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

random musing two

I remember a moment in my first week of 24/7 slavery. This was five years ago, under my first owner-dominant, Master Michael.

He was on his phone with one of his work colleagues. From another room, I overheard my master’s side of the conversation. “Yes, I got her Saturday,” he was saying. Now there certainly was more to my pre-story with Michael than simply “he got me,” as if I were one of a bevy he bet on and won at an auction. But even in those earliest of days when I was so green and nubile- naive, I had the right sense to know my master was posturing a little, saying dominant things to another dominant. Doms will be doms, perhaps.

So be it, but what jostled me in that moment was that his friend already had known about me coming to Michael as his slave. Their further conversation made it clear that some others at my master’s office knew of his lifestyle and were well aware of me as what I was.

I felt outed, although I had no rightful expectation I would be kept a secret from Master Michael’s friends and colleagues. We had no prior understanding about this. He had done nothing wrong.

It was a lesson I had to learn. My slavery to him was not mine to keep private. Owning me, as he did, he had every right to present me to others as he wished. Further it was to be a lesson in authenticity: I was a submissive, deeply so, and I was in fact his slave. Being known as such, not hiding it, was about being true to myself in front of others. Whether I liked it or not.

writing life at the end of a pandemic year

It occurs to me that this year of lockdown has been both a blessing and a curse to my writing process.

One blessing is that being contained in a house without a lot of social interruptions or the need to rush around “doing things” frees me to focus on the one solitary task of writing. Of course I still have my primary focus — Amanda — to serve and satisfy, but there is simply less of everything else to do. When you eliminate shopping, trips into the city, dining out, and so on, there is more time at home. It is a lesson of sorts in how little of that is actually necessary. And not only do I have more time for writing, but you have less cluttering my mind to distract me.

The curse of being locked down is that there is much less experience socially and publicly and out-and-about to stimulate your mind. All of that supercharges my writing, and when it’s absent for long stretches of time, months, I find I become vacant mentally. I read, of course, and that helps. Netflix and streaming channels are other experiences that enrich, but after a time, feels fairly empty and uninspiring.

Even in terms of my slavery and Amanda’s uses of me, this is a lull for both of us. My servitude continues, of course, and she finds her purposes with me, but this pandemic year has derailed her plans for me, and despite her best efforts, she hasn’t been able to do what she would wish for to me. We support each other in “this worst f times,” but we are both rather listless these days.

And so it is that I have found this once again to be a slow time for my writing. There have been several of these stretches this year, and I’m in another one. I’ve taken to return to old experiences to write about. Even for an introvert like me, I guess you can get to the end of yourself.

I might argue that COVID time is a little like a coma state. Not even a dream state, for dreams are rich and creative, but a state of coma in which you’re alive but not experiencing anything. I guess I don’t really know what a coma state is like, but that’s what I imagine. Life becomes a slow nothing.

So here’s hoping we all soon will awaken from our coma.

about Amanda and Kevin

I am aware these days that a number of my watchers and followers are more recent subscribers and haven’t had time to go back to read my earlier posts. (I am also aware that I’ve written a boatload of posts going back now two years — such that I myself am forgetting what I’ve posted in the far past!)

Most of those legacy posts are not so important really, but sometimes there are things in my current life that are confusing to a newer follower who doesn’t have the background of the earlier posts.

So it is with this man, Kevin. In my current life I go to him in a town some five hours away by car. I do this about every six weeks or so, for a period of about five days each time. In fact, Amanda created this arrangement, shares me with him in this way, in which I provide sexual services to him, sort of like an escort.

Some of you, understandably, have asked to know more about Kevin, how he and Amanda know each other, and how this came about.

Amanda and Kevin, I am told, first met at a D/s lifestyle event in Chicago about seven years ago. Both are dominant, although back then Amanda sometimes switched. Both from Colorado, they subsequently kept in contact with each other.

A year and a half later, Amanda moved in with Kevin. I think this was 2015. For them, living together was a decision of practical convenience. Kevin had a huge house and used only a third of it. Amanda was starting an online business, had poured her funds into the startup, and didn’t have money to buy a house.

Theirs was not a romantic relationship. I’m not saying they weren’t intimate sexually, for they were at times, and there was BDSM play between them, but they remained separate and kept different social connections.

One common interest was they wanted to find a live-in submissive. Amanda had connections in the D/s community that Kevin didn’t have. They felt it might be more likely to find a submissive girl if they were together.

Amanda eventually did find a submissive she and Kevin both liked.

They forged a relationship with this woman and eventually worked out a trial period with her of a few weeks.

However, she lasted only a week.

This was not for any lifestyle reason or relational problem, but because of a tragic death in her family in California. That effectively derailed the whole plan with her.

Around that time, I was seeing a dominant man by the name of Michael. That’s a whole other story. I was about to enter into a 24/7 with him, and I was still a newbie to the D/s life.

I am told that Amanda had been at a lifestyle party where she’d seen me. Apparently she talked with me then, but I am embarrassed to say I don’t recall it. Many of these lifestyle experiences were new and overwhelming to me at the time.

The story goes that Amanda had designs on me from that first conversation, and she was disappointed to learn I was already with Master Michael. She talked with him and mentioned that if circumstances were ever to change, she would be interested in me.

Two years later, my circumstances changed.

My dom, Master Michael, was facing health issues that made it difficult for him to keep me. (There’s more to this part of the story — for another time.) He remembered Amanda, contacted her, conversations were had, and they began to discuss a transition of me to her and Kevin.

Much else happened to lead into this, but I won’t spend time on that here. Suffice it to say, I became sub-slave to Amanda and Kevin, jointly. This was at the beginning of 2019.

Kevin and Amanda had very different views and needs regarding D/s. I don’t think they fully understood these differences until they got their girl — me.

Kevin basically sees dom-sub as just one of his many sexual preferences, a kind of sex that he enjoys from time to time. He has a sizable sexual drive that seeks a variety of sexual experiences. Bondage sex is one of them, but not a constant need. Back then, he wanted a submissive he could take into his bondage room, but also one who could provide him, well, vanilla sex on demand, especially fellatio. But he didn’t much like the 24/7 commitment of dominating a sub-slave. He didn’t have time for that.

Amanda, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. Owning and dominating a slave girl is relationally and emotionally exciting to her. Sex and bondage are parts of it for her, but not the main thing. She seeks to dominate a submissive psychologically. D/s is to Amanda her life calling. She never really cared much about the BDSM aspects of the lifestyle as Kevin did, but she wanted the dom-sub with me to be a real relationship, possibly permanent.

For most of a year, I served them each separately within the same house. Kevin used me for sex, trained me in fellatio, and at times took me in his bondage room, which was an overwhelming (and wonderful) experience for me.

Amanda, meanwhile, captured my mind and heart.

By the end of that summer Amanda and Kevin had conversations about another change. I don’t know all the reasoning. Amanda needed to extend her business back to Denver. Kevin was perhaps feeling too tied down to us at the house and wanted more freedom to see other women.

But I also suspect that Amanda and Kevin had been finding it difficult to live in the same house together.

Long story short, they decided to split, for Amanda to move to Denver. She would take me with her.

I was part of the financial arrangement between them.

Much of those details I am not privy to. But essentially Amanda repaid Kevin for his earlier financial assistance. And more: in a sense, she bought out his portion of me.

He didn’t want to give me up, but also didn’t want to maintain me 24/7. So part of the arrangement was that Kevin would still have access to me, on some regular, perhaps monthly, basis.

Amanda insisted that she would be my sole dominant. I could not serve two masters hundreds of miles apart. When I came to Kevin each month, Amanda stipulated it could not be dom-sub. She forbade Kevin taking me into the bondage room. He could have me as he might have an escort, sexually, but not dominantly.

And so it has been since last fall. Because of COVID and other things, my visits to Kevin have not been as regular as was originally intended, but I have gone to him, I think, seven times in the past fourteen months.

When I lived with both of them, Kevin kept himself closed to me personally and emotionally. He wasn’t much for conversation. I wrote about this a lot, desiring to find a more personal connection with this man who was dominating me so forcefully, claiming my body.

In this new arrangement, Kevin has opened up to me more. He has become more conversational. He does not dominate me any more, but he has me for sex as he wants it. We are more like friends with benefits. I like Kevin, and this has become a comfortable and enjoyable experience for me.

The one thing we both wish for, though, is an occasional time in the bondage room again. Those experiences had been so extraordinary for both of us. So far he and I have observed the rule Amanda originally stipulated, but I wonder if in soon time, Amanda will relax that restriction.

two events

As usual, there is much going on here — work and busyness and party-planning and things dom, sub, and sexual. As usual, this has made it hard for me to find time to write. And also, there are so many different things to write about, I am again paralyzed, writer-blocked, and unable to write anything. Sigh.

I need to focus, and so I will here just advance news on two things.

The two big events are the Halloween party and what Amanda is now calling her “watching experience.”

The Halloween party went through a last-minute overhaul, due to the recent upsurge of COVID here in Colorado. Then just yesterday new restrictions in the state were reinstated, and Amanda and her lifestyle friend, Martin, canceled the party altogether. They may re-invite a smaller group for a lifestyle party a week or so later.

Meanwhile, Amanda is not saying much to me about the watching experience. She seems to have a woman in mind for me, but she has not shared with me who it is. Amanda may be having conversations to work out a date and time.

Also, she is looking for a circular bed. Right.

I am apprehensive about what woman Amanda will choose for me. It seems it’s such a delicate balance of desires and attractions and purposes, and to imagine it will all work out seems unlikely.

I’ve tried not to make it a guessing game, but I can’t help but wonder. It occurred to me that this chosen one would need to be a woman Amanda herself would enjoying seeing with me. That leads me to think about body type and personality and age — very superficial things, but then, I think that’s the nature of this.

She also will take into consideration my wish that it be someone I myself am attracted to — perhaps some woman I’ve seen and then admitted to Amanda that I think she’s kinda cute. Again, this starts to feel like the teenage slumber party in Grease and someone breaking out in “Hopelessly Devoted to You.” God help me. It’s about then I stop speculating.

I remind myself that this is for Amanda’s pleasure. It’s perhaps her own carnal desire or fetish, but I think it’s more than that, of course having much to do with her ability to control others, even to the extent of bringing two women together sexually and watching them make love.

Also it is about me and my ongoing training as Amanda’s slave, her cultivating in me greater and greater degrees of my obedience and subservience, to even such a thing as this.

While I am apprehensive, I am also excited. It could be wonderful.

how did you get into this?

I imagine every submissive has a different journey into the life, but I think it often involves a sequence of choices made over time and a series of experiences with other people who help bring one into it.

For me, it was this exactly: a series of choices over about four years in my late twenties and some relationships that helped me taste submissive life.

Long after my college years, I was still inexperienced sexually and still not fully aware of my submissive nature, though I was having some inklings of it. For those who are new to me, I grew up in a conservative, repressive church and childhood, and that mindset remained strong in me until I was twenty-four or so. The irony of my life now is that I am a sex slave, yet before this D/s life I was quite inexperienced sexually.

In my mid-twenties, I made a conscious choice to break away from my childhood fears about sex and immorality. This was hard for me, a kind of rebellion. Modest as it was, it was important to give myself permission to explore and be the kind of sexual woman I was.

Somewhat later I made another choice to explore my sexual nature more directly. I knew I had occasional attractions to women, though I also liked guys. I also knew I had feelings of an unusual desire sometimes. So I read books and articles and saw a counselor. The counselor identified the feelings of unusual desire as my submissive sexuality and helped me trace that back into my earlier life.

I’m not sure if it was a conscious choice or not, but at some point I just knew I needed to remain open, not closed, to experiences sexual and submissive when they came my way. I found myself in a couple of relationships, both with men, over the next two years. These ultimately became difficult and painful, but the first was a genuinely sexual relationship over more than a year, and the second introduced me, albeit mildly, to D/s experience. And I liked it. A lot.

Again, I think we submissives make incremental choices toward the submissive life. It’s a process. Some of the process is measuring how deep and substantial our submissive need is within. That takes time. I can’t imagine very many of us deciding from the get-go we need to be a full-time sex slave. In fact, at the early stages of my exploration, that thought would have been abhorrent to me. It’s a process of choices and experiences and relationships.

I went through a fallow time in my late twenties without any significant romantic relationships and no further submissive experiences. However, even in this down time I continued to wrestle with my submissive nature and what I needed to be. This ultimately became another choice, which I verbalized in a church one dreary day. I wrote about this in a post titled “this is what I am.

I won’t drag this on much longer; I didn’t mean to write the story of my life…

So, in my real estate work a client came looking for a particular type of property. This man eventually asked me out, and I became involved with him. I didn’t know it at first, but he was a dominant and in fact was connected to a private D/s group of doms and subs. This man was named Michael, who became my first full-time master. All of this with Michael is a long story, one for another time.

I think the answer to the “how” question is much about making incremental choices in your life, learning everything you can about your submissive need, and making yourself open to people and experiences that come your way.

notes to a slave girl, 3

I had used the word “partner” before. I’d like to say a few things about that.

By the way, it is not a word you should ever use with him, unless he invites it, but there is a truth in it, an understanding of something that can be helpful to you as his slave girl.

So, understand that I mean partnership in a different way than equality.

To be clear, you are not his equal. That is partly the point and pleasure of D/s. Moreover, you are not equal to his friends or colleagues or even passing acquaintances. If it is the nature of things with him that he has lovers, you are not equal with them either. You are kept as his property. It is your place in his life. It is what you agreed to.

Your owner has needs to be fulfilled. Dominant needs — to control you. Sexual needs, perhaps — to use you as a sex thing at his beck and call. Life needs — services for you to do for him. In all of this, you are a container, and he pours his urges and urgencies into you, sometimes literally, for you to sate and satisfy them. It is a partnership of sorts — an unequal partnership in which you provide yourself to attend to his being, and, by using you, he touches your deepest submissive places.

My advice is for you is just this: do not expect him always to define and conduct your slavery. Sure, follow his lead and obey what he has for you to do. But do not think of your slavery as his sole responsibility.

The misconception about D/s is that slaves are to be utterly passive. We are obedient, but that doesn’t mean we’re limp and lifeless. Actually dominants treasure personality and initiative.

So you should be seeking what your slavery should be to him. Find his need in the moment, ask what you can do for him, and offer yourself as a receptacle for whatever he wants to pour into you.

Ultimately what you have is a partnership. Not a partnership of status. But a partnership of use and service and submission.

ordinary time

It’s been another week of work and normalcy. These periods of nothing special are lovely but I’m afraid they provide very little eventfulness to write about on a slave blog. Yet in this season of my life I find this comforting.

In a way, the blandness of our week reveals more of the real dom-slave relationship she and I have. The real sub-slavery between domme and girl do not depend on what happens, not upon shackles and leashes, but on the nuances of how she and I simply are.

I remember, early in my life with her, I worried about what I was — friend or slave. I even wrote about that here, and with a certain obsession. Now that’s not even a thought. In our plain everydays, she and I drift in and out of being friends and lovers and domme/slave — from one to another to another — quite seamlessly. These are quiet, subtle transitions that happen in the movement of ordinary time. It is a dance of dances, from tap to hip-hop to salsa to ballroom.

We are not always in sync, nor all sweetness and light, nor is this romantic bliss. Amanda has been buried in work all week, and I have followed her work ethic. She has been exhausted, and I have been stewing over a separate thing. We have had a spat or two, some sharpness of tongue, occasional grumblings. Yet the train we’re on always emerges from those dark tunnels, out the other side into a routine rhythm, clacking along the tracks.

I am still collared, almost always, high-heeled, almost always, and there are my formal times of serving coffee or drinks. We maintain the visible structure of formal slavery even in the absence of events that test it. My slavery to her is not this week testified to through highlights and headlines.

And between us, it is not needed. The proof of my utter and helpless enslavement is in the way she has imprinted my life with her dominance. The proof of her possession of me is her internal branding of me, the mark she has made within — the evidence of things unseen.

In soon time, no doubt, something will happen visibly and publicly, and my slavish obedience to her will once again be revealed to others for their amusement and lust.

For now, though, it is ordinary time.


I have permission to post the following. As usual, names that matter have been changed…

So there were unexpected visitors last Sunday. I just haven’t had time to report on it all.

A man named Jensen dropped by, along with his submissive, Emma.

I had not met them before. Amanda knows him from some lifestyle events a few years ago. He and Emma just moved here from Chicago, during COVID no less, because of a job opportunity he had here.

Master Jensen works in a brokerage firm. Emma was pursuing a career in counseling, has a masters in psychology, but has dropped that to be immersed full-time in the submissive life with him. More on that in a moment.

Master Jensen is, I guess, in his late twenties or maybe right at thirty. It’s always interesting being around dominant men who are younger than me. A younger dom always feels more forceful to me, for some reason. I think there is something to the dynamic of someone younger dominating me, an older woman. (And did I just refer to myself as an older woman? God.) It’s not that Master Jensen was actively domming me on Sunday, of course, but I always respond to dominance in a room. And Mistress Amanda and Master Jensen certainly filled it.

We were all introduced, I made drinks, and Master Jensen and Amanda talked. I was in “Mistress may I?” mode because of our guests and asked Amanda if I could show Emma around.

Emma is blonde with long pretty hair. She wears glasses. She is slender, petite, and has a lovely alabaster face and wistful eyes. She looks too young to have a master’s degree, but she’s twenty-six and clearly very intelligent. She wore a thin metal slave collar.

We walked out back and up on the ridge. She asked me a lot of questions about my slavery and my life with Amanda.

She told me a little of her journey: She became interested in D/s when she was studying psychology, specifically alternative sexualities. She identified herself in her studies, recognizing her own submissive characteristics. As part of a course project, she got into some simple conversational role-playing with another student. That was apparently a revelation for her, as she found it just that kind of dom-sub conversation to be strongly sexually arousing and also satisfying.

She read about it, studied it, and that led to some personal experimentation, then a couple of D/s relationships — all before she met Jensen.They are not married, and I get the idea marriage is not what either of them want. But they have been together as dom and sub for about a year and a half. She’s been 24/7 with him for a year.

Emma said that moving out here with Master Jensen was the hardest thing she’d ever done. “You know,” she said, “two of my friends back there knew about me and what I am doing, but I don’t know anybody out here. And like I was struggling to start my counseling there, so I wasn’t walking away from anything I’d established, but I was sort of walking away from my career in order to what — be submissive to dominant man? It was kinda crazy to do this.”

I asked Emma why she couldn’t do counseling here in Colorado.

“I probably could, but building a clientele is a lot of work and long hours. I couldn’t be doing that and be fully attentive to Master. He demands more than that.”

I told her about my counselor, Jillian, and how she was in the lifestyle herself and counseled women like me who were subs and slaves. “There’s a real need for that,” I said. I told Emma I would put the two of them in touch with each other.

Emma asked me about what it meant to be a slave. It was more about how it felt to be called a slave. (I didn’t go into the current discourse about how it feels to be called a whore.) I just said that with Amanda I am proud to be her property and to be her slave. But that I am still getting used to it in front of others.

I might have thought Emma’s submission was on the light side, not so intense perhaps, which is perfectly fine. Theres no judgment in those things. But then she shared a few things about what he did with her. Her master has a basement with bondage equipment. Apparently he is big into bondage, ropes and ties. He has sex with her while she is tied up. “Being bound,” she said, “is actually comforting to me.” I nodded, saying I understood what she meant, but I didn’t pursue it. I think there’s probably more to know in that.

So from these things she said I am guessing her submission to Master Jensen is not that unlike my slavery to Mistress Amanda. Maybe it’s psychologically less complex for her, perhaps not the romantic intricacy that Amanda and I have. At one point, Emma said something fascinating to me: “I don’t know how I could be anything else to him [than be his submissive].” Again, it was an interesting comment I would like to know more about sometime.

I asked what her friends back in Chicago thought of her master.

“You know, at first they were skeptical. Mostly they were just skeptical of the dom-sub thing. But Master kind of won them over. He’s good that way. With people.”

“Tell me about it. Mistress Amanda too. Probably part of the dom gene.”

She said she liked my skirt, which was a tie-dye wraparound. She liked the colors — swirls of teals and sea greens. We talked about clothing. I said Amanda dresses me every day and has a good fashion sense.

“Master knows nothing about women’s clothes,” Emma said with a laugh, “so he just, like, tells me in general terms how he wants me. I follow that. Buy my own clothes and wear what I think he thinks he wants.”

We’d been out for almost an hour. We rounded the ridge and headed to the house. On our way back, Emma asked “Do you ever wonder how we wound up like this?” Her comment wasn’t rueful or regretful. She was just curious.

“Every day of my life,” I said.

She laughed.

They live up a little north of Boulder, about an hour-plus from us, not far. Amanda was talking with Master Jensen about planning to get together again soon.

My socialization is in full swing, it seems, and other parts of my public presentations in the weekend were challenging. But this was rather nice.

That Emma is also a submissive is something connecting us, of course. But for me that’s not always enough. What matters more is that someone is interesting. Emma seems intelligent and thoughtful. She has ideas about things.

So maybe we can be friends. We’ll see.

work and submission

It’s been quite a pivot from last weekend when I was gloriously dominated by the Goddess Amanda. Monday morning we were back at work, home office of course, but all business. And so it’s been all week. Busy, long hours, real work.

Amanda has had me wearing casual business outfits this week, such that I could walk into a conference room for a business meeting and be properly and respectably attired.

Yet she has mastered the hidden erotic detail — having me wear underneath lace top stockings, or breast bands, or a waist chain bearing a dangling jingle bell. She has kept me in a collar and heels all week, and as always, sans bra and panties, details that would seem to matter less when it’s just her and me at home. I am a strip-party for her mind: she knows what’s I’m not wearing underneath as well as those secret adornments she’s decorated me with. So, in the midst of real work all week, while she keeps me dressed, I am her fantasy life.

We work in separate parts of the house, a setup that serves practical purposes. For one, we actually get more done working separately. For another, it provides her privacy for teleconference meetings. She doesn’t mind if I’m privy to them, but clients might, and the semblance of separation conveys professionalism. Our separate work spaces at home also seem to put us in the mindset of business work.

But our home office arrangement offers some other realities: I need to walk across the house to bring documents to Amanda in her study. I could send them to her instantly by email, but she likes seeing me walk into her office, and she likes that I have to wait for her to finish what she’s reading or reviewing before looking up at me. She also likes when I drop something and she can watch me bend over to pick it up.

Occasionally she will come to my writing room for a file, or to tell me something she could have told me by calling my cell. In doing so, she walks through the living room and past the wet bar, where a day earlier she had me tied, bound, and pussy-splayed from behind.

I know this because she tells me: “I was remembering the wet bar yesterday,” she says.

“Oh,” I reply without looking up from the spreadsheet. “How’s that working for you?”


And then she picks up the file she wants, pauses to undress me with her eyes, and returns to her office on the other side of the house.

So while we pivoted into the work week and we actually have been productive each and every day, the memories of last weekend — the instant replays of my submissions — are all around us, my sexual humiliations dangling and spent like party streamers the morning after.

Anyone watching us this week would have seen a businesswoman and her assistant doing their jobs: I got the master spreadsheet done on Tuesday and wrote up a draft of a client letter by Wednesday morning. We reviewed together the priority list, and we had a conference call with the home office. Amanda had twenty Zoom meetings with clients and employees. We got a lot done.

But an observer would not know our subtext. “The kitchen floor looks really clean,” Amanda says, a seemingly innocent observation. An observer would not know that Amanda is intentionally reminding us both of my body soaked in suds last weekend, my breasts flattening against the tile, twin wet mops like none other.

Today, Friday, she has me in a simple shirtdress, a bit retro as she likes to do sometimes. It covers me completely, and comes to below my knees, but Amanda knows that beneath this common dress is my naked body, piglet-pink, pale, and all perked up.

Whatever my clothing, whatever our work or home context, she peers below my surfaces with X-ray specs. There, underneath, she sees me, pure sex and flesh. That excites her.

And it excites me that I excite her. As a pair, even while working, we are serially erotic.