program note: new Q and A

It has been suggested that I do another Q&A post.

I haven’t done one for a long time, perhaps because my life these days feels relatively uneventful. Even so, I agree it’s high time for me to answer questions again.

I have some new followers, and I know even long-time readers haven’t had time to go back into my posts. While I may have answered something in a previous post, that was likely many months ago and long forgotten.

Given that, let’s open this up to anything, on any subject pertaining to my life, sexuality, D/s experiences, my thoughts and feelings on being a sex slave, writing.

I’ll consider every question fresh and new. So, don’t be shy to ask me something.

Comment below, or else email me at

Master M: 4

His sex with me this week has been somewhat less frequent than usual, perhaps because he will have me again in four weeks — and in between for a month of Mondays. Maybe he doesn’t feel he has to extract from me every possible pound of flesh, so to speak. Not to say that his uses of me haven’t been plenty, just that it’s not been so “morning, noon, and night” as before.

One new thing: Master M has had the half-moon bed raised a few inches. This is to match his height to my sex when I am lying down. He likes my body “doubled over” — me on my back while my legs are chained to the wall behind my head — and the higher elevation facilitates his use of me in that position.

Thursday night, for example, he told me to prepare myself “in the half moon” while he finished some work. I assumed that position, latching my ankles to the rings in the wall. He took his time, whether circumstantial or intentional. I find that a lot of my experience is in waiting for him, and in this case waiting while exposed in the worst possible way for the longest time. I started having those “how did I get here” thoughts.

He eventually appeared in the doorway, gazing at my spread pussy. “It’s not my best look,” I said to him. He grunted a laugh, and said, “I have a mind to keep you like this all night at our next retreat.” Which raised all sorts of questions.

Of course, the cleverness of this position, and now the higher bed, is that he can unzip himself walk up to me and easily push his cock into either my vagina or my anus, also there for his taking. Ease of use is sort of the idea. Anyway, this is what he did to me Thursday night, slow and hard, sending me into squeals and lots of heavy breathing.

He has since said he is thinking of replacing the half-moon bed with a circular bed. He says he would have it made to the exact length of my torso. This would be to have my pussy and ass hanging off one side while my head and mouth are draped over the other side.

It made me wonder what about me makes my owners want to create custom-made furniture.

the (short) history of my blog

This may not interest everyone, so I’ll keep it short. I’ve been asked when and how I started writing this blog.

My first owner/master was a man named Michael. I had been with him as his live-in slave for a year and a half when he first suggested that I write about my slavery and post it online. This was in 2018.

He knew that writing was important to me in a very personal way, so he didn’t want to formally order me to start a blog. He made it a suggestion, optional, and for a number of months I kept it on a back burner.

He brought it up again casually a few more times that year. He said he thought it would give me experience writing in another form. He also felt it would be good for me as a way of self-processing my slave life. Both seemed likely true to me and made sense.

Another reason emerged sometime later: Master Michael felt a blog would give me the awareness of being public about my slave life. I think he knew that the exercise of public exposure was an important development of me as a slave.

In the early fall of 2018, I began to pen some blog posts, though never actually posting them. It was just experimental practice. In fact, I didn’t yet have a blog space online. I wasn’t happy with my early efforts, but I was intrigued by the “short-form essay” type of writing it was.

Right off the bat I had to come to grips with transparency and explicitness. A blog needs to be honest and true, with some depth of feeling and experience. Otherwise, it’s simply a series of Instagram or Facebook posts portraying myself in a made-up social image. Moreover, my life was one of sexual submission, and so my blog would need to represent those experiences in words.

Writing about yourself sexually is something I might go into in another post. It’s a learned set of unique writing skills. You are to report the “event” that happens objectively, of course, yet you have to also convey what happens inside you subjectively. The focus is external and internal at the same time. And it isn’t just about sexual sensations, but how you think about what you feel during sex. And in the process, you have to find ways of showing yourself sexually as perceived by others if they were there with you. The “camera” has to see you, your body, and your sex, which is at times uncomfortable to reveal.

All this was a challenge for me, but I created a “policy” of sorts that has served me well through the full history of my blog — I had to put blinders on, disregard who would be reading my blog, and simply write my experiences fully, explicitly and honestly.

I figured out some of that and began my blog in January 2019.

When Mistress A bought me, she assured me she wanted me to continue my blog and would carry over the same thinking about it that Master Michael had. Which has been true. She has been encouraging and hands-off.

Of course, Mistress Amanda’s vision for me is a far more public slavery than Master Michael had for me. With him, I was mostly private but slightly public. With her, it’s all about being public, being open with everyone, and being shared. My blog has helped in her execution of my slavery publicly.

When I started my blog, I was well aware that hardly anyone would actually read it. Only a few people in the universe would stumble upon my writings. The point was not the numbers of followers, but simply that it would be “public,” and I would have the experience, in a limited and random way, of being known as the sex slave I am (which would be good for me). And it worked that way at the beginning.

My blog is still not attracting tons of readers, but it’s grown well beyond dozens into hundreds. And so, my daily life in sexual submission is now quite public. What has been an unexpected outcome of that is that in being so public, my followers affect me personally and sexually as a submissive woman. Readers, encountering me intimately, become part of my life experience. And this plays into Mistress Amanda’s intentions for me so very well.

At the beginning, it was never thought my blog writing would be read by people who knew me.

But now, many of my followers are people in my immediate physical world as well: our neighbors, my college cohort, lifestyle friends and acquaintances locally, and even now some of Amanda’s work clients.

This creates some challenges, though not so much in terms of my transparency and openness in writing explicitly about myself, for I continue, for the most part, to put those blinders on and write away. But now, in this new age of my being shared, I am going to be faced with the question of writing about someone who is known by others who read my blog.

So, we’re trying to figure this out. It will mean more diligence in securing permissions, more maintenance of anonymity, and perhaps choosing not to write about certain experiences at all. I am conflicted about some of this, as I want to continue my blog practice of sharing everything honestly. If I can’t be utterly transparent, I wonder if I can continue writing the blog.

We’ll see.

But I hearken back to the beginning: I am grateful to Master Michael for his initial urgings toward blog-writing. It has been a wonderful experience for me, expanding and maturing both my writing as well as my life in slavery.

thoughts on the conversation we’re in

A submissive woman stands before her mistress, awaiting her use. She trembles, rippling shivers that come not from the cold but from her desires hidden deep. She is afraid her mistress will probe them and release them. She is afraid her mistress won’t.

We fear what we secretly want. We fear what releasing our wants will make us into.

It may also be that we enter the submissive life for this very reason — to give ourselves to a master or mistress who will explore these submerged crevices within, places we are incapable of exploring ourselves.

In these conversations we’re in, Mistress A is asking to extend the practice of my sex slavery further than before.

Admittedly, I am a deeply sexual woman, but I am also a product of a moralistic upbringing, which I’ve written about many times before. While I have left behind my early repression, it hasn’t entirely left me. This is the catch for me right now, the cause of my trembles. I worry about what I’m being made into. (Amanda knows this, and that’s why she is making this new “threshold” of slavery my choice. I am grateful.)

Others might wonder why, since I’ve already given myself into the life of being a sex slave, this is such a big deal. Yet it is one thing to be enslaved to another person solely and quite another to be shared randomly in sex with others barely known.

But you’re already with Kevin and McKenna, the voices whisper, so you’re already doing this. Not really. Both men are “proxies” authorized by Amanda in specific ongoing relationships. She has pulled them into us, as a kind of family (more on that in a moment).

In fact, I have been shared sexually before, so this is not a brand-new experience nor therefore, in any specific act, a bridge too far for me. Yet I can count on maybe just two fingers my previous sharings, and they were one-time events, more just a momentary extension of my slavery than a strategy for my future.

What Mistress Amanda is proposing is to make me available for sex to others more often and more randomly. She admits this is her whim and fancy and kink — will I be willing to indulge her desires?

My apprehension isn’t about the act of sex with others. I have long accepted a poly view of relationships, and I don’t have resistance to sex with others at more casual stages of friendship. God knows, I will enjoy the sex immensely. But I still tremble at the idea of the pattern and practice of it, a future in which I will be known for it.

I accept I am a slut by nature. Seems I just don’t want everyone else to view me that way.

We have had further conversations, her and me, about the details.

She has talked about ensuring sexual safety, which I never doubted. She has clarified “frequency” — meaning not every week and maybe not every month, but when the opportunity exists and she has a desire for it. She reiterated that her interest is watching, so she would not send me away to someone else for any period of time.

She talks about our “circles.” One includes her, me, Master M, and Kevin. Another includes people we know in the lifestyle. Yet another includes people in our neighborhood. I am currently provided sexually within the first “primary” circle — Master M and Kevin. She is asking me to allow her to provide me in the other circles as well.

(As it happens, I’ve been in a side conversation with an online follower and new friend who lives in a “polycule” — a small network-family of friends and lovers who share each other in fluid poly arrangements. Amanda’s “circles” are a bit more formal, engineered by her, but still perhaps akin to polycules.)

Amanda has, by the way, made it clear that my decision will have no impact on my current relationship with her as slave and partner. I believe that, and thank you, Mistress. Seems this is a much bigger deal for me than for her.

These things do reassure me, although the mechanics of her proposal have never been my real issue. I have always trusted that Mistress would manage this, and me, responsibly.

The question for me, in the practice of sex more often and more randomly, is what it makes me into.

There was a movie, The Big Chill, made a few years before I was born. I came to view it some four or five years ago. It’s a story of a group of people who attended college together and now, some fifteen years later, are reuniting for a few days in an old house. I liked the film but was especially struck by one minor plot point.

Two of the people are married (played by Glenn Close and Kevin Kline). One of the other characters, Meg (Mary Kay Place), expresses anguish over failed relationships and her unfulfilled desire to have a child. The wife (Close) privately asks her husband (Kline) to do a favor, that of having sex with Meg, to allow her the chance to get pregnant.

I thought that part of the story, the wife offering her husband as a sexual gift, was fascinating and beautiful.

If I think of myself in such a way, as a sexual present, it somewhat changes my feeling about all of this. Provided by Amanda as a gift to others, I then become a momentary pleasure in the midst of their troubles and frustrations, a respite for them in a needy time or a satisfaction of desires otherwise unfulfilled.

I know others in the room with me will not think of it so altruistically. I will be to them a good lay, a serendipitous fuck. That’s fine —so be it. Being a sexual gift to others still makes it feel different to me.

If I think of it that way, I find my value in it. If that’s “what it makes me into,” I’ll be okay with it.

This is what I told Amanda.

So I am that submissive woman standing before her mistress, awaiting her use, trembling in both expectation and fear.

But I am now nodding to her: take me there.

the conversation we’re in

We have begun, Mistress and I, to talk in terms of “escalation” and “thresholds.” This is both in pursuit of her dominant satisfactions and care of my submissive being, a kind of discussion we have about once a year.

The outcome of the conversation is not new, and in fact, I’ve written about it before. But it’s mostly been known to me through inference and half-statements. Now she is talking to me more specifically and literally about it.

“Escalation” in this context means the idea of progressing a D/s slavery from one level of experience to increasingly more demanding levels. If you put rubber bands around my breasts, maybe next time you’ll use tighter ones. If you put me in a shorter skirt, perhaps next time it’ll be a miniskirt, and the time after that a micro-miniskirt.

Escalation seems built in to the psychology of D/s. A dominant often seeks to push her slave to the edge and slightly beyond. Once that “beyond” is experienced, there’s a new “beyond” to push toward. This is the nature of slave training, which is never-ending: You teach me how you want me to walk with you — a little behind and to the side. Once I do that, you want me to do it collared and on a leash. Once I do that, you want me to do it in heels. Once I do that, you want me to do it topless. Once I do that, you want me to do it in public. At some point, you have trained me to be your slave in your shadow, but there will yet be something more.

As Mistress and have talked about this, we have noted there seems to be in D/s experience a kind of experimentation. It’s not only how long can Amanda deprive me of an orgasm, but also what do I become, socially and emotionally, when she does? We also talked about escalation of a slavery as a perpetual test of a slave, with the question, “Will you do even this?” Escalation is in a way a series of experimental tests to measure one’s submissive depths.

She and I agree, there’s both pleasure and danger in escalation. The pleasure is in the step-by step deepening of my enslavement to her. We both love the progression, the next thing new each day.

But escalation can also lead to dangerous extremes — “Will you do even this?” can become reckless if wielded by an irresponsible dominant and a submissive who has blindly checked out of personal responsibility.

A time later, Mistress A arrives at the point: “I don’t want to constantly escalate your slavery to me, Shae. And yet in one way I do.”

She holds that mystery in the air while she addresses something else: “I happy with you as you are, Shae.” She says doesn’t need to constantly push me to more demanding levels of submission for her to be more than satisfied. “I don’t need anything more from you. You are enough.”

Which is a lovely thing to hear. This feels precious to me. Still, she emphasizes “need.” I don’t need more, she is saying, but… It’s obviously her preface to “But there’s something more.”

I’ll get to her point — again, not really new news, but it’s now different in the way she is saying it to me: “I want to share you with others sexually, and I want to watch when they have you.”

I’ve known this since day one with her, and I’ve written about it a number of times. But Amanda gives it a new wrinkle: “It isn’t that I need to do this with you as some further escalation of your slavery. It’s that it is my want.

This becomes a conversation about thresholds.

As we talk about it, a “threshold” is a point when a relationship changes and opens into new territory. For a dating couple, a simple threshold might be in “meeting the parents” — it proposes to all that the relationship is now a family thing and thus important, changing the relationship going forward. For a married couple, having a child is obviously life-changing, a threshold crossed that will make the relationship quite different from before.

In D/s, thresholds can be anything, depending on the nature of the slavery, although it should be said that a threshold is not just something new, as in a new collar or a new obedience or a new chore. A threshold is something that changes the relationship radically and opens it into new realm of experience.

For Mistress and me, we probably crossed a threshold early on in her desire to make my slavery public. We didn’t talk about it then as a threshold, but it was — deepening our dom-sub relationship into a new level of trust.

This threshold — of sharing me sexually with others in a regular and random way — is something Mistress is approaching differently this time. She is, in a sense, asking my permission “to go there with me.”

“This is my sexual ‘thing,’” she said, “admittedly my specific kink, and I don’t see it as something I can require of you, Shae. I can’t just escalate your slavery into this. And I feel it’s a threshold that could change what we are. That scares me if we aren’t together in deciding it.”

In the background of our conversations has been clarification of certain things.

Obviously, she has shared me visually with others — my half-nudity around the house, being topless bar maid to Master M’s buddies, my bare-breasted display to waste maintenance men and a landscape crew, my sexual display in the bay window. But in all of these things, I have not been provided for actual sex to anyone. In a way, these experiences all show the outlines of the threshold Mistress Amanda is bumping into.

“You already have me with Kevin and Master McKenna,” I said.

“Yes, but for other purposes. I am sharing my dominance of you with McKenna. And Kevin is like family, sort of, when you started with me you also started with him. Anyway… I’m not sure how long things with Kevin can last.”

“I am not resisting,” I say, “but, again, what is it you’re asking?”

“I want to share you for sex with others. I want to control that. I want to watch that. But I don’t feel it’s right for me to require that of you in you slavery to me. It has to be your choice too. And I feel this kind of poly-sex life is a threshold for you… I’m asking you to think about it.”

And so I am thinking about it. And this is the conversation we’re in.

Master McKenna, me, and sex: 1

Several notes:

First, this is a work-in-progress, and will be three parts or so…

Second, in the recalling of my times with Master McKenna, I confess there is a sequence of training sessions I am confused about. That is, my after-notes are messed up, and at least one is missing. Further, the individual sessions have blended in my mind. He often at the beginning of a new session reviews what I’d learned in the previous session, and this makes the distinctions from session to session blurry in my recollection. All to say that I may have in previous posts referred to a training session by a particular number in the sequence, but that may have been wrong.

Third, this is posted with permission of Master McKenna. In fact, I asked him to review this to be sure it would not be an issue in my ongoing servitude to him. He has approved it, and has made no edits or requested changes.

I have been reserved in sharing publicly my sexual experience with Master McKenna — or more rightly put, his sexual uses of me. I haven’t been shy about this for my own sake, but I’ve wanted to capture his character and dominance first without coloring it with things sexual. As he said to me once in that Sensei way of his, “Sex with a slave is not the point but the process.”

Which is not to say he hasn’t had me sexually — he has. But his sexual activity with me indeed has been part of his process of mastering me, shaping and molding me to him, his making me sex gradually becoming my ultimate submission to his mastery of me.

Let me talk about this a little…

Master McKenna kept me fully clothed during my first three or four sessions with him. As I’ve written before, he focused first on my sitting, standing, and walking, then on protocols — speech and forms of address, then on my behaviors with him in various social situations.

Of course, he had me in short-short skirts and tight sheer tops and high heels, his male-dom preference for me. So, yes, he mad me sexual to him like this, but I remained clothed nonetheless.

I was also well aware that this practical training of my everyday presentation was much about conditioning me to move my body as pleased him — which itself had a sexual undercurrent. Being able to stand cleanly from a sitting position (my new skill!) is, on the one hand, his version of simple slave etiquette. Yet, on the other hand, it’s the public proof of his precise control of my body — suggesting to observers other ways he might command my body to bend and behave — and open up.

(A quick aside: I went through two sessions of this training by him and it seemed to me very technical and physical and extraneous to his domination of me. Yet at the end of the day, I realized that by training my body, say, to walk a precise way to his side and a step behind, he had gotten into my head. I had the distinct awareness he was inside me, by means of my training.)

Still, my first number of sessions with Master McKenna were free of overt sexual expressions. In fact, in that time, I don’t believe he ever actually touched me. If so, it was to position me as he wished me to stand or sit, but even in that, I don’t recall he ever did.

I do remember that by session three or so I wanted him to touch me. This isn’t to say I specifically longed for him in some sexual way. Well, not yet. But I was in a process of being “fitted” to him, and in that is a kind of early intimacy that draws you in. I desired to feel his touch, not necessarily a sexual way such as fondling my breasts, but even just his hand on my arm or shoulder.

Session four, as I recall, was about training me to undress on command. Of course, this is the story of my life under Amanda, but the question was if I could transfer to him the same immediate response to his “undress” commands. Again this was a certain degree of rote repetition — my taking my top off over and over in the course of doing other things — and in this there is a Pavlovian kind of learning.

So it became “Shae, top off,” or “Shae, skirt off,” then “Shae, undress” — all with an eye to some private group or board he will entertain in some future moment. This was a role play at times in the Great Room, with Master McKenna uttering “top off” and my making myself bare-breasted as he described the men around the table, who they were and what position they had in companies.

We rehearsed what I did with the top I just had taken off (a quick fold and placement on the table near Master McKenna’s seat) and where I am to place my hands (unfussy, to my sides). We reviewed how I would serve drinks topless, how I was to distribute papers while in some state of undress, and how I was to sit in a chair along the wall topless when I wasn’t used.

I don’t recall so well the very early times with Master McKenna here at our house, before my trainings, when he and Amanda were still negotiating my slavery to him him, but I don’t specifically recall that I was ever undressed for him at any time in the beginning. I think it’s likely he had not actually seen my body until this fourth session or so.

As I stood topless in training, it was important to me to feel he liked what he saw. This wasn’t my own insecurity, but more my awareness that men like certain figures and bodies more than others. You never know who your body reminds a man of.

When he saw me naked the first time, he smiled faintly with a slight nod — always the somewhat inscrutable McKenna with his methodical stoicism and quiet, confident command — but a response of approval nonetheless, enough to reassure me.

Still, I don’t recall him touching me even then.

I will write another time about my little theory that dominants are either consumers, commanders, or creators. I may have to work on my terminology, but you get the idea.

Master McKenna is definitely a “creator.” Perhaps a better term is “presenter” or “producer,” but the idea is that he takes a slave like me and creates her (shapes, produces her) into the image of what he wishes to present.

“Sex with his slave” is not the top priority it would be for the “consumer” dominant or the “commander” dominant. For him, sex has another purpose — namely to wed his slave to him in a kind of intimate dependence.

This, I assume, takes a great deal of self-discipline, not because I am so lust-worthy, but just because a dominant with a slave girl simply can do her whenever he wants. He could have taken me on day one, but instead he waited, intentionally holding himself back and creating in me a longing that became part of his mastery of me.

It was the next session when Master McKenna touched me, finally.

It was a “Shae, top off,” command, and this time he came behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. I remember this specifically because his touch was electric. I startled, uttering “Oh!”

Even this was a training point, something like: “When you undress, keep your shoulders back. Let your tits push out. Not so much that you’re projecting them but enough to make them available.”

I think there is a particular feel to the dominant touch, different from other experiences by normals caressing or fondling me. It isn’t physically different but psychologically different.

With Master M, then, there were other touchings, here and there, each one drawing me into him like a bee to honey.

Another time he had me topless in training once again, and he walked up to face me. He put his hands on my breasts, cupping them. I inhaled from his touch.

“Say I am Granger [one of his board members],” Master McKenna says, “and he fondles you like this, what do you say?”

“Thank you sir.”

“Right. And what if he goes on to say you have beautiful tits?”

“I would reply, ‘I’m glad that you like them, sir.’”

“Good. You never pull back or lean in. You let him enjoy your tits until he is done.”

After that there were more touchings, always for training purposes. I became keen on discerning when he was pleasuring himself — a recurring brush of my skin, a lingering fondle, a gracing of his fingers on my thigh — and, sure, I read too much into this, but in fact he was beginning to take possession of my flesh, one slow touch at a time.

In one of my last few training sessions before the retreat, Master McKenna had me spend more time sitting on the floor. Ostensibly it had to do with how I assumed a sitting position with my legs curled under me, and then how I got out of that position to stand up. It had to be elegant and graceful. He taught me how (I wondered at the time he must have taken to figure this out), and I learned another new skill.

It happened out of the blue: I was sitting on the floor beside him and he presented a scenario. “How would you respond if Granger told you he wanted you to suck his dick?”

I was startled by the bluntness of the statement. Even as a hypothetical, this was unusual. He was drawing me into a role play. He knew he’d surprised me, and gave me some grace as I took a bit of time to collect my thoughts.

“Mr. Granger,” I finally said, “I would love to suck your cock. But you’ll have to first get the permission of Master McKenna.” I said it cleanly, but even though the act itself has become somewhat common in my life now, the thought of saying this to an utter stranger made me blush.

He liked my response — and maybe my blushing. He affirmed my first line, supporting my willingness and desire for “Mr. Granger.” But he instructed me that in such a request the responsibility is on me: “Permission to access you as my property is your duty to procure.”

He talks this way sometimes, with a kind of officious vocabulary. I took a moment to parse it, then replayed my response:. “So, I would better have said, ‘Mr. Granger, I would love to suck your cock. But I’ll first have to get the permission of my master.’”

“Yes. That’s the idea. You should additionally ask when he would want you.”

I replayed myself again: “Mr. Granger, I would love to suck your cock. But I’ll first have to get the permission of my master. When would you like me? I will then ask Master McKenna.’”

“Good. Realize I’m not dictating those exact words. It’s better that they come naturally from yourself in the moment. But those are the main points.”

“I understand.” Later I would think on this and realize that it requires me to address my sucking a man’s cock in front of two men and a total of three times: My first response to Mr. Granger, my request of Master M, and then my return response to Mr. Granger. Three times a lady.

“So… let’s say in that situation, you come to me, and I give you permission to suck Granger’s cock. How will you do it?”

“How? What do you mean?”

“I want you to show me.”

“Oh,” I said, then again more slowly, “Ohhh…”

I cocked my head toward him. This was different, a shift in everything, and I wasn’t sure if we’d switched out of the role play and into actually doing this with him. “You know, sir, you could have just asked me straight up. I think your odds were pretty good that I would have done this for you anyway. I mean, without bringing Mr. Granger into it.”

This is me with my sass showing. He likes it sometimes. “Shut up,” he said to me with a grin, “and slide in between my legs.”

I positioned myself, sitting back on my ankles, a foot from his crotch.

“The correct starting position,” he said, “is with your hands behind your back, looking up at me. Start there, and then you can use your hands.”

I did so.

“You may now begin.”

I nodded slowly. “Just to be clear,” I asked, “am I sucking Mr. Granger’s cock or am I sucking your cock?”

Master McKenna looked down at me with a slight shake of his head and a curled smile. “Does it matter?”

I might have said that it mattered because if it were Mr. Granger it would for me a submissive experience of fulfilling master’s wishes with someone else. If it were Master McKenna for real now in this moment, it was something I had longed for during all these training weeks. But I didn’t say any of that.

Instead I replied, “It matters because if it’s you, sir, I would ask how you like it. If it’s Mr. Granger, I would just go ahead and pleasure him my way.”

Master McKenna laughed.

“So,” I said, “how do you like it?”

the week to come: fragment 4

As I leave to go to Kevin in another hour, I am thinking about my role of escort with him and how it is proving to be an effective thing in a certain way.

As I’ve written before, I am to him sometimes a “friend with benefits,” but there is also between us an awareness that I am his regular escort, a role defined for me in this from the beginning. We flip back and forth between these types of relationships, but there are differences, and being an escort to him creates some boundaries that are useful.

Escorts have their regulars, of course — repeating customers that become casual friendships of a sort. And there are high-end escorts with wealthy clients who take them on week-long, even month-long, excursions.

I am an escort in both those ways to Kevin — to him a recurring as well as a longer-term sex-companion experience.

I assume that level of professional sex — repeated arrangements, longer gigs — involves a lot of relational “work” for an escort quite apart from the sexual center. Most long-term time is not spent in sexual play. Accordingly, an escort must be interested and interesting, entertaining her client-partner with grace and passion even when not in bed.

Likewise, I serve Kevin with my personality as well as my body. While Kevin may at times be quiet and inscrutable, he is an intelligent man with varied interests and pursuits. He finds me compelling enough even with my clothes on. So this is good. Even if he is not so immersed in the world of words as I am, we are able to have good conversations. I don’t think of this as “work” for me, but it is akin to what an escort does in such situations.

I sometimes think a test of the best relationship is when two people can be comfortably silent together, when the absence of talk is easy and natural. Again, Kevin is prone to silence, but in the past that hasn’t always been “comfortable.” Yet these days, he has opened up to me more, and I’ve learned some of his rhythms. We can talk for a time, but then fall into a silence — albeit now a silence that is warm and accepting. This, it seems to me, is the character of a friendship, even one with benefits. We don’t have to entertain each other. (As I’ve posted before, I think Kevin had not early on realized this, but I’m hopeful this time he will settle into this comfort zone of us as friends being around each other but not necessarily doing something together.)

On the other hand, there are different advantages with my being Kevin’s escort.

As friends, even as we assume the benefits, there is the obligation for sex to be mutual and timely — that is, “Do you feel like doing something later?” and “What would you like?” — the usual negotiation of sex between two people. But as Kevin’s escort, the assumption is that I have an obligation to service him. He can (and does) then say, “I want to spread you on the table” or “I want you to give me a blow job.” It can be sudden, opportunistic, demanding — and still appropriate in the context of my being his escort. As the “client,” he has every right.

Of course there is a kind of subservience in this, my bending to his desire, that suits the submissive me so very well even though this isn’t D/s. And, though I demur at Amanda’s oft-used comment about “my capacity for sex,” it is a rare time that, well, I ever “don’t feel like it.”

As an escort to him there is also a built-in emotional boundary. Sometimes the sex is more of the “tender is the night” sort that feels, delightfully, like actual love-making, and teeters on the precipice of relinquishing hearts. But even then in the afterglow of kisses, we both know this is not about falling in love, for I am his escort, not the girl next door.

It is true that in some sense I always fall a little in love with the one I’m with, but that’s a different thing, subject for another post…

It’s also true that this boundary between love-making and actual love is freeing to Kevin, allowing him to not worry about attachment and complication. The day after he makes sweet love to me in the bedroom at twilight, he will at lunchtime push me forcefully against the living room wall and fuck me standing up, using my body without explanation or gentility.

It’s as if the physical drywall between living room and bedroom is a virtual boundary defining what we are and what we are not supposed to be.

(And there I made a drywall analogy, which Kevin would appreciate so very much.)

notes to a younger me 11: status

When you enter the D/s life, you have to accept a lower status. It’s very important how you understand this and how you cope with it.

In one way, “lower status” refers to social status. You will be kept at a level beneath others in the social world you occupy. Your slavery will eventually be known and it will be looked down on. You will be made subservient to people you don’t know, and you will be diminished in standing and in others’ perceptions.

In another way, “lower status” refers to your relationship with your master. You are not his wife, nor his girlfriend, nor one of his buddies. You are “something other,” a slave to be used. He may at times treat you at what seems a higher level — say, talking with you as a friend — but do not swoon in that too much, as he will return you soon enough to the lower level of his slave, which is where he will most of the time keep you.

In yet another way, “lower status” refers to your identity. You are property in this world, property owned by him. This is more than words, and will be something you experience directly — you will feel like one of his possessions. It isn’t so bad, really, being in the same category of his car or truck or the couch in his living room. Your submissiveness will thrill in providing utility and delight in being used. Yet the challenge comes when he is finished and sets you aside. That’s the difference between being a possession versus being a significant other.

In yet a further way, “lower status” refers to you sexually. You are in his life to provide him his sexual pleasure when he wants it, in the way he wants it. But again, you are not his lover — not at that high a level — but rather his sex toy. You will develop feelings for him, because you cannot do sex without committing your heart, but in the intercourse of things, you will still just have the status of a sex toy.

Your lower status in this life in all of these ways will be humiliating to you. Because you are an extreme submissive, at the very same time they will be thrilling to you. Yet the slave life of lower status is difficult, and sometimes it confuses your thoughts about yourself. This is the paradox and the life of being an owned submissive.

Remember that in all this, you are special to him — precisely because you accept your lower status in his life. You embrace being used by him, and frankly, few other women in the world can do that. Your inexhaustible submissiveness is what gives him dominant joy, such that no other social group or vanilla lover or buddy or car or couch can give him.

You must still recede into the lower status of his life. But hold on to the truth that for him there is no one else like you.

Daniel: a flash fiction

Daniel is inside me, thick with the swell of lust.

I am wet for him. I know I am just his woman of convenience — though convenient on a regular basis — yet I can’t help myself. I want him. So I am open. Hungry. Juicy.

His body lies atop mine, and his muscled weight slides back and forth, his chest hair scraping across my smooth skin, rolling my breasts and rocking my naked flesh. His mouth lies beside my ear whispering directions — “slow,” “easy,” “let it come” — and I almost laugh at this man who, like many others, cannot help but issue commands even during sex. Even this he must control.

My arms drape over his shoulders and my hands cling to the back of his head. It is as if I loved him, and maybe I do in some way. Does it prostitute me more to give the guy not only my pussy but also my heart? Or is that the other way around?

He changes his angle and his cock pumps me more, now gracing my clit every other stroke or so. I close my eyes. Maybe I love all the men who fuck me like this and make me come, as he just did moments ago. Do I shudder just for him or for others too? I can’t remember.

He thrusts himself farther in. His balls slap me underneath. And suddenly he stops, holding himself there.

It is the briefest of moments.

From a rock solid standstill, he erupts and gushes his semen into my deepest places. It is warm and thick and demanding. It coats me inside.

Daniel pushes himself off my body, sliding out of me. He angles himself over to the other side of his bed, stands, and walks out of the bedroom without a word.

Sitting in the corner is his wife.

She wears a pretty sleeveless sundress, yellow-and-orange floral. Standing, she walks to the bed and reaches her hand out to me. I take it and our fingers intertwine.

“Dierdre, I think you’re a little overdressed,” I say.

“I always like to be presentable for the show,” she says in her thick voice. “You know that.”

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