’s getting cooler here in the evenings, and as we get into fall and winter, keeping me bare-breasted will not be healthy for me. And given the move now and the craziness of our schedule these next few months, she says it would be hard for her to maintain this practice with me.

I don’t know how I feel about this. Being kept topless has been a subtle kind of domination of me, which I have liked, despite my sometime self-consciousness. It has aroused me in its daily drip of sexualization. It has been a measured humiliation when, occasionally, there are people appearances at the front door or in the yard or on the patio — random acts of discovery — and I am seen and ogled. As I’ve said before, I am not an exhibitionist, but these exposures are quietly exciting to me, even as I blush and feel the urge to cover up.

So, in a strange way, I will miss my daily experience of it. Amanda will still find her times, as she not only likes to spontaneously make me undress but likes seeing my body. In fact I am still topless when I wear the waist trainer. Amanda wants to see me in it, so for her anyway, I wear it with no top over it. And since it’s an underbust corset, my boobs are bare. And this is slavery, of course, in which nakedness happens.

But the days of me bouncing around the house and patio are gone for now. Maybe until next summer.

Amanda and Kevin have come to an understanding about my times returning to the house here — that is, to be provided to him.

I’ve written about this before, but my new reality is that I am owned my Mistress Amanda, no longer by both of them. Now she is providing me to him on some (maybe financial) basis for the next year.

Originally, he wanted me twice a month, every other weekend, coming in on a Friday evening and leaving Monday morning. Amanda said no to that —too much travel for me. She then apparently pushed the idea of one visit every two months, but for a longer stay — seven days including a weekend. But Kevin would have work on four of those days.

So it was decided I will be coming to Kevin once a month, arriving on a Thursday night, returning on a Monday morning.

This will officially start in January. Until then, both Amanda and I will be back and forth quite frequently.

I’ve learned also there are some rules Amanda has insisted on: among them, that Kevin is not to share me with anyone else — at least not without specific permission from Amanda.

In all this, I feel a bit like an escort, with a client (Kevin) negotiating a schedule with my agency (Amanda). Perhaps, although I don’t really know how an escort feels. It doesn’t feel bad to me, as such, just different. And this is part of my evolving relationship with Kevin — to him I am a “woman for sex” not a slave owned.

I keep forgetting to mention that in all of these changes, and through the move, and on into this new life, Amanda wants me to continue writing and posting about my life on here. To her, this is part of my public presentation and exposure as her slave, part of her ultimate vision for me.

I imagine we will on certain days and in certain weeks get so busy I may not be able to write as often, but I will write nonetheless. I’ll still be here.