The Party (Fiction)

Note: This is flash fiction, which is generally defined as a really short, short story. One rule of thumb is that it is to be about 500 words in length, although some allow more words. This comes in at 500. I find flash fiction is a good exercise in economical writing. It forces you not only to eliminate any unnecessary words, but find other words that do more “work.” It’s not the only kind of writing you want to do, of course, but it’s a good discipline. Here I’m trying to adapt erotica into this flash fiction format.

He warned if I toppled any glass I would be given lashes in front of the crowd.

The problem with the waist tray was that my breasts, which would be made bare for the event, jutted into the space above the tray. This was fine for stemless wine and cocktail barware, which sat comfortably under, but made tall champagne flutes and highball glasses precarious. My breasts swayed slightly when I walked, tending to jostle any glasses that tall.

“I can’t help it,” I apologized, “they just move.”

Master Jack grunted but would hardly complain, for he valued my assets. Indeed, the whole point of the waist tray was to frame my tits above the tray for all to see.

He put me in a black miniskirt and strappy heels and my titanium collar with a Yale lock in front. He shackled my wrists behind my back and filled my mouth with a ballgag.

The tray belted around my waist, with chains holding up its front corners. The question was whether to attach the chain ends to the piercings in my nipples or the O-ring of my slave collar. Master tried to attach the tray to my nipples, and it worked sort of, but my nipples elongated like springs when the tray was filled with drinks, making everything unstable.

The O-ring it was.

People arrived around seven, some thirty of them, men and women, strangers offering leering smiles when they saw me.

Master announced at the beginning — “My slave cannot serve drinks in tall glasses… for her tits are too big.” Everyone looked at me and I was obvious and people laughed.

All evening I walked around in a random pattern from bartender to party guests, my breasts jiggling, framed between the chains.

Later I became weary from being in my heels all evening. My shoe caught on the edge of the Oriental rug. It was a minor stumble, nothing really, but two empty glasses toppled over on my tray.

Immediately Master Jack led me to the wall. He beckoned the crowd to watch. He made me bend over at my waist and grab my ankles. He lifted my skirt from behind, revealing my cheeks. I felt the air, circulated by the overhead fans, waft over my shaved pussy.

He announced my stumble, that there were to be two strokes. He handed a whip to one of the guests. “Have at her,” he said, and everyone laughed.

I heard the whip being raised. It whistled through the air, landing flat against my flesh.

I screamed, trembling.

“Harder!” someone said.

The second stroke landed. I yelled again, gasping from the slice.

People clapped, laughing.

I felt blood trickle from the stripes I’d been given.

Master straightened me, facing the guests. My tears made my mascara run. He left the back hem of my skirt tucked into my waistband: my welts were visible to everyone.

I continued serving drinks on my tray.

Someone asked Master Jack, “Where do I get one of her?”

word studies

I wrestle sometimes with the way particular words are used, especially in the context of D/s understanding. Occasionally I like to post something about my musings on the meaning of these words. I realize many people are not so interested, but I hope followers can indulge my interest here…


I use this word all the time, but only because I have to.

“Lifestyle” sometimes carries the sense of a wealthy, lavish existence. In certain uses it connotes artistic choices of decor and style. It’s also an overused advertising word. In all of these cases, “lifestyle” suggests superficiality.

Also, the word “lifestyle” implies a casual, maybe trendy choice — “we like being outdoors and have an active lifestyle” or “we’ve decided to adopt an eco-friendly lifestyle.”

Of course, D/s lifestyle is not superficial nor casual nor trendy. It’s a serious and hard choice to live in a different relational structure, a demanding (often) 24/7 commitment, and a radical departure from normal life.

And more to the point — D/s is a relationship not a lifestyle. In the vanilla world, newlyweds don’t say, “We decided to live a married lifestyle.” Marriage is to be an intimate relationship of the highest order, and “lifestyle” cheapens it.

Yet “lifestyle” says a bunch of stuff very succinctly. It is by definition “a mode of living,” and for the most part that’s how I use it. D/s is a different mode of living from other vanilla modes of living.

I can’t get away from using “lifestyle,” but I still wrestle with it every time.


In therapy, it is now commonly thought that “shame” is about one perceiving oneself as unworthy. This has been spearheaded by the work of Brene Brown, which has influenced my sessions with my therapist — who has in turn influenced me.

In that pantheon of “bad feeling” definitions, guilt is when you are literally responsible (“I shot the sheriff”). Shame is when you see yourself as faulty (“I am deficient; I am bad”). Humiliation is the experience of being seen or viewed by others as you are being disgraced. Embarrassment is a fleeting, often accidental, experience of being exposed — as when your bikini strap breaks at the beach. (I hate it when that happens!)

A further helpful distinction is that humiliation is more about the situation you’re in and shame is more about who you are.

Therapists’ counsel is to avoid self-shaming language and negative thinking. I agree with that, and for a long time in my blog-writing I avoided using the word “shame.”

However, I have started to use it again, and here’s why.

Outside of the counseling context, “shame” is also an emotion of deep intensity. In my slave experiences, “embarrassment” is rarely appropriate because my situations are not fleeting or accidental and the emotion the word suggests is too mild. I go often to the word “humiliation,” which is more apt. But at times there’s another level beyond humiliation, and it feels like it needs another gear. It’s then I need the word “shame.”

(As an aside, I think that in the D/s world, there are simply not enough words for these experiences. “Humiliation” carries much of the load, but is overkill in some cases, and insufficient in others. There are words like “abasement” and “ignominy,” which I use sometimes but are more archaic and less known. It is said that in certain Scandinavian native languages there are more than 300 words referring to “snow.” I don’t need 300 but it would be nice to have at least five words for “humiliation.”)

There’s another point to be made: in D/s, a slave is both highly valued and deeply disgraced at the same time. I agree that a slave should never feel unworthy; to the contrary, she is seen as being extraordinary in the life of D/s. But what she is — a woman kept, a woman used — is also a status of disgrace, and it’s appropriate for her to wear that as “shame.”

An example: I think of my experiences being made topless in the house around our handyman, Blake. My reaction to that goes deeper than just the sense of his visually feasting on my breasts. That much is humiliation. But in those situations he knows I am bared to him because I am an adult woman who is owned and kept as a slave. He knows my breasts are naked for him because of what I am. In this case, “shame” is the word that more fully expresses it.

“Shame” is a necessary word sometimes.


There are two words/phrases I’ve recently coined, and this is one.

In my usage, “normals” is a stand-in for “vanilla people,” those who lead non-D/s lives — ordinary people doing normal things.

Some have commented that by using the word “normals” in my writing I am suggesting that being a submissive is “abnormal.” No, that’s not my belief nor my intent. “Normals” is simply a statistical reality. More people are not submissive than those who are, and they are the norm.

Likewise, only two percent of the world population are redheads like me. The norm is for people to have black or brown hair — they are the “normals” because that’s what’s statistically most common. It doesn’t mean that as a redhead I am defective.

(However, what are the stats about a woman like me being both a redhead and a submissive? That makes me unusual for sure, though Mistress A would quickly say, “Don’t get too full of yourself, Shae. It doesn’t mean you’re special.” OK, then.)

Deep Submissive

The other phrase I’ve coined recently is “deep submissive.” I use this as a noun, describing one who is extremely submissive by nature. I am a deep submissive. (Duh.)

This is a term of degree and type. There are submissives of all kinds. I sometimes use the phrases “curious submissive,” “casual submissive,” and “role-play submissive.” A “deep submissive” refers to those of us who have an intensely strong need to live submissively.

For a deep submissive, the D/s life is not a casual or experimental thing. It is an immersive existence. The deep submissive is wired differently in how she experiences life and in the kinds of relationships she needs. For the deep submissive, submissiveness is part of her sexual orientation. For her, being dominated is not just a wish but a desperation, not just a desire but a need.

“Deep submissive” is one who seeks to live deeply embedded in a life of being dominated.

That’s all, folks.

a potpourri of randomness

I really don’t assume people are so fascinated with my life that they care about Shae trivia, but sometimes there are just odds and ends I feel like collecting into a post. So here — a potpourri of randomness.

It’s been rainy here on and off this week, and it seems it will be so again today (Sunday) and tomorrow. I often like rainy days, and here in Colorado we don’t get enough of them, but after a year of COVID isolation, this is a bit frustrating.

Otherwise it’s a swell Memorial Day weekend.

Mistress A, perhaps because we are destined to a day indoors, has me collared and heeled and naked, just because she can. Recently she’s taken to having me wear a waist chain, and today she has attached to it a jingle bell, positioned just above my bared pussy.

Such I am as I write this.

One bright spot: Amanda bought me a new collar. She ordered this weeks before I went to Kevin’s, and it arrived Tuesday.

It’s made of stiff leather with a large metal buckle in back, and a massive O-ring hanging in front. It is red, deep red. The collar is wide, some two-and-a-half inches of stiff leather sheathing my neck, and while it’s not a posture collar, yet I feel its constriction when I look down.

Bold and loud and obvious, this collar draws attention and clearly states that I am a submissive slave.

As if that wasn’t perfectly obvious already.

I’m wearing this collar right now as I write, and I feel it each time I long down at my keyboard.

I’ve been writing a lot lately, and my juices (to be clear, my creative juices) have been flowing through both my fiction and my blog writing. It’s been good.

I use a program called Scrivener, and it allows me to keep my ideas in separate folders in front of me in a left-hand pane, and I can flip to them instantly. I use MS Word for other things, office stuff, of course, but I find Scrivener so much better suited to creative writing with different pieces and parts.

Anyway, the point of this is to say I keep a number of blog ideas active at the same time, currently more than a dozen. It works for me to go from one to another until I land somewhere with the creative insight on that piece to continue what I wrote before and perhaps finish it.

It’s a writing tip I’ve offered before — don’t fixate on just one writing thing, but keep several going at once. That way if you get blocked on one, your writing might open up on another.

The caution, though, is that too many open projects can become distracting. I sometimes find myself flitting from one to another so often and quickly I get boggled and don’t get any real writing done at all.

So, seems that Kevin called Amanda the other day. He normally phones her in between my visits to discuss his schedule for me the next time, but this call was earlier than usual, and made me wonder about things.

She won’t tell me about the substance of it, which is fine — I don’t have the right to know., and sometimes she wants me to be reminded that I don’t have that right. But of course, I immediately fret over if Kevin has some problem with me.

I go back to her later and ask, “With Kevin. Was I OK?”

If she were less benevolent, she wouldn’t say anything, letting me stew in my self-doubt. But she doesn’t want me to agonize over something like that — she plays with my mind in other ways.

“You’re fine, Shae,” she says, “It’s nothing like that.”

OK, then. Still, I’m curious.

Upcoming slave and writing agenda:

It seems Amanda is waiting to hear from another neighbor as to whether they will be able to join us for afternoon tea on Thursday. I’ll write something about that, of course.

I will be resuming my time with Master McKenna next Saturday.

My personal writing project now is to focus on this whole thing with Master McKenna, and try to capture is personality and style. It’ll probably be a number of parts, posts.

Mistress A seems to be keeping me today in high protocol. She has me speaking to her as “Mistress.” And she has me dressed this way — or undressed, as is the case.

I think this is in response to my earlier Marisa Tomei impression in My Cousin Vinny, my being likewise petulant and demanding but in my case involving demands for spanking and caging. I told her I was sorry for that — not for telling her those things but for my tone of demanding them. Thankfully she didn’t feel it rose to the level of being punishable, but I was on the edge.

My writing is interrupted by her calling me to refill her coffee. She is, thankfully, not working, rather reading a novel in the living room. She needs rest and time not working. I think she is calling me because she wants me to serve her and because she wants a hot cup of coffee, but also because she wants to hear my jingle bell as I come trotting to attend to her.

Also, also, because she wants to see the slit of my pussy.

This last time, I delivered her a fresh coffee, and she had me stand there while she read her book. After a short time, she reached over and fondled my pussy, her thumb creasing my slit between my pussy lips.

She went back to reading.

I said, “You know, you could continue doing that.”

She laughed and said, “I’m done with you. You can go now.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

So I am back writing again. Ready to wrap this up…

q and a: writing my sex life

Another post about writing my erotic life. Some of these echo earlier q and a posts, but some reflect recent questions I’ve been asked. So here’s some more on writing my erotic life.

When you write about your sexual experiences, does the writing arouse you? [from my friend Nudo]

Yes, it does. Not always, but often. When I write my personal experiences, it’s a process of reliving my life in slow motion. I re-imagine what happened, but I replay it from different angles, perspectives, for the writing.

One viewpoint is through the lens of someone else and how they see me — say, naked and bound and spread open — an objective third-party view of me. This is not , of course, how I experienced it (I don’t see myself from outside myself in the moment), but it’s necessary for the writing, so readers can see me in the experience. This for me is not so much arousing as humiliating — although for me, being submissive, humiliation is arousing in a general way.

Another viewpoint is through the lens of my psyche — how I emotionally feel and think about what’s being done to me. Usually this is what I remember most vividly, though not moment by moment, but in general impressions. For example, after my recent experience with Kevin in the bondage room, I recalled the emotional impact his leaving the room had on me — how it felt like him pulling out of my vagina, leaving me feel empty and off-kilter. Going back to these emotions is powerful for me and sometime arouses me with their intensity.

A third viewpoint is through the lens of my physical and sexual sensation in the experience — my reliving of his body and sex, of him touching and whipping me, of his intercourse with me. And yes, of course, this arouses me all over again in the recollection for the writing.

Kevin, in this case, keeps on giving.

This is maybe more a general question about “writing real life,” but when you write about your sexual experiences, do they come out differently on the page than when you experienced them in person? [from Jeremy, my college friend and now follower]

Yes and no. What I write on the page is a reasonable facsimile of what actually happened. The order of events is the same, the mood of the moment is the same, my feelings and responses are substantially the same as when it all happened.

However, I could write an experience three times and it would come out somewhat different each time.

I refer to the three lenses in my previous answer: the objective visual lens, the emotional lens, and the sexual lens. If you imagine each of these as layers in photo software — I don’t know Photoshop well, but I understand its use of layers — it’s possible for me to write an experience with one layer taking priority. In writing the Kevin experience my emotional-lens layer was strongest — it just happened that I emphasized my state of mind and emotion more than the other lens layers.

Sometimes it just comes out a certain way. But sometimes it’s a choice, or maybe just my personal mood when I’m writing.

Also, I think I sometimes think of an experience in terms of a form or medium. When I have written about drawing a bath for Mistress Amanda here and bathing her, it feels like a poem, and I write it that way — a lot of imagery, word association, word sounds. When I wrote about being made topless in front of the landscaping crew last year here, it felt to me like a movie — a sequence of actions and back-and-forth edits between what they saw, how they reacted, and how I responded internally. When I wrote this last time about Kevin here and here, it was more like a short story to me — images and words reflecting my somewhat off-center emotional and mental state.

I’m not sure I go into writing these posts with these approaches in mind, but the experience and my mood in the moment of writing lead me there.

Do you feel especially exposed [vulnerable] when you post intimate and sexual blogs? [from my friend Lauren]

Yes, but I wouldn’t let that deter you from blogging.

I’ve gone through different stages in this. At the beginning, I was wide open in writing about my slavery, rather full of myself in talking about my submissive nature and slave life. If I was then somewhat more restrained in writing explicitly about myself sexually, it was only because I didn’t really know how yet. But of course back then I had almost zero readers.

At another point, I went through a time of apprehension in posting things that were too personal. I did feel very exposed and I had to deal with that. Of course, the whole idea of a blog is to be personal, and in my case writing a “slave blog” is somewhat meant to be intrusive and exposing. But I had developed a small following on WordPress and I thought, “Yikes, people are actually seeing me having sex!” In time, I got over it, pushed myself through my minor paralysis, and continued writing openly about myself.

I don’t talk about readership numbers on here, and I won’t now, but I will just say that these days I have quite a few more people “reading my life,” but that in itself doesn’t bother me as it used to. What I struggle with somewhat is that there are more people in my personal circles — people I see in daily life and interact with — who follow me and read what I post about myself.

So, yes, it’s a thing. No, it doesn’t deter me from writing.

You write so vividly. How do you recall/remember the experiences you’ve had [in order to write about them in such detail]? Do you just have a really good memory? [I’ve been asked this by several people]

Thank you, but no, I don’t think my memory is much better than anyone else’s. I’ve just developed some techniques, I guess, that help me reconstruct past events.

Quick aside: I’m a fan of an older TV show (2011) called “Unforgettable.” Its main character, Carrie, has the rare genetic ability known as hyperthymesia — the ability to remember everything one’s experienced in great detail. This is a real condition, but extremely rare. (BTW, the actress playing the part of Carrie is Poppy Montgomery; people say she and I resemble each other. I don’t know: maybe a little bit.) Carrie is a New York detective, and her hyperthymesia is the plot device that helps them solve cases. I suppose I am intrigued by the show partly because of this character’s ability to remember.

Which is an ability I don’t have. I wish.

While I can’t remember most things specifically, I am able, it seems, to reconstruct an experience from the few things I do remember.

I have a pretty good ear for dialogue, and I sometimes can recall a specific sentence someone says, even though I don’t remember the whole conversation. Often it’s not that the words or thoughts are so significant but the way a person delivers it. From that one line, I reconstruct a conversation, maybe not precisely as it happened but a close facsimile, hopefully.

For example, one time Amanda had me tied to the wet bar (I wrote about it here. Later I recalled one thing she said: “You know you’re a whore, right?” It was the way she said it, matter-of-fact and baiting, with a lilt in her voice. It stuck with me, and I knew later that was the core of a whole dialogue she prompted with me about my being a whore. I was able to reconstruct the dialogue even though I didn’t remember it all precisely.

Another practice of mine is visualization of a place, a room. I don’t remember places specifically in the time I’m there — that is, say, I couldn’t tell you if there was a magazine on the coffee table that afternoon — but there are places I’ve been to many times, and so I can reconstruct the room from a lot of different memories.

Another technique is that, apart from my blog, I keep a private journal. At the end of a day, the end of an experience, if I have a chance to write in my journal, I’ll jot down some notes of specific thoughts, emotions, memories I had of the experience. It’s really helpful later when I come back to writing about something.

Any tips on writing about yourself sexually?

There are so many things I’ve learned. And am still learning. One thing I’ll offer here, for what it’s worth:

Telling “what happened” is necessary, but ultimately not the point. Yes, you have to convey to a reader what was done to you, the actions of the experience, but a little of that goes a long way, and if that’s all you tell, it winds up being flat and lifeless. The worst thing you want to do is make sex with you boring!

What matters more is how you felt during the experience, what your sensations were both sexually and emotionally, what it made you think and hope and dread and lust for.

So, yes, I have to convey to the reader that I unzipped his pants, but what brings that to erotic life is how I felt kneeling on the floor before him, what I thought of his power over me to bring me to do so, and what I anticipated lying behind his zipper. And how my mouth was watering.

writing these days

It is the reality of my life these days that in one way or other I now serve three people. Amanda, of course, is my primary, and Kevin is a different kind of service, but servitude nonetheless, and now Master McKenna is a significant figure in my life, enough to demand more of my time and schedule.

I have no complaints but am a busy girl now, and it affects my writing in terms of available creative time. Thankfully, Amanda has foreseen this and has been decreasing my “assistant” time to her and her work. She doesn’t need me in the business so much now. She’s reduced my work time for her, down to just mornings for a while, then to just afternoons, and most recently to two full days a week. Next week, she says, she’ll whittle that to just one day a week, which will probably be Wednesdays.

There are still the challenges of time with Kevin and Master McKenna. My visits with Kevin become, in writing time, a lost week — four-plus days with him, two afternoons driving each way, and then a recovery time of a day or two. My training under Master McKenna consumes full Saturdays with him, but I use part of the next day to work on what he has just trained me in and part of the Friday before to review and prep. The point is that these parts of my life are mentally and well as physically demanding, and it’s not just about the literal hours I spend with them, but my recovery afterward as well that takes time. (It would be good if I could get some writing done those parts of days when Kevin is at work, but so far, that’s proven challenging to me.)

The other substantive change, though, is in what I’m writing.

Ever since I was a girl I wanted to write stories. My interests in high school was in English, and I majored in literature in college, alongside a creative writing focus. Even during my frantic career in real estate, I tried to make time to write. In my slaveries, thankfully, my owners have made room for my writing. It has always been my goal to write short stories and novels.

Lately, I have been more aware of my life and my age and the passing of time. It is becoming clearer to me that my future life will be in D/s relationship, and likely in slavery to Amanda, if she will continue to have me. At the same time, I am realizing I need to get more intentional about writing fiction if I wish to be published and develop writing as a real career.

So I need to be spending more time writing fiction.

This brings me to the question of what other writing consumes my time. My reality is that I’ve developed a considerable list of email friends and acquaintances. I love exchanging emails with them all, and yet this correspondence consumes a sizable amount of my writing time. I have had to slow down my frequency of email replies, sadly, and beg some understanding that this doesn’t mean I care any less. I will have to trim my emailing even more. I just can’t afford to respond to everyone as they might like — as I might like.

There is, of course, this blog. This consumes maybe forty percent of my available writing time. That’s a lot. However, this blog is not just my writing but it’s also my life. It’s here that I literally live out on the page what I experience in my slave life. It is a way in which I understand myself, my submissiveness, and my slavery. It’s how I process the alternative relationships I’m in.

While it’s hard for me to imagine cutting down on my blog writing, there are some things I might consider. I could, I suppose, spend less time editing and reviewing each piece before I post, but that would pain me and would yield a less than satisfactory reading experience for others. Truth is, my writing sorely needs editing before it’s fit for consumption.

I could write shorter pieces. In fact, I have been experimenting with this, as you may have observed, with briefer posts about this or that. The problem with this is that my blog is not enjoyed, I’m pretty sure, for my “reporting” of just the facts. People want to know more than that Amanda tied me to the wet bar. They want to know how I felt, what was the experience of it for me, and how did my relationship with her play out when she did me that way. Longer writing is what I do best. And what I enjoy the most.

I could post less often. But the simple fact is that I don’t really post to meet some quota anyway. Sure I am sensitive when I’m away from posting for a while because I know I have followers who like my blog, so I apologize and update — as I just did in my last post. But otherwise, I post things because I need to share the story of my life as it happens, and I need, for my own sake, to express my submissive reality. I don’t know if decreasing my frequency is the best option.

So, I don’t believe I’ll cut back on my blog writing. But somehow I need to write more on the fiction side.

Part of the challenge for me also is the kind of fiction I hope to write. I have written both erotica and mainstream fiction, along with some attempts at genre fiction (mysteries, espionage).

Erotica comes most easily to me, likely because I live an erotic life. I hold erotica in high esteem, and I think it’s a very legitimate form of literature. Yet if I’m to make a name for myself, likely it would be in these other genres not in erotica. But when I write a short story or map out a novella, it most likely is erotica, just because I enjoy writing it so much.

So I think I need to be more disciplined and devote more dedicated time to write my mainstream stuff. I’ll explore some techniques for doing that — perhaps slating certain full days for devotion to mainstream writing.

We’ll see. This is what I’m working through.

I remind myself that I am no different from most writers and the challenges they face. Many have families to attend to, social lives to live in, elderly parents to care for. Different lifestyles, but life is busy for all of us, and making time for the writing life is hard.

I am blessed to have the time I am given to write. My challenge is how best to use it.

on writing out loud

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

four tips on writing true-life erotica

I’ve been asked to write more about writing, specifically about non-fiction erotica — that is, based on my own life and experiences. I’m not sure most people want a writing course from me, but I offer a few tips here, for what they’re worth.

A disclaimer, or more like an asking forgiveness ahead of time — I am using mostly excerpts from my own writing here. It isn’t that I’m a perfect model of good writing. There are many things I write that violate these very principles. But my own writing is easily at hand for me to retrieve and use here as examples.

1. Be sure you want to put yourself out there for all to see.

At first, it was not easy for me to write about myself sexually. It was strange to picture myself having sex — seeing myself in the experience — and finding words to describe my experience “in sex.” And it was one thing to write for my own sake, personal accounts that would forever remain in my private computer files, but it was another thing to write for the purpose of making my sexual experiences public. Posting myself online was a scary thing.

Looking back, it was weeks before I actually posted something that depicted me in something of a sexual situation. This was one of the first experiences I posted about, back when I was with Master Michael:

Master orders me to take off my skirt.

I obey, unzipping my skater skirt in back. I step out of it. I stand before both men naked.

Mr. Richards’ eyes drift down my body. He sees my pussy, bald, moist.

“It’s OK. Touch her,” Master Michael says.

Mr. Richards pulls my leash, tugging me to him. When I am close, he cups my breasts and he fondles me. His hands roam behind, and one gentles my ass cheek. He leans down to my face. I look up. He kisses me. I submit my lips to his. His tongue enters, likely the only penetration he will enjoy with me today, which I am now regretting. His kiss is warm and good. He is a good man, I think. A slave has desires too.

Writing about yourself this way is not a casual, easy thing to do. My advice is to measure this carefully before you put yourself out there. Once you do, know that people will imagine you, fantasize about you. That’s not a bad thing. But it’s a thing, and you need to know that people reading you will have sex with you in the theater of their minds. That may excite you, as it does me., but if it creeps you out, obviously you shouldn’t do it.

2. Find nouns and verbs that evoke the sensual aspect of the physical experience.

The first part of this — nouns and verbs — is writing 101, but I don’t know of anything that’s more important to good erotica than this tip. The simple truth is that adjectives and adverbs are boring and tedious; nouns and verbs are what make prose exciting. Here’s one made-up example of bad writing with unhelpful adjectives and adverbs:

A large, ominous house is on the dark hillside.

The problem with adjectives and adverbs is that they make people work harder in reading. Here we had to wade through the adjectives “large” and “ominous” before we know what they refer to — “house.” It seems like a little thing, but a lot of this kind of writing tires out a reader over the course of an article or book. It’s why she stops reading before the end.

Here’s a better way of rendering this same sentence:

The mansion, brandishing spires like knives, perched high in the twilight.

The same sentence, without adjectives, using vivid nouns and a more specific verb is easier to read and picture specifically. The tip is to let your nouns and verbs do the describing.

It isn’t that adjectives and adverbs are wrong to use sometimes. They exist for a purpose — yet a more limited and targeted purpose that is usually how they are used. Often they don’t add what you think they add. Recently I posted this, which has minimal adjectives or adverbs, about bathing Amanda:

I wring the sponge on her breasts, dripping them with white suds. I let it coat her tits like milk, and I use my hands to make it an even layer all around. I reach beneath the water, below her breast curves, lifting each as I sponge her creases underneath.

The other part of the tip above is to use nouns and verbs that evoke the sensual. This is from an account of the first time Kevin had me:

He steps close, his cock touching my cheek. I lean toward it, opening my mouth and taking it between my lips. My mouth remembers it from before — it’s weight, it’s girth, the texture of its skin folds. He tastes like mushrooms smell, some combination of his musk and the earthy pungency of my ass, and it occurs to me that the comingling of our intimate flavors is kind of marriage, albeit a matrimony of domination, one consummated by a man’s cock sodomizing a girl’s asshole in bondage. It is this unequal mingling of flavors that coats my tongue. He remains soft but I like him that way too, and his cock even at rest makes my mouth its home.

(OK, that brings back the memory… back to the task at hand…) In writing this experience I focused on “weight,” “girth,” the texture of “skin folds.” I wrote about the taste of him, “mushrooms,” and “flavors” and “coating my tongue.” The point is that in writing erotica, you aren’t just reporting the physical act of sex (which is boring) but reporting your memory of sensations and senses in vivid and unusual nouns and verbs that capture the feeling of those experiences.

3. Use different words than are common, and feel free to coin new words to serve the purpose at hand.

I think the enemy of good erotica is sameness, triteness, commonness. Better writing finds fresh language for the familiar. This applies to writing sex as well. Here, I wrote about me and Amanda in bed one night:

Her fingers trace the folds of my labia in random patterns lightly gracing my sex, and it feels like something between a tickle and a spark, an arousal that makes me want to laugh and moan at the same time.

She lies alongside me, her head resting on my left breast like a pillow, looking down the length of my body, beyond my hills to the smooth vale below, where she continues to circle and trace and caress my landscape.

It is one of those times when we are nearly one, and there is no difference, and she slides into me, into my arousal of tickles and sparks.

I found some different words to bring into the memory — “tickle” and “spark.” I used them differently than their normal context, making them a description of my sexual arousal.

Sometimes you do well to make up words, coin new language to create a vivid image:

My body is exposed, variably and subtly, in glimpses and wishes, to those who who goggle a girl in a short coat showing lots of thigh and leg and boob.

“Goggle” as a verb conveys a sense of motion, bounce and bobble, and perhaps also echoes “ogle.”

She has granted me up to three buttons from the bottom, enough to close the sweater in front while still keeping it open on top, allowing my breasts to hang out and joggle when I walk.

Maybe I just like “oggle” words? Here “joggle” is a similar coinage as the one before. The point is to find freshness of language in describing your erotic experiences.

4. Transform the physical into the larger context of emotional and spiritual experience.

When someone fucks me, it is almost never “just” a physical experience. It is for me a swirl of desire, pride, doubt, humiliation, pride, purpose, and meaning. It is about love and not love, comfort and pain, guilt and pleasure and atonement. It is about the relationship with the one who is inside you, what it is and isn’t and what you wish it were.

The key to good erotica is to never allow yourself to write just the physical description, but to connect it with a larger sense of your inner and outer worlds.

Here I moved from the physical description to my state of mind and emotion at the time:

He pushes into my mouth. He pauses. Leaving it there on my tongue, his meat touching my cheeks, my saliva juicing and covering him. I do not assume it is a special intimacy with him, or that he desires such with me, but we submissives always dream that there is more, don’t we? Yet it is, to me, somehow lovely even as it is forced and rough.

It happens that I am a spiritual person, something I don’t write about often. But even in my slave and sexual life, I see things through a lens of spiritual meaning. This fragment is from a piece “Atonement,” which I posted as a fiction piece but is directly informed by my own experience:

I gasp. It has begun.

He pushes deep inside me, then slides back. Forward and back. My vagina grips him tightly, against my will as I would rather expel him from my body. But this is what I must do. This is what I am for.

He is slow, too slow, and I yell for him to finish. “Come, please come!” I scream aloud.

He doesn’t. He continues to impale me, over and over, and soon a vein along the top length of his cock slides directly against my clitoris, like a bow against the catgut string of a viola. I scream.

And now he grunts, tenses, and ejaculates. It happens just as my instrument breaks, and I explode into shudders.

He shoots his sin inside me. My orgasm is a sign. He is forgiven.

I hope this post is helpful.

two questions

If you weren’t with Amanda, would you still choose to be in D/s and serve someone else as their slave?

That’s harder to answer that it might seem.

If I have learned anything in my years of 24/7 slavery, it is how deep my submissiveness actually is and how much I crave the experience of being dominated. It goes far beyond the usual trappings of D/s. There are times, Amanda would tell you, when I am so extremely desperate in my submissiveness that I am in tears, begging her for her extreme dominance. It isn’t about pleading for her to tie me up or to whip me, not the usual D/s trappings, but a deeper thing about constraining me mentally and psychologically and emotionally. I sometimes get to that level of need, and I can fall apart without a dominant’s emotional control and restraint of me.

In my years before entering D/s life, I was in the business world, real estate. While I’d become modestly successful, in my last two years I was starting to decline, losing interest in my work and career, but also beginning to feel these depths of my submissive craving. I was profoundly unhappy and quite a mess. It was because of my submissive need.

So, remembering that, the thought of re-entering vanilla life is not attractive to me, and I don’t have any particular illusions that I could survive very well outside of a D/s life.

The difficulty comes more with the notion of starting over — being new to a different dom, learning from that person what he/she would want and prefer.

The truth is that in a D/s relationship, as you the submissive are learning and being trained into a new servitude, your dominant is likewise learning you and your dimensions emotionally and physically. This mutual learning is like any relationship, except it has the complexities of dominance and submission. It takes time. A lot of time.

Four Amanda and me it’s been almost two years, and I think it’s taken most of that time for me to learn her and what she expects from me.

So the thought of starting over is hard to swallow.

The other consideration is one of meaning: what I want my life to be about. At the end of my life, what would I look back on and say I actually accomplished? Amanda and I have discussed this a lot, for her and for me.

She is a businesswoman, a damn good one. She happens also to live this alternative life as a domme and dominatrix. She is comfortable in that, being known for that, and takes pride in all of it.

The greater question is me. Do I want to look back on my life at some future time and say that my primary accomplishment was in being a sex slave? I might say that I was “a damn good one,” but does that count for anything? In fact, between Amanda and me, yes, there is much accomplishment in that. But in terms of others, the world, the public, it carries different and lower assessments, obviously.

Of course, many people spend their lives in the service of others. Doctors and nurses and therapists and hospice workers, to name a few. At the end of those careers, it’s not that they created something or built something, but they served a lot of lives and made life better for many.

I know I am perceived differently, but in a way, I do the same. I make life better for Amanda, and sometimes for others, yes, in sexual ways, but better nonetheless. I bring pleasure to people by offering myself as pleasure.

These are the things I think about. And sometime ramble about, as I am doing here.

Perhaps my saving grace is my writing. In my writing I am creating something new. I’m not referring here to my blog writing but my fiction writing. Perhaps at some point, I will finish my current novel, and even write others. And perhaps those will get published some way, somehow. And maybe I’ll be interviewed and become a modest sensation because I’m a “successful” writer and, by the way, also live in this alternative relationship as a sex slave. I could be proud in that.

I know writing and getting published in itself doesn’t make me important or significant. But it is something else I might hang my hat on.

Anyway, ultimately my answer to the question is yes, if something happened, God forbid, and I was unable to continue with Amanda, I would likely “re-up,” so to speak, if possible — if someone would take me. I would learn someone new. I would continue in the D/s life. I would find my purpose, as I do now, in serving as the pleasure of others. And, perhaps, in my writing.

If you weren’t with Amanda, would you prefer to be with a man or a woman?

This question came to me without an important piece of information: in D/s slavery or in vanilla life?

If I were to re-enter vanilla life, likely I would seek a relationship with another woman. I am bisexual, for sure, equally attracted to men and women on the surface of things. But in terms of the promise of fulfillment and sexual intimacy and long-term life, I know I would most likely find greatest satisfaction with a woman.

If the question is about living in another D/s arrangement, I might rather choose to be with a male dominant. In fact — and Amanda knows this about me — in slavery I have strong desires to be dominated by men as well as by, well, Amanda. I don’t mean to stereotype, and some doms can have the same traits as dommes, and vice-versa. But in general, male dominance is more tactile and physical, more blatantly sexual, and I confess I sometimes miss that, and having desires for that.

How I answer this is no reflection on Amanda. As everyone knows, I would choose her above every other option. But the question is about me apart from Amanda, and in this way, if I had a choice in a new slavery, I might choose to serve a man.

In a way, my life under both Amanda and Kevin was the perfect storm for me. He “claimed” me, as we spoke of then, through his sheer physicality and brute sexuality. She, on the other hand commanded my heart and mind with her beauty and feminine dominance. For him, I would kneel before him in a heartbeat as he unzipped his pants and pushed himself into my mouth. For Amanda, well, I would follow her to the end of the earth. As I have done.

I fear that I might be with a male dominant for a month or so and then find I desire the touch of another woman. So it goes. If so, I imagine my Master would not so much mind sometimes allowing and watching me with another woman. Even Amanda is talking about doing that.

a letter to new followers, part 2

Hi again. There are some more things I thought might be helpful in this overview of me.

One. I’m bisexual. This Is not so big a deal, of course, but it explains a thing or two in my life and what I write. Mostly it makes the point that when Amanda shares me with men, it is not contrary to my orientation. Truth is, I love men and, as I sometimes write, at times I crave men. I consider myself more drawn to women in terms of specific relationships, but I have desires for men in a more general, and you might say carnal, sense. I wrote about my attractions to men and women here and here.

Two. I’m shared by Amanda with a man named Kevin, and I write about him sometimes. While I am Amanda’s sex slave, she does not want Kevin to actively dominate me, so she provides me to him as a kind of escort companion. Amanda and Kevin had a relationship before acquiring me. If you’re interested, you can read about their connection here.

Three. I come from a strongly conservative religious childhood. Some would say “No wonder you’ve gone into an alternative D/s lifestyle.” Perhaps, although I think submissiveness has been within me from birth, and I tend to believe in nature more than nurture. I have left my Christian conservatism behind, but I mention it because it explains why I came to the D/s life later in my twenties rather than earlier. I was just slow in accepting what I really am. This post might explain a few things.

Four. I have been in the D/s lifestyle for five years, the last four as a 24/7 slave. Before coming to Amanda, I served a dominant man, Master Michael. I refer to him sometimes, and in fact my earliest blog pots were written when I was under him. I intend to create some new posts reflecting on my time with him.

Five. In my twenties I worked in real estate, and later formed my own business. I mention that because it was a hard and significant turning point in my life to leave my business and enter full-time submissive life. It was difficult at the time, but I’ve never regretted it.

Six. Again, writing is a passion in my life, and the nature of my blog is to express my strange life in words. I also write fiction, mainstream and genre and also erotica. I sometimes post some erotica on my blog, but I state up front that it is fiction, not to be confused with my own life. I write about writing fairly often, but here is one post that might be of interest. And here is an erotic short story I posted a long time back.

Seven. Amanda. My relationship with Amanda is a lot of things all at once. At all times I am subservient to her as her slave. But we also are also the closest of friends. And we are lovers, sexually, both in the sense of Amanda using me, her slave for sex, but also as two women in pleasure together as friends and lovers. We have different modes of relationship, and we informally and casually slip from one to another. In all of that, again, I am her sex slave at all times, but we share this unique relationship of multiple dimensions.

I don’t share these seven things assuming that people are deeply fascinated by my life. But I think people read my posts because they’re drawn to my erotic life. I don’t write to titillate. I do write to express the erotic experience of my slavery and my sexuality. If that’s of interest to you, then I’m pleased if you experience these things through me.

Again, happy to answer your questions at

slave shae

a letter to new followers, part 1

Thank you for following me. I don’t pay much attention to metrics on my blog, but it’s satisfying when someone new subscribes. I appreciate that you’re reading me.

You may or may not have found the parts of my site that give an overview of me and my life. I desperately need to reorg my blog roll — things are sometimes hard to find. Sorry about that. So I thought I might post something current that provides you a bigger-picture summary about me and this life I live.

My name is Shae Madigan. I’m in my mid-thirties. I’m a college grad with a major in literature and a focus in business. Some of my education was in writing, which is one of my deep passions and the driving force for my blog.

I live in an “alternative relationship,” which means a non-traditional relationship that operates according to different rules. Specifically, I am submissive, and I live in subjection to a woman, Amanda, who is dominant. You may know this as D/s — Dominant-submissive. My submission to her is 24/7, and she’s had me for more than two years now.

My life in subservience to Amanda is something she and I consider a “slavery.” I know this can be misunderstood, and we don’t use the term insensitively, only In the context of D/s and our arrangement. I had the initial choice of living this life under her, and I always have the choice of leaving. But in everything in between, she owns me, I am her slave, and i must do her bidding.

There are different kinds of D/s slaves. Amanda keeps me as one of those types — a sex slave. This means, obviously, that I am often used for sex, but also that I am frequently, nearly every day, sexualized in what I am to wear and how I am talked to and how I am treated. Again this is her preference and our understanding.

And so this blog is about my life of slavery. I write about how I feel doing this life and the unique nature of the submissiveness within me. I try to write honestly and explicitly about everything in my life. So, it should be obvious, but I issue the warning that my blog is often explicit. I write often about my body, my sexualization, and sex itself, as it happens in my daily life. If that disturbs you, I encourage you to unsubscribe and unfollow me.

Otherwise, I welcome your presence. Whether your interest is curiosity or a desire to learn about D/s or maybe just simple lust, I am pleasured by your being here, and I welcome you to my blog.


P.S. By the way, if you wish to contact me directly, perhaps to ask a question or to say hi, you can email me at