I don't have a lot of rules. I don't micromanage Amy. As my slave, her job is to anticipate my needs and desires and see that they are met. And I'm a low-maintenance Master. Providing for me isn't all that taxing.
As I said, I don't have a lot of rules, but one of them is the ten o'clock rule. Given her druthers, Amy would stay up half the night with a glass of wine and a book. But now, at ten, Amy gets ready for bed and presents herself to be cuffed and collared, naked, of course. I lock the collar around her neck and the cuffs to her wrists and ankles. I lock her wrists together and take her into the bedroom where I lock her collar to the bed chain. And that's how she spends the night. That's how she's spent every night for the last fifteen years. That's how long Amy has been my collared slave. All told we've been together twenty years
First Year: ConditioningWe met at college orientation, thrown together by fate. We had been engaging in those moronic, politically correct exercises, kind of what today folks call 'team building'. At one point the boys and girls were in separate rooms. The boys were told to go into the other room and select a girl. (How PC is that?) There were two girls left when I got there, one blonde, one brunette; I'm not into blondes.
Let me give you a visual: Amy is 5'2" tall, has brown hair that reaches half way down her back. She's cute. Not beautiful. But definitely cute with high cheekbones and a bit of a pushed up nose. She has a 36" chest and C-cups. She has slim hips which make her look a bit thick in the waist, but from years of dancing, she has a flat stomach and firm, shapely legs. Twenty years later her butt and legs are still smooth, though not quite as firm and a bit heavier, the better for spanking.
We spent the day together, and the night, but not in that way. Amy was a virgin and remained one for several months. That first night they showed a movie: The Collector. It was shot in 1965. It's supposed to be a deep psychological flick about class differences. A poor schmuck hits the lottery, buys a house in the country, and promptly kidnaps a little rich bitch. He's a sicko, but she's a piece of work, too. Anyway, to my eighteen year old mind I wasn't interested in or even aware of the deeper meaning. All I knew was that Samantha Eggar (who was really hot in her day) was bound and in various stages of undress throughout the movie.
How's that for a first 'date'? A portend of things to come?
We dated through the summer and by the time we got to school we were a couple. I began dominating her from the start. I never asked out on a date, I told her. For instance I might tell her I'd buy her coffee between classes. She could have said no, but I knew she was addicted to her afternoon caffeine rush. She liked Asian food, so I'd tell her I was taking her out for Thai, say. I tuned into her, really listened. It didn't take long to know which buttons to push.
I know this sounds like Amy was having all the fun, going where she wanted to go, doing what she wanted to do. What was in it for me? I was creating a girl who's automatic response was 'yes'. It's an old sales trick and it works.
I also controlled the sexual progress. Usually this is the girl's domain. Boy makes a move, girl determines whether he gets it or not. I stayed two steps back. She may have thought she was taking the lead, but it was more like being a pet on a leash - she only went where I let her. I took my time. When most guys would have had a hand down her pants, I was just getting around to some serious necking. Like I said, I stayed a couple of steps back, so when I did take it to the next level, Amy was more than ready.
Things progressed slowly for a couple of months. Then came Halloween. We were at the dry humping stage, rubbing against each other wearing only our underwear. Someone left the door to the basement ajar. Working our way down the corridor we found a door unlocked. It was full of furniture: desks, chairs, beds, and mattresses. Given the fact that we both had roommates and privacy was at a premium, it took only a moment to drag one from the stack and climb on.
As I said, Amy was a virgin and the whole sex thing made her kind of crazy. Her body was doing things she didn't understand and it kind of freaked her out. She didn't know quite how to deal with it. One way was by being very vocal. By clawing at me, trying to bite me. This wasn't so much passion as Amy out of control.
For self-preservation, I slipped my belt from my jeans and wrapped them around Amy's wrists. I also snatched up her panties and shoved them into her mouth. And that is how Amy, naked, bound and gagged, in a dark basement, lost her cherry. Kind of an auspicious start.
We didn't jump right into b&d. That wouldn't happen for almost a year. Most times during sex I'd just hold her wrists over her head. Sometimes I didn't and got my back shredded. But I was fascinated by Amy's responses. It seemed things got more intense for her as it went on and there seemed no end to it.
I liked to get her undressed, hold her down, and drive her crazy. And, boy, did it drive her crazy. But it would take an octopus to hold her down and play with her, so one day I pulled a scarf from the corner of her mirror and tied her wrists. It was so much better. I could lean my elbow between hers and my leg between hers and still have a free hand, in both senses of the word.
Our regular sex life progressed as these things do, but when I wanted to drive her out of her mind, out came the scarf. Not every day, but maybe once or twice a week, depending on the time of month, naturally.
We didn't make too much progress bondage-wise that first year. I found that by tying her wrists to the headboard I'd have two hands free. And if I tied her ankles to the foot of the bed I didn't have to fight her at all.
It would take several months for me to realize that I was conditioning Amy. She began to connect the idea of bondage with mind-blowing sex. It was pure Pavlov: rope = wet pussy.
We took our first excursion into b&d a couple of weeks after the Spring term ended. For my birthday Amy asked me to drive her to a small, out-of-the-way strip mall, a mile off the main drag, in kind of a woodsy setting.
I waited in the car while she went into a lingerie shop. A few minutes later she settled into the passenger seat and unbuttoned a couple of buttons of her shirt. Instead of her usual battle harness (remember those 36Cs) she had on something seamless and sheer with a mottled pastel pattern. I drove around to the side of the building.
In the back seat we proceeded to make out and Amy proceeded to lose her clothes until she wore only her new underwear. Being the good Boy Scout I was prepared. I pulled a handful of bandanas from my gym bag and tied her up. I tied her wrists behind her back. Tied her ankles. Connected them with a third bandana. And gagged her with a forth. I rolled my bound and near naked Amy onto the floor of the car and threw a blanket over her. I started the car and went looking for a suitable place to 'rape' her.
This was a new thing for us and especially for Amy. In the past I tied her gently and merely caressed her. Now she was in real bondage and sex was definitely in the plan. But the biggest change for her was that before she experienced frustration at being bound, and the heightened sexual intensity that went with it, but now she was experiencing anticipation. Something was going to happen. She was pretty sure what, but not where or when. I drove for an hour.
I ended up in the state park. Off the lake road there were several splinters, dirt tracks that led into the woods. I picked one and found its terminus acceptably secluded.
Second Year: B&DBondage became a hobby of sorts. We were still a vanilla couple, but we had gotten a bit kinky.
I had transferred to another school and only saw Amy on weekends, Friday afternoon to Sunday night. She had been in the new dorm, but when a single opened up in an older dorm, she jumped at it. Adios roommate. Hello quality time.
We picked up pretty much where we'd left off, except that Saturday night became our regular play night. And instead of just tying her and touching her we started having bound sex.
Over the course of the next few months I introduced Amy to rope, straps, tape, that kind of thing. The bondage became more complex, eventually becoming an end in itself. But for now, I was taking baby steps. Taking my time. Exploring each new restraint. Observing Amy's reactions. For instance, the first complex tie I used on her was a rope harness, complete with crotch rope. Amy loved it. She said it felt like hands, my hands, gripping her everywhere at once. To this day it's her favorite way to be bound. Often I'll just do it as a dress so she can wear it under her clothes.
I started adding discipline to the bondage. I would tie a snug crotch rope on her, have her get dressed, and take her for a long walk. Sometimes I tie her while she was dressed and tease her until she was begging for sex. Or I'd have her put on a pair of panties, tights, and a leotard. I lock a chain around her waist, snug between her legs. With all those layers, and the chain, she wasn't getting sex any time soon. And, by the way, she wouldn't be able to pee, either.
One cool thing I came up with is a unique use for the standard doggie choke collar. You know the drill. The chain has two rings, you push the chain through one ring to make a loop slip it over the dog's head and clip a leash to the other ring. But it was two rings, hence you can make two loops, for, oh I don't know, two wrists. If you get the right length it's as secure as handcuffs, a lot more comfortable, and will sit, unnoticed, in your jeans' watch pocket.
Anyway, things intensified at around Christmas. We moved to yet another level.
I don't remember the exact day, just before Christmas I think. Amy was hogtied on the bed. I had been teasing her and she was at the begging stage, pretty frantic. I told her to call me Master, to beg her master. She did. No hesitation. Like flipping a switch, just like Amy went into slave mode. I bought her her first collar and leash the next day.
Things became much more intense in the spring. In addition to the basic discipline of sexual torment, I added pain.
I started spanking her, then using a strap. Not hard enough to make her cry, just enough to make her squirm and squeal.
I found that mid month, when her hormones were raging, moderate pain brought her to yet another level. For those few days, nipple clamps couldn't be tight enough. Instead of fainting after several orgasms, passed out immediately.
Once I had bought some balm at an Asian market. I couldn't read the label, but the bin said HOT. I dabbed some on my hand and it was definitely warm. I wondered how it would feel on, er, more sensitive areas of the body. Not mine, you understand. I ain't that crazy. Back at her room, I put a dab on Amy's pussy lip. I watched her face change from a look of curiosity, to concern, to fear, to panic. Wiping it didn't help. The effect lasted about ten minutes, then gradually subsided over the next hour. But things stayed throbbing warm for several more.
I had a Sunday tennis date. Usually I left Amy in her room to catch up on some studying. But one day I had her strip and tied her spread eagle on the bed. I pushed a sponge into her mouth and sealed her lips with a couple of strips of tape. I popped open the tin. Amy's eyes went wide. I dug out a fair blob, spread her pussy lips, smeared the goo on and into her. I left before she started to scream. I also went back to the market and bought more balm, stuff the woman said was not so hot. It wasn't, but it did the job.
By the end of the second year, we were a seriously kinky couple and Amy was firmly in slave mode.
Third Year: ExplorationI told Amy that we would be trying new things. That there were lots of things people got off on and we were going to try them and keep trying them until we decided we liked them or didn't. I mean, Scotch is an acquired taste, right?
We went through a WAM phase. I got the idea downstairs in the kitchen. The dorm had a kitchen in the basement, fridge, vending machines. I was hooked on the chocolate fudge muffin. Pop that sucker into the microwave for a few seconds and it was gooey, chocolate heaven.
I had been playing with candy in Amy's pussy for a while. I'd insert a piece of chocolate candy order her to masturbate, and after she came she'd dig out the treat and eat it - that is if it hadn't completely melted.
I had just unwrapped the steamy treat when it hit me. I ordered Amy to undo her jeans and pull her panties away from her bush. I stuffed the muffin into her panties, worked it into her pussy, and told her to zip up. She spent the rest of the day with her panties full of goo.
Food became my thing for a while, anything gooey or slimy found its way into or onto Amy. I'd found a plastic tray. I would pour in a few inches of warm food, either beans, spaghetti, or rice and order Amy to sit in it, sometimes clothed, sometimes not. Then I'd order her to masturbate with handfuls of the food.
I've kind of lost my taste for it, pardon the pun, but it was fun while it lasted.
On a more serious note, we explored the areas of pain and humiliation. The former Amy tolerated well, the latter ticked her off. But, then again, humiliation is relative. For instance, some would say being led around naked on a leash is humiliating. Amy loved being owned because, while I made no bones about her being my property, I left no doubt in her mind that she was very valuable property indeed.
We tried toilet games. I won't go into too much detail. Suffice it to say that while she didn't enjoy it, she made a serviceable urinal. However, being peed on, just splashing it on her face or tits, really ticked her off. Go figure. I'm not into it. It was just something we tried.
And as for pain, I began to whip her. Hard, but not that hard. Just to the edge of tears, but crying. Amy loved the marks. She would go into the bathroom and look at the marks during the week and it would remind her of me. In the end, I whipped her most Sundays before I left, ten or twenty lashes with a skinny little ship that raised a nice welt. The marks would last a couple of days.
Whipping became important to Amy. I took her to the edge of tolerance, maybe a bit beyond, and it gave her a chance to demonstrate to me how deeply committed she was. She could say she was my slave, but the marks proved it.
Slapping was another thing that bothered her.
So I don't slap her and I don't pee on her, but I whip her, yes I do.
Fourth Year: StasisThings pretty much settled down during the fourth year. We were a D/s couple with a serious b&d habit. From Friday afternoon to Sunday morning Amy was on a short leash. The rest of Sunday, a longer one, but it was always there.
The best analogy I can use is that Amy had become a well-trained pet. She was owned, whether on a physical leash or not. Sometimes the leash was long, sometimes short, but it was always there. An analogy may be in order.
It's very much like having a dog. Amy is well-trained, as I said, eager to please, and is a constant source of entertainment. Imagine you have such a dog. You take her to the park. On the outskirts of the park there are few people and you let her run free. she does dog things, but you need only whistle to call her to you. Then a bit deeper into the park people are picnicking, kids are playing catch, so you clip on her leash. It's one of those extension leashes. She still has room to roam, but not too far. Then you come to the center of the park and it's really crowded. You order your pet to heel. She stays with you; walks when you walk, sits when you stop. But whether on a short leash, a long leash, or no leash, she'd still owned and she knows it.
The CollaringI decided Amy should be collared. Ceremonies and such are important to women. We'd been living as owner and owned, Master and slave for a while, but it was a like a common law marriage, it really cried out for a ceremony to legitimize things.
The deal was simple: If Amy gave herself to me it would be as property, not wife, not slave - property. She would have no say as to how she'd be kept and used. I might want a slave, or I might want a Suzie homemaker type, I might want a garden gnome or a door stop. Property or not. That was her choice and it would be the last choice she'd ever make.
Amy chose property.
In the bad old pre-PC days, a wife would vow obedience to her husband, so when Amy told him she wanted the vow of obedience back in, the old priest was delighted thinking he was marrying an old fashion, tradition girl who knew her scripture. If he only knew. Because he not only officiated at a wedding, he had blessed Amy's collaring. Although, truth be told, I didn't give her a collar. I gave her a ring. It looks like a wedding ring, but it has her private slave name engraved inside, and she wears it on her right hand. We got some comments on that, but Amy just said she wanted something different. Besides, people in other countries wear their wedding rings on their right hands.
A few hours later, in the cabin by the fire with a glass of wine I explained the rules. She'd have three modes of behavior: wife mode, slave mode, and service mode. I thought I had invented these modes, but it seems others live by them, too. Seems these are the facts of life in a consensual D/s relationship.
Wife mode and slave mode are variation on slave mode. In wife mode Amy can come and go as she pleases, do what she wants. She is free to speak, disagree, even argue with me. She keeps me apprised of her comings and goings. And, of course I have veto power over all of these things. In wife mode I expect Amy to anticipate my needs and desires and see that they are met. I allow her to take initiative and use good judgment. How she does these things, I don't care. We split chores, not 50/50. There are things I like and things I don't. Amy does the things I don't.
Slave mode is like wife mode, except Amy asks permission - for everything. I almost always give her permission, but sometimes not, just because I can. In slave mode she's a bit more attentive, stays a bit closer to me. Not kneeling at my feet, but in the same room usually.
Service mode is property mode, also called 'blink and breathe' mode because Amy kneels at my feet and does nothing but blink and breathe. She takes no initiative, uses no judgment. She speaks only when spoken to and does only what she's told. Needless to say this is boring for Amy, and tedious for me, so she doesn't spend all that much time there.
She knows which mode she's in by what I call her. If I use her private slave name, she's in service mode. If I call her slave, slave mode. Anything else, wife mode. Sounds kind of schizo, but, generally speaking, Amy spends her days in wife mode and her nights in slave mode.
There are variations. Sometimes I want her in slave mode in public, but I don't want her calling me Master. Or sometimes I want her in service mode, but not kneeling at my feet. But these are the exceptions and not the rule.
Lastly, the only other rule I have is the ten o'clock rule. I've already described it. I'll just say that sometimes I let Amy stay up later, properly collared and cuffed, of course, usually on a weekend, never on a work night.
That's it. Three modes of behavior, a couple of rules, pretty simple.
EpilogueThe key to this process is, obviously, Pavlovian. But there's another aspect that plays a vital role. To paraphrase a popular aphorism: If the subbie ain't happy, ain't nobody happy..
You have to make it very, very good for her, especially at the beginning. It's kind of like an airplane. It takes a lot of energy to get it off the ground, but not much to keep it airborne. Another way of looking at it is it's like saving money. After a while you've built enough interest that you don't need to make any more deposits. That would be foolish. I still provide Amy with deeply satisfying experiences. It doesn't take much. I'm a low-maintenance Master, and she's easily pleased.
And remember, this is the real world. And this is a consensual relationship. As long as Amy consents to be owned, she's owned.
Take care of your subbie and your subbie will take care of you.
End
31.07.11