Blue Balls, Chastity, etc.

There is this myth of “blue balls”. I am somewhat amused and just a bit bored when reading some man’s writing about the subject. He describes “swollen balls”, “aching balls”, “constant erection”, and so on. It is even worse when a woman is writing, and she assumes the symptoms based on the writings of men before. Contrary to fables, a normal man does not go through life with blue balls, constant erections, or constant pain because of lack of frequent orgasms. He may crave sex, but I just don’t see the pain.

I admit that I have never had the urge to masturbate, or copulate, several times a day. Well at least, not after the first or second orgasm of the day. I am sure some men have had the urge, but I doubt that they are the norm. I had the opportunity to have several orgasms in a day early in my marriage. Everything and everybody was ready, willing, and able. I did. After that, I could not keep up the practice or an erection for even another day. I needed to be recharged before I could pick up the pace again.

I don’t want to dwell on my own [in]adequacy, so I will just say that three or four times a week would suffice, even satisfy me. I could live with that. I would love to live with that. Now, if I were forced to …. But that is another subject.

Alas, I don’t get it three or four times a week. My wife is not that sexually charged, and she does not feel compelled to “do me” just so I get my frequent satisfaction. That leaves me with the option of satisfying myself without her. In a way that is not a bad thing. I am still attentive to her, regardless of the myth of “Orgasm denial will make a husband like a boy friend”. There is some truth to that, but trust me on this: it is not a universal truth. I can have an orgasm, and be just as attentive to my wife as I was before. On the other hand, if I were an asshole after orgasm, I would remain an asshole while horny. Being an asshole is a chosen attitude, not a matter of orgasm.

Being attentive to my wife is a matter of motivation. I don’t want her to ever think that getting me off will cause me to become a slob. I would do anything to prove that to her.

So why don’t I satisfy myself often? Good question. One answer is, “I don’t want to cheat on her.” Yes, I know, in view of the above, would she know? Would she care? I don’t know. The other answer is, “I want to be sure that if or when she wants me erect, I can perform.” I don’t feel inadequate, but there have been times when it took me twenty or so minutes before I could get it up again after a strenuous sexual encounter with her. I guess maybe she never really challenged me, so I can’t be sure.

In a way I think that I am wasting my opportunities. She does not need to use my tool often. So if I use it, does it take anything away from her? After all, this is not a limited resource except very temporarily. I am sure that I could get her off orally immediately after I got mine, so that is not an issue either.

I also know that when one does not use some body part, it atrophies. I am talking about muscles, but the subject may cover sexual organs as well. I don’t mean that my cock will go away, just that it may become a single-use object, and orgasm is not the one. What I say here is not really in support of the frequent male fantasy of milking. Just a matter of maintenance of a seldom used organ.

To add some selfishness to the issue, I ask, “What is the harm in my self satisfaction between the times that my wife needs and wants me to perform?” It would feel good. I would not blame her for not doing it for me, since not doing it for me is already a fact [see Ignore and Denial (I&D)]. So, if I were to whack off a few times a week, and get back into practice of frequent orgasms, would that hurt anyone?

The above question is moot for those men who are into female induced orgasm denial. Whether or not they participate voluntarily, the fact remains: physical barrier to doing his thing. Much of the writing out there with respect to chastity and orgasm denial is wishful thinking and outright fantasy by men. Those who are really into it are directly self-imposed or through a hired key-holder. Others asked for it from their partner who grudgingly went along with it. In a few cases it turns out to the advantage of the female or male key-holder, but usually it us just to satisfy the would-be chaste man’s cravings.

My wife and I have played with forced chastity. It is great turn on for me. She seems ambivalent, probably just trying to give me a good time. My chastity in a device never lasts more than a week or so for various reasons, none of which have to do with her trying to keep me chaste. I am chaste because she wants me to be chaste. Case closed. No device is required. After all that, I still wonder why I am not into frequent self-gratification.

As much as I am intrigued by chastity devices, I find them totally useless on the long run, unless there is someone other than the chaste man who benefits from it. And there is the rub. If a woman (or man) has to go out of her way to keep a man chaste via a device, and maintain that device, it seems to me that it is not working its (assumed) intended purpose.

If the would-be chaste man needs a device to keep him from messing with other people, he should have his thing whacked off, or his butt kicked out of the relationship.

On the other hand, if the idea of the device is a turn on for both partners, then go for it! That is the only situation that I find viable for the use of a device to enforce chastity.

Any other is just playing games for the benefit of one person or the other, and it is temporary. A bolt cutter or even a pair of pliers will remove the device without the need for a key. Sheesh! I should not dispel myths. People will hate me for it.

Nuclear Spring. Sort of ...

During most of Christmas day she was avoiding me, so I was avoiding her back. In the evening she said something like, “If you are determined to avoid and ignore me, then I will remove myself.” She then moved out of our bedroom into a spare room downstairs. What moving out entailed is not being in our huge bed when we usually settle down for the night.

Meanwhile I stayed with my reading and listening at high volume to soul-crushing love songs from my music library. Thoughts of harming myself kept popping up. I got royally drunk. Not to the extent of falling down, but enough to feel really sorry for myself.

Then I started to feel sorry for my sweetheart. At that point it did not take me long to go to her. I asked her to please allow me to be with her again. I admitted that I made a mistake, and that I was anxious to do anything to correct it and to make up for it.

She was very gracious. Aside from feeling perhaps as bad as I, she admitted that she wanted to be rescued from her own folly. She knew that she backed herself into a corner, and said that I did the right thing by apologizing and not holding her reaction to “no Christmas gift” against her. I was too happy to avoid taking a chance on elaborating on my own stupidity, so I just kissed her all over, and asked her to come back to our bed.

Later in bed it was a magical healing time. We did not have sex, but I understood that she was not only the catalyst but the main ingredient in the compound which we tried to make: she the queen, I her servant and totally committed lover.

It has been some days now. The nuclear winter may be waning into the possibility of a spring. It is hard to say. I have not made amends, and I don’t yet know what it will take. She is noncommittal about where we are heading. She is close, but there is not even a hint of sex. Then again, we have not had sex for a while, so that is not unusual. As to where I stand (or kneel) it remains to be seen.

I have received encouraging comments from some ladies of knowledge in female domination, and I will take them seriously. You can see these comments on my prior post. But this situation is not in the realm of dominance, or FLR. This has to do with the Men/Women Mars/Venus thing. I know that I cannot give up and think like a woman. That is because I have balls. I am wired in a different way. But, given an incentive, and this may be one, I can create a fantasy scenario where I pretend to be a woman, and ask myself, “One woman to another, what would you mean when you say no?” Maybe I will get an insight into that wonderful place that creates the center of my being.

I could use some help. Anyone?

When a Woman Says “No” She Means “Yes”

There have been court cases demonstrating, or trying to demonstrate this issue. They were usually over sexual harassment, and in some cases rape. Well, don’t get excited. This post is not about either in particular “No means yes” scenario. It is about another, which is not illegal, but perhaps it should be.

MW and I discussed the annual hassle of the obligatory Christmas presents. We agreed to give no presents except to the people whose name we drew from a basket in our last family get-together. We bought the items we decided to give as gifts, and the targets of our giving were happy with it. That left Christmas morning without a gift for MW.

Have you read about nuclear winter? It gives you an idea.

The problem is bigger than any apology can undo. Hell, I could die, and that would not undo the damage, just make it worse. So I will try not to die just yet. But the idea is tempting.

I don't mean to be destructive, but, you know, if I am not here to deal with it who gives a shit? Still, I just don't want to leave a mess. I have dealt with too many in my background in law enforcement. Shit. This is pitiful.

We don’t have a doghouse as such, so I will not be joining our two mutts tonight. Maybe. Maybe I will be told to sleep with them anyway. Of course, that will not fix my thorough misunderstanding of the word “No”, but at least it will excise it from my vocabulary.

Self-flagellation will not work either. It would hurt like hell, and she might not care even if she noticed it. Maybe I can just stay on as the servant who takes care of nasty, undesirable chores. Yes, I think I will do that. The problem is, I don’t know where I stand or kneel with respect to her. If she wants any of my service, how can I provide it with this totally impersonal relationship into which I fell? Or is there a relationship left?

This may be my last post. After all, if she is not relating, this is no longer an FLR.

Fried Zucchini Concluded

The Friday arrived when we were planning to do some business in town. The plan was open, but most definitely included fried zucchini. I had our vehicle in the driveway ready to go, after which I walked into the bedroom to take a shower. MW was already dressed and ready. I noticed a little device laid out on the bed I did not say anything, figuring that she just left it there while she was putting away some clutter.

Yeah, right. As soon as she was aware of me, she said, “Lean over the bed, pet. I need to re-qualify with this thing. We have not used it in a while.”

I knew better than to argue, so I leaned over the bed exposing my back to her.


This little device (I don’t know what in specific I should call it) is not big. But as far as small flagellators go, it packs quite a wallop. The handle is 15 inches long. I don't think that the device is meant to be wielded in a vigorous manner. Those metal beads have weight, and the string of them wraps around any curve. When they fall, and are stopped by the target, (my butt), I can imagine what shotgun pellets would feel at fifty feet. But she is very kind, and was just playing.

While doing her thing on my butt she commented on the instant welts and discoloration. I am sure that she was enjoying it more than I. After all, she had a better view of the results, and all I had was the pain. After a few whacks she stopped to examine the damage. Apparently satisfied, she released me to my shower.

I drove us to our destination and waited in our comfortable vehicle for the next two hours while she conducted her business. I had a good book to read, and interesting people to watch, so my time was not unpleasant. After she was done, we did some more errands, and headed for the restaurant. We got a table right away. She, as usual, ordered the meal. When the waitress, a Big Beautiful Woman, asked what I would have for a drink, I answered, “Water.” The BBW was puzzled only a second. Then as she looked at MW, she commented, "Oh, the look" She left with a broad smile.

After the waitress left, MW admonished me for not ordering a Martini or at least some wine. This time I had my ass covered citing her earlier decision (see Fried Zucchini ) that I will not have wine this time.

She must have realized how good a boy I have been lately. After having received our salads, she insisted that I order the wine anyway. Who am I to argue with MW? I ordered a Shiraz. The fried zucchini took a while, but when it arrived, it was as perfect as we expected it.

The dinner was great as usual. The Shiraz was good. We shared a steak and shrimp meal with a lot of good side dishes. We over-ate a bit, but were happy with the whole episode.

When dinner was over the sky was dark, which was what MW wanted. After we entered the residential section off the expressway we enjoyed the colorful Christmas lights displayed on most houses for miles. I think that MW was happy with my performance, at least this time.

Fried Zucchini

We have two favorite restaurants that are part of a chain. We usually visit one or the other in nearby cities depending on convenience. The food, service, and the atmosphere are always good. Given that the prices are also good, we stay with these two restaurants much of the time, unless we are traveling.

One item on the menu is an appetizer, “fried zucchini”. The sexy vegetable is sliced in round pieces, dipped in batter, and fried in oil. The pieces don’t soak up much oil, so other than the imparted flavor to the batter coating the inside is just barely cooked. We dip it in their specialty cucumber sauce and enjoy it much. If MW does not have fried zucchini prior to her meal, she is not happy. If she is not happy, nobody is happy.

A few days ago we were running some errands in town. As we were heading home she alluded to her favorite appetizer. I made the mistake of pointing out to her our cash flow problem. In what I call typical female fashion, she told me in not so many words that I am an insensitive bore, and I should forget about her zucchini. I don’t think she meant only the fried vegetable. So we went home without stopping for the meal.

Meanwhile we had business to attend in town planned for Friday. I suggested that on the way home we have dinner there. She did not complain. We will see.

When I proposed posting Owning And Training A Male Slave She said in an email, “How much did you waste on this? Would some fried zucchini have cost less?”

I sort of forgot to answer her email. After having posted the above, she sent me another email in which she said, “I have asked you how much this book cost. You have not answered. … You get no wine at the restaurant on Friday.”

I did respond this time, “$19.98.”

If that is all the punishment I am to receive I can’t complain. Of course, she can and will do (or not do) other things, but those will happen regardless of the restaurant situation.

Owning And Training A Male Slave

The Book Or The Blog?

Which came first: the book or the blog?

All right people, I have sacrificed my valuable time and effort to critique the Owning and Training a Male Slave, both the book and the blog. Yes, it was hard, took a while, I suffered, etc. And I did not sport a hardon all the time. Well, maybe part of the time.

There are several things wrong there. First, do we really need a how-to book on owning and training a male slave? Judging by a lot of writing out there, everybody has an opinion on how to do it. So here is another.

The blog is presented by Ingrid Bellemare assumed to be the female lifestyle dominant, yet the writing is from her slave’s point of view. Comments to comments, on the other hand, are from her. What does this mean?

Her slave’s induction into non-consensual slavery was supposed to take place many years ago, yet the blog showed up only this year. This may be explained as support for her book. Yeah, that’s it.

Her slave’s recollection of exact words and action of many years ago (see Meeting Madame Ingrid – Part blah blah ..)

The motivation for involuntary slavery is plausible but unlikely. A man could walk away from it regardless of the assumed repercussions. The thing about being posted in gay web sites, etc., her blackmail thing is bunk.

The detail of servitude is just too damn tedious. It caters to one man’s mind. I challenge any would be female slave holder to go to the trouble of (1) Composing and writing the details, see Training, (2) Remembering the details of such explicit protocol in a real scenario, and (3) Staying with it for more than a day. Even if she had nothing else to do in the real world it would be challenge for a person with total recall. Why bother?

The detail of servitude, the stylized bowing, crawling, obeisance, punishment, schedule, etc., are not realistically supportable. After a few days they would be adjusted to something more workable, like, “When I speak to you, you pay attention,” or “When you disobey or are slow to respond, you will be …”

The pictures shown of this so-called slave are not of the man who was enslaved ten years ago (according to her he is now 55). Age takes its toll. These pictures are posed by a younger man who is in good shape, and probably works out regularly. In the book she again talks of his length of service, but there it had been fifteen years, not ten. So is he now 60?

He or she is changing the focus now to male chastity device to go with the current fad. This is not a female preoccupation regardless of the relationship. The chastity part was not mentioned as being required. It was only later, and not to any detail. But now it is.

The book does not go into the financial details of the transition to slavery, but the blog does at Part Four. I give her credit for covering this issue. If a man has nothing in life, no plan for the future, and nothing to lose, this sounds viable. However, as far as a contract goes, it is very simple-minded, just like the schmuck who would go with it: “Give me all you have and I will take care of you.” Right! You are out on your ass as soon as you can't serve. Forget your retirement fund. It never existed.

I could go on with the obvious holes in this so-called relationship, but I don’t really want to ruin it for her. This site was created to support the sale of a book of limited use. If it works, good for her. Or him.

About the book

The person who writes the book may have based the premise on his encounter with a professional domina. If the domina is or was real, and is portrayed more or less as she was, she hates men.

I rather think that the writer has changed the name, the venue, and the characters to fit his view of what he would like either as fantasy or wished-for reality.

In the introduction to the book she says,

“The book is for dominant Females only. It is not for the eyes of males and Mistresses are advised not to let their slaves see any part of it.”

Right. As if that will keep would-be male slaves from reading this. After all, I bought the thing.

I don’t object to the premise of the book: non-consensual male slavery. If a male wants to go with it, fine. If the female is willing to handle the nasty details, fine. Just don’t try to present fantasy as reality. It gives fantasy a bad reputation.

She later says,

“If people don't understand this behaviour and think I hate the male creature, they would be wrong. Women who are true believers in Female Domination and Female Supremacy must love the male creature or we would not train them to be what we want them to be. We love them and we rule them and we make them serve like the inferior creatures they are.”

Aside from the careless grammar, the rambling statement is less than convincing about loving “these inferior creatures”. Kind of like training an ass to pull a cart. Nothing but pure love.

About the favorite submissive male fantasy of orgasm denial she says,

"The slave must be allowed no access to his cock, permitted no masturbation or orgasm and, if possible, not even be allowed to obtain erection. He must learn that as a subservient he has no rights to any sexual pleasures and exists to provide sexual leasures for his Mistress. She can then further encourage her slave by offering say one orgasm per month but only if no more than a certain number of penalty points have been accrued by the slave in his general day to day servitude. There are no half measures where this is concerned so the woman who is serious about owning a real male slave should not shy away from total orgasm denial.”

Is this a very specific male fantasy? Or is it what a very strict male slave owner is willing to give her slave?

Then there is the matter of the slave wearing a butt plug. I am not fascinated with the idea, but I see that in most writings (I hesitate to call it literature) it is a man’s fantasy rather than a dominant woman’s desire to put a plug in a man’s butt and maintain it. Again, the question is, "Why whould she do it?" To please her non-consensual slave?

She talks about humiliation, and lists: verbal abuse, objectification, use as furniture, trampling, face slapping, face sitting, enemas, strap-on, water sports, cuckolding, crossdressing, sissification. A slave who has gone through all of what she presented already would not be humiliated by any of that. What I see here is the typical shopping list for the average submissive male who frequents pro dommes. I assume that many of these "humiliation scenarios" would not be offered by a lifestyle slave owner like Ingrid. It would be too much trouble just for the satisfaction of her non-consensual slave.

Then she offers “Orgasm and Milking.” Here we go again. Why would she offer that? Just put the slave in chastity and be done with it. Forever.

I will not go into the book any deeper. If you want it, pay this person the cost and read it. The book is not bad as far as a fantasy instruction manual goes.

A Bit of History

A few months ago I felt regretful about being instrumental in the demise of a former blog that I discussed at Is This Fake? That blog was entertaining while it lasted. This one may be based on some semblance of reality, so I hope that she does not go away in a huff after people find out that some of them have been duped and left nasty comments. It is a bit too late for her to change the blog in an attempt to plug the holes (well, maybe the buttholes), but we will wait and see.

Sunday Morning

Nothing unusual or extraordinary to post, but the regular and ordinary are special enough. I have been up for some hours. The full moon over the terrain makes its magnificence known to those who appreciate it. Almost light enough to read text by its light. The bluish white glow reflected from Earth to us is a gift that comes once a month. This time it is once a year because of the alignment of satellites, planets, and stars.

I am a voyeur, but not an expert of astronomy. I take pictures when uncommon alignments of planetary and stellar objects present a view. I appreciate grand views, and this is one.

Speaking of grand views, my sweet wife provided one. I brought coffee and we shared. But all along I had this huge erection in support of the views that she sported. Damn, she is sexy.

My cock is sort of average even when it is big. But I subscribe to the idea that “It is not what you have, but what you do with it.” Damn, I can do a lot with it, given the chance. The little guy who was not little just would not go away. Seeing my wife by my side was an enhancement that fed back on itself.

One of my favorite plans is to press my face onto her side. The piece of anatomy between her breast and her hip on one side. No tit to suck, no clit to pleasure, no feminine scent to worship. Just a place where I can put my face and not be the slut that I am. Just appreciate the female beauty of her, and reaffirm my devotion to her. God, I love it!

All right, I am the slut anyway, for she could do anything to me and I would enjoy it. But then, that is not my fault. After all, I am wired to respond to her beauty, and could not do otherwise.

Problem is that things come up. I did not shave within a few hours, my nose is too cold, my hands are too calloused. Whatever. I hold back, she gets no pleasure, I get no satisfaction. Everybody loses. There are promises. We will see. I will shave, at least getting prickly whiskers out of the way.

Involuntary Male Slavery

Where Fantasy Is [trying to run into] Reality

I have run into an interesting discussion at Involuntary Male Slavery It deals with an “e-book” by some person called Ingrid Bellemare. Every reader on this blog had an opinion. I decided to blow a few bucks on the potential thrill of exploring another person’s idea of male slavery. I read the book with the prurient interest that I usually have for a male serving a female. I am just wired that way. But I also have a mind, which is what this person who is writing the book assumes that I don’t have.

After seeing the responses to the blog I mentioned above, I started to read the book the second time. It was difficult because I have objections to almost everything this person states. Her assumptions and feelings are given as facts without any data to support. The pathetic blackmail scenario she proposes would fall apart in a second if the so-called slave decided to go with “The hell with it, I’m outta’ here!” The sparse “examples” she shows of her real acquaintances who are into this idea contradict themselves.

The person writing this book is not illiterate. I don’t condemn her for trying to make a living by selling fantasy. The scenario is barely plausible, but interesting to ponder. As for the legitimacy of her premise, that is fantasy. If she is female, and really feels that way, good for her. If she is male, all things said in the book follow as a totally impractical male fantasy. Good for him. And for those of us who bought the book, enjoy. Just don’t try to make this real.

Tuesday Evening

On a Tuesday evening we usually do what is necessary and then prepare to face Wednesday. But somehow today was different. During our morning coffee one of us mentioned “We have not had a barbecued steak in a long time.” Then the discussion continued on to the merits of thick versus thin steak, charcoal versus blowtorch grilling, driving to town or using some frozen animal matter we might have in the freezer. Although we eat a lot of green and cooked vegetables, we are not vegans. We have been known to eat a beast or two on occasion. This was to be one of those occasions.

The day went without major upheavals, and toward the evening I came into my barbecue mode without prompting from MW. I can burn a steak as well as the next guy, with or without FLR. My problem is that I don’t have the tools to do it right. Yeah, I know, bitch, bitch, bitch, excuses, etc.

The late afternoon came with the sun setting, the open blinds on the windows gathering less sunshine. It was getting cool where I sat in my natural state. MW said, “My steak is to be burned on the outside, raw on the inside. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I can manage anything as long as I have cooperation from the staff, my dear,” I answered.

I think that she did not really expect that answer, so we had a bit of whining and serious pain on my part as she adjusted my tits. Afterward I poured myself a generous portion of red wine, picked up my current soft cover novel, and collected the steaks on a tray to go down to my barbecue.

Our so-called back yard is mostly private. The barbecue area is totally secluded, so being in my natural state there is not an invitation for the Sheriff to ask why I am not wearing my skivvies.

On my way down our two goofy dogs took it upon themselves to help. Have you ever been licked from ankle to tits? Oh. I did not mean that as in your lover honing his or her tongue on your well-sculpted body. I meant, huge floppy-tongued mutts leaving wet streaks on your back, legs, arms, etc. that cool in the chill of the winter evening. I am kinky, but not that kinky, so that’s not what I am saying here. Just that these big goofs are humongous masses of furry love who don’t mind showing it, and as dogs are, they are very oral. Yes, I will have to shower later. And yes, there is no dissuading them other than being mean, which I can’t be with these guys. They are bundles of yucky love.

I carried the material down to the area where I could do the barbecue thing. My only “wear” was on my feet; otherwise I was depending on the sparse hair that I naturally grow to keep me from shivering. Well, it did not work. I shivered anyway with the dropping temperature. I gathered some kindling from the surrounding tree zone, and built a tent on top of the charcoal briquettes. After a couple of tries I got the fire going, and in ten or so minutes I had enough smoke and fire to begin working on MW’s steak. I was glad of the warmth near the barbecue for the evening came in earnest with cool temperatures. I did my duty for the two steaks while sipping my wine and reading my book intermittently. When MW’s steak was properly burned, I was happy to shut down the works and move my naked body back into the house where it was relatively warm.

By then MW had a lovely table set with steamed vegetables, baked potatoes, and green salad waiting. I poured more wine and we sat to begin eating. It was an excellent meal. She was happy with my production. At least I assumed, since she made no complaints.

After dinner she put away leftovers while I cleaned up the mess. What is not apparent, let alone obvious from all this is my state. We live in a temperate climate, but it does get chilly in the evening and during the night. Most normal folks wear clothes to compensate. I, on the other hand, am resigned to be in my natural state as long as I don’t have to deal with people on the outside. That means, the boys travel up to the maximum extent, the little guy practically disappears, and I resort to wearing goose bumps for warmth. MW would not prevent me from being warm, such as when we settle down for the evening. Just that a bit of discomfort between times would not really hurt (in her opinion), and she gets a kick out of it. So do I in a weird sort of way. It is not enough to get my rocks off, but I can’t complain. Even when she pays no attention to me I consider it as, “She is withholding her attention on purpose as part of her Ignore and Denial practice,” which is essential to our FLR.

Hatred and Sarcasm

Occasionally I run out of real-time FLR material, so I do my usual pontification on things that are controversial or at least, bothersome, to me. Here is one.

The theme of my blog is Female Led Relationship. Although some thoughts transcend FLR, almost everything that I post deals with that theme. Consequently, there are some ideas, issues, concepts that can be discussed only to demonstrate a point, but not be part of FLR. For example, I can discuss hatred. It came up in a prior post on Misogyny, and a few times before. But I insist that hatred cannot be part of a rational FLR. I have read of extreme cases where hatred was essential, but they are rare, and tend to give FLR a bad reputation. Somewhat close to hatred in meaning is sarcasm. The latter is less negative in intent, but still destructive.

I have been present in blatant expression of hatred while I was in the Army many years ago, and then later in law enforcement. Anyone can guess the details and would likely hit upon one or more of the issues. Sarcasm is more subtle and requires more thought and intelligence. I will give just one example from my Army days. One of my friends, a kind fellow, did a good deed for one of our mates. The recipient of this good deed responded with, “Thanks, sucker!”

I was within earshot of the exchange, and was very much offended by the ingrate’s comment. My friend, instead of punching the jerk, calmly replied, “That’s all right. I would do that for almost any son of a bitch.”

I have no use for sarcasm, but I admit that it was very appropriate in this instance.

I maintain that hate and sarcasm have no place in FLR. You might wonder why I bring up these two concepts. I have already dismissed hatred as an aberration that seldom comes up. But sarcasm is common. It has nothing to do with FLR specifically. Rather, sarcasm has to do with the person who uses it. I am not passing judgment. My intent is to warn members of benign FLR that sarcasm is destructive.

Why does one use sarcasm? What I have seen is that sarcasm is an attempt at extremely wry humor. The problem with it is that it is often used when it is clearly not necessary.

Humor alone can be, and is usually harmful to someone as the speaker utters it. Humor can be taken well by the object of the statement, but there is no guarantee that it will be so. Even benign humor can cause resentment and loss of mutual respect. Sarcasm is right there on the extreme end of humor.

I will condone sarcasm when it is against the very person who says it, knowing that he is the target of his own remark. It may be funny to an extent, and certainly forgivable, but it still detracts from someone’s stature in a relationship. If I say something sarcastic that demeans my stature, it also demeans the person to whom I submit. Even worse, if my dominant says something sarcastic that demeans me, it is a bad reflection on her choice of a submissive.

In conclusion I will state that using sarcasm is destructive under all circumstances. If the purpose is to hurt someone, then blatant expression of hatred and sarcasm are the tools. Any other time there are ways to express negative feelings (disillusionment, lack of satisfaction, anger, etc.) without being negative. If the purpose is to improve the situation, use anything but sarcasm. Even if punishment is meant, it should be done with a positive attitude. Positive approach never hurts a benign relationship. Negative approach does.

A Sunday Morning

I usually wear the signaling device in the morning. It allows MW to fetch me when she awakes after I had been up for hours usually. This morning was not different. She slept late for a number of reasons. She had worked hard the last two days. In addition, we had the family for a fantastic meal that she prepared for last evening, and we went to sleep late.

I felt the twinge beneath my balls, and knew that she was awake. The device is running out of juice, otherwise it would have been more of an awakening jolt. I quickly tippy-toed to the bedroom to see a beautiful ass waiting to be kissed. I did not waste any time making sure that it did. After that I went to the kitchen to make our morning coffee.

She chose to remain in bed for coffee. I opened the blinds on the south wall to allow the rising sun to warm us. There were clouds, so I turned on a couple of portable heaters to help the sun. After fetching the coffee I joined her. We talked as usual. Toward the end of my brew I mentioned a well-needed skin therapy. She replied that it was on her mind also. This is something that we cannot do when we watch the sunrise sitting in the living room. After dispatching the cups she shed her nightgown and lay on her side facing me.

You have to be a female connoisseur to appreciate the view. I happened to be one. The little guy immediately took attention as we joined skin to skin. I felt her all over, and she commented, “I expect a lot more of that this evening.” My knowing where that usually leads, I replied, “I am very much looking forward to it.”

She then added, “Even if I don’t insist, you do. You must be assertive.” That really got the little guy’s attention. One thing led to another, and I was on top with her spreading a pair of voluptuous thighs for me. I paused with a comment, “We can’t do this with the ring on.” I was referring to the wedding ring that the little guy wears. She said, “Well then, we should forget about this.”

I ignored her comment knowing that she was teasing. I had to tug a lot to get the ring off as it is tight even when the little guy is actually little, which he was not in this case.

We joined and I felt her with my all, slowly, lovingly, with tremendous pleasure. She played with my ON/OFF buttons, my hard little nibs that she knows will give me pleasurable pain. We stayed with that for a while until she said, “We will continue this later.” I withdrew and we lay side by side. I could not get enough of her loving charms. My hand was all over her lovely parts that it could reach.

We have a plan for this evening. If I succeed, she will have her pleasure as long and as much as she can take. It will be my pleasure to give her this.

Am I A Switch?

I could Dominate … To A Certain Extent

Some years ago MW and I were fooling around naked on the bed. I don’t know what compelled me, but I took her wrists and held them over her head in my right hand. I am strong, so I could do that. Getting on top, I had my left hand free to do what was necessary. I mounted her, and had my way with her. For all practical purposes, it appeared that she really got off on being forced. Of course, we did not do anything different from normal, just that I had her wrists confined. When it was over, we both felt good.

Some time later I brought up the situation to find out whether I should do similar things again. She was, at best, noncommittal. She said something like, “I may have faked it.” Even now I don’t know whether she faked it or not. To be on the safe side, I have not tried it again.

I have told MW a number of times that I have the skill, the will, and the commitment to serve her as her dominant, if she ever wants to experience being submissive. When I say this I experience a submissive feeling. The feelings are contradictory in a sense. Dominating a woman in order to serve her is a complex issue. I can visualize a number of scenarios to the smallest detail as she submits to my dominance.

I can see my putting her over my knees, and lovingly spanking her beautifully round buns with my bare hands. Her soft thighs and tummy feel great on my bare knees. I use my fingers to feel the sides of her breast, trace the muscles in her back, and savor the unique dimples just above her butt. She is turned on; her feminine aroma reaches my nostrils and gives me an erection. I put her down on the bed face down, and spread her things. She is wet, and I slide in easily from behind …

Of course, this has not happened. I am not really dominant in the bedroom, or anywhere else with her. What I am is a very sensitive dominant if or when she wants me to be. I know what pushes a submissive’s buttons, for I am one. I can be very emphatic imparting that to her. Even as a temporary dominant, I would be totally dedicated to give her pleasure. Perhaps that is what drives my need to do this.

In my own submission her pleasure is paramount. If I were to dominate her, that would not change. The only difference would be this: instead of her directing what happens next, she would be helpless to just simply experience and enjoy what happens next. The scenario, the extent of pain and pleasure that I impart, would be decided by me based on what I observe of her reaction. Ultimately she would remain in control.

In general I have a hard time accepting a woman being submissive in a D/S relationship. I feel too protective for women to condone it, even when I know for a fact that it is their preference. I happen to know a lovely lady who is that way (A Tantalizing Woman). She is happy with her submission to a trusted man. We exchange light-hearted comments from time to time. I believe she understands my view, and perhaps thinks that I am funny with my idea that women should not submit.

Not that any of this makes a difference, but I wonder: Am I a switch?

Women in Pornography

This is not obviously related to my being submissive or dominant, but it is close to the portrayal of submissive women, which I did bring up.

I run across pornography while searching for full feature movies with sexually charged themes. I have no use for pornography itself. The regular suck and fuck videos and pictures turn me off. There is a lot of female and male beauty that can be shown without getting so vulgar. As much as I love to see women in various stages of undress, I dislike explicit shots of their very private parts displayed in public. Photographs or videos of people with or without clothes can be beautiful, erotic, and very enticing. My objection is when they focus explicitly on genitals or anal areas as a means to grab one’s attention. The context and substance are missing.

Although I am curious, I believe that these shots cheapen and degrade the female beauty, and that sort of view should be reserved between two loving people. Even if she willingly submits to such photography, a woman is being exploited when portrayed doing oral sex, or any kind of sex for that matter. But, I know it is big business, and I am a minority. If these businesses depended on my financial support only, they would be gone in a second. Of course, I am not saying that this business should not exist. As long as there is a market for it, it will persist. I believe in free enterprise as long as we are not dealing with victims of exploitation.

As an attempt to redeem myself on this subject I want to say this. I love to see a fictional movie with a lot of sex between adults, especially including D/S, even when the women are submissive. I like to get involved with the characters, the story, and the plausibility of the portrayed sex. In context, sex is erotic and beautiful. But I find seeing sex just for its own sake cheap, and it is not my preference.

Am I a prude?

Maintenance Mode

I regret if I have disappointed some of you by not providing more FLR and D/S insight to our life lately. I would love to do so, but the inspiration for that is on hold.

Aside from the medical problems that I described, and which still remain to be resolved, MW has made two emergency trips to another state to help with urgent family matters. Her mind is busy dealing with what is happening and what is likely to happen, none having to do with our relationship.

She is going out of her way to involve the immediate family in our area to support them through the holidays. I do what I can for her in turn. It would be selfish of me to give her grief because I miss our formerly wonderful encounters.

We need to get through the obstacles put in our way by life. Some are inevitable, and we do what we are equipped to do. Others we can control, and we plan and execute as necessary. It may be a couple of months before we have some resolution on these problems. Meanwhile we support each other. Our love and resolve in FLR remains strong.

With the winter being here we miss sitting on the top deck watching the stars before dawn. It is cold enough now to have a portable heater in the living room as we wait for the sun to come trough the many windows to warm us. She sits in an easy chair. I sit at her feet on the floor. I am in my natural state as usual. I gaze at her beauty. She plays with my private parts using her foot. We sip thick strong coffee and talk about what bothers and pleases us, and the plans for the coming day and future. These times are always pleasantly constructive.

In the winter the sun comes up from southeast. I have the window blinds open to help warm the room. Upon sunrise we attend to breakfast and the pets. This is our winter morning custom.

Never Mind What I Said!

MW and I have our ups and downs and shared minor annoyances. My suggestion to her is to fix them in a very simplistic way, and usually on the spot. By "simplistic" I mean to have me correct whatever I did or did not do to her satisfaction, and then follow it up with some form of discipline if necessary. By "on the spot" I mean that she could have her way, and avoid hours of festering doubt and anger.

Yes, I know, “I am simply suggesting how she should behave,” which is essentially topping from the bottom. Maybe. Speaking of “bottom”, when she does decide to punish or discipline me, my “bottom” usually bears the brunt of it. Does not happen often, but when it does, I am the first to know it.

There are two things going on here. My proclivity for hand spanking is a given. When she tells me to place myself face down across her knees I know that she loves me. My only concern is that she hurts her bare hands while giving me joy. She can’t seriously hurt my buns with her wonderful hands, no matter how hard she hits. Yet I am sure that the impact is not good for her hands. So I have suggested to her that as much as I love the attention and the experience, she should spare her hands the pain.

The other thing on the subject is that I enjoy pain only in limited context, for example, the temporary application of tit clamps while I serve her. Pain imparted by her cane, whip, paddle, and crop when she uses it for punishment (or her pleasure) is not something I desire. I welcome it because by doing it she is telling me that she cares. The best part of that is when it is over.

Back to “Never Mind What I Said.” Whether or not she fixes the problem on the spot is not relevant to this statement. There is a second part to it.

Just Do What I Meant!

The second part is “Just Do What I Meant!” What was perfectly clear to MW when she told me to do something may have been clear to me also. Unfortunately for me, what she meant was not what I understood. What I understood was what she said. This goes back to the now cliché quote, “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.” Although I don’t subscribe to the idea of it, I understand that we are different. My mind works with logic and data. Paraphrasing from an old anecdote, when someone tells me to “Get me a spade” I get a spade, and not “A fucking shovel.” And there is the rub.

MW likes to speak in metaphors. She loves to hint rather than suggest or command. To me her hints are to be taken literally. So when I execute her hints, I invariably fail to execute what she really meant although did not say. She is aware of this since we have discussed it many times over the years. Yet she is still does not just grab me by the balls and say, “Now see here, do this and that, and do it now!” Not that I need to be grabbed by the balls to do things for her, but I would not object. It is just a figure of speech…

I think that our situation is like a human with a pet dog. Her being the human, I being the dog. She as the owner of the dog can try to train the animal to respond to her commands. The trick is to give the commands consistently until the animal truly understands the command and the required response. A hint instead of the command will confuse the dog.

The basic reason for this is that the dog has limited intelligence, and cannot be expected to read the nuances of some esoteric request from his mistress. The dog is not capable of that. Whereas, the mistress is capable of giving the command in ways that the dog cannot misunderstand. Do that, and both are happy.

So, I am still hoping that she will treat me more like a dog, and less like her peer. Well, at least in this respect. We could get kinky and elaborate on the mistress-dog relationship. But that is a subject for another post.

Misogyny

You may call me "simplistic", or even "simple" for that matter. I am not a psychologist, so what I propose here is not authoritative, just genuine: anyone who hates women has a few loose bricks... Just like those of you out there who hate cats, or fat men or queers (sorry, in behalf of political correctness, I meant to say "gays"), hatred is just irrational. Yes, one can develop hatred to some people based on being the victim of repeated abuse. I would call that rational hatred. This is something else.

One submissive man on his blog was saying that his Mistress “… believes most subs are truly misogynists at heart because its their expectation that they see a Domme as a mean to their own end.” Mistress, according to the writer is a retired pro Domme. Hmm.

This assumed belief begs to be examined in the light of rational reasoning. It is also open to heated debate of extreme points of view.

There are men who hate women, so some men who visit pro Dommes are misogynists. There are women who hate men, so there are pro Dommes who hate men. But hate is not a requirement for the relationship. Rather, there is a symbiotic relationship between them similar to physical therapy, psychological therapy, carpet cleaning, plumbing, prostitution, etc.

If this Mistress does indeed believe what the man says, it appears that she has a low opinion of men who visit her for professional services. Or maybe men in general. Maybe she hates men. Is there a word for "hating men"? Going with the reasoning of this particular “retired Domme” we can also conclude “all pro Dommes hate men.” This is just as absurd as saying, “All subs who visit pro Dommes hate women.”

The “pro Domme–submissive client relationship” is benign. There is no need to scratch at it like one would scratch at a scab. I would love to get a treatment of female domination as much as any man, but I would not consider visiting a pro Domme for that purpose. Yet I see nothing wrong with another man doing so. There are situation in which that is the only way that a man’s primal need can be satisfied. He may be in a totally committed relationship that does not provide that need. Should he sacrifice the satisfaction of his need? What if it was the woman who needed such, and the man could not provide it? Should she just grin and bear it?

I don’t criticize men who use a pro Domme's services. And I definitely don’t believe that these men do so because they are misogynists. A professional Domme may have gone into business for the monetary rewards, for sexual thrill, or for revenge against earlier offense. It could be a combination. I condone the first two. The last, however, needs to be treated. Hate in any context is not a constructive attitude.

The Female Supremacy Theory

I read an excerpt from a treatise on "female supremacy with consensual male slavery" on one of the blogs a while ago. I regret that I did not keep the source so that I could reference it here. If I find it, I will update this post. This treatise by the unnamed author is well written in content, style, and grammar. It promotes "absolute power" of female over male. I would love to argue many of the issues, but it would take more than a lifetime to do so, assuming that the author and I were able to give it all that attention.

I have dealt with the female supremacy subject in my blog, and dismissed it as a benign fantasy among a small number of advocates. I love to submit to females under some circumstances. As to submitting to superior humans of any race, gender, religion, or any other un-earned trait, consider me a revolutionary and a guerilla: I will fight to the death to maintain my freedom, and take any of the so-called superiors with me in the process. We need to remain vigilant in our well-established society to disallow this sort of idea to pervert us. No amount of consensual slavery by a few should become the norm for those who don’t see it that way.

Since I must limit my comments to a reasonable size, I will present only some basic issues that in turn should refute many of the unknown author’s assumptions, assertions, and arguments.

First I present the author’s use of the word, “absolute” to mean that females would have absolute power over males. People use this word trivially, perverting it to mean “without a doubt”, “really”, “no kidding”, etc. Squeeze a person who uses the word to define its meaning, and he or she will admit that the meaning was not really "absolute," assuming that they can actually define the word.

Second, I grant that the author of this treatise may know the meaning of "absolute," and intended to use it in its proper meaning. However, the human mind is incapable of doing justice to the word, for in our existence there are no absolutes. The word is as troublesome as "infinity." We can define both in terms of other words, but will never be able to experience their meaning. Given the above, using "absolute" to define inter-personal power exchange is, at best, limited, and more likely trivial.

Human society did not evolve at the stroke of one’s pen or keyboard. It is arrogant to assume that any one person has the answer to what ails us in the sociological realm. There have been despots who did that, and none are alive today. Imposing spiritual aspects attempts to re-create today’s ills caused by religion taken too seriously. The idea of female supremacy is an excellent example.

A complex issue cannot be presented and accepted simply by writing a few or a few thousand words about it. Yet, if one tries to write more, as in this case, one assertion will begin to refute the other, and the theory will go nowhere. Regardless of how thorough this treatise may be, the more said about it, the less chance there is of it being cohesive and without refute. There are holes. For example, the author does not deal with the following issues: children, siblings, parents and more distant relatives, etc. Then there is the matter of skipping over education, inheritance, medical care, old age, tort, and issues of national or regional defense. I don’t assume that when superior beings are in charge, all this will go away, for these superiour beings will create their own issues. Think of Greek mythology.

I would look forward to reading the whole treatise (if I can find it again), but only as I would read a novel. Perhaps the author meant to present it as such, and we have gone to a lot of trouble to figure that out. As a novel I have no problem with it. As a realistic proposition, it would not get past day one in implementation. As a neat fantasy among like-minded people who play with it, it may work until one or the other gets tired of the game.

Bitch, Bitch, Bitch, ...

I have been reading some blogs where, probably with some justification, the writer is just bitching about his wife not being dominant in the way he would like it.

After some years of practice and achievement of wisdom (by virtue of getting old enough) I can see where I made mistakes. My wife wants me to be her lover. She wants me to be strong and manly. She wants me to initiate sexual activities as a lover would. So I try to do all that. She is not naturally dominant. Being in charge 24/7 is not on her agenda. Given that, there is a lot of territory that we can share. I will elaborate.

We share love, companionship, closeness, interests, so the situation is prime for occasionally each of us giving to the other. Whether for love, sex, or duty, it does not matter. For example, she is not a sadist, but she is perfectly happy to whip my ass until it shows very distinct marks. Sometimes for fun, sometimes for her own enjoyment, sometimes because she thinks that I would appreciate the attention. This is not necessarily FLR. It is just playing in the bedroom. But at the same time I understand that if I don’t fold and put away the freshly laundered clothes, my ass will sting. See for example Punishment For The Crime. Well, my ass will probably sting anyway, but that is not the point. Now, that is FLR!

We have resolved our issues. (1) I am and will remain horny regardless of what she does or does not do to or for me. (2) I will serve her regardless of what she does or does not do to or for me. (3) She enjoys my service in the bedroom, in the car, or in any public or private place. (4) She appreciates my keeping the house in top shape.

She is safe in knowing that I am hers to use and to love. She knows that I am her protector, and her safe harbor in all circumstances. I am very comfortable with that. She needs not perform a role at any time. Yet she feels good about giving me little pleasures often, great pleasures from time to time, and discipline when she thinks it necessary. I may be disappointed with the degree or frequency, but that is just my own failure.

My real message here is that my expectation of how she should behave as a dominant woman will remain as a wish. She will do as much or as little as she wants, and I am fine with that. I may not get some of my fantasies acted out, but let’s get real. Unless I pay a professional, I will have to settle for some plain loving relationship with my wife.

Taking Control

MW is able to take and remain in control when all is well, and there is no contention from me, or irritating circumstances from all around us. Ours is a nurturing FLR, the nurturing part is mainly from me. It is because I want it so much, and she is generous enough to provide it when all is well.

The ways that we get derailed are basically caused by two things. First, there is her tendency to crash occasionally due to external pressures or hormonal imbalance. That takes her mind off FLR, just to fix things. This is a natural defense mechanism that nobody should hold against her. Second, given that she is not naturally dominant, any perceived challenge to her authority tends to cause her to back off and then hold a grudge until the situation is resolved to her satisfaction. This is mostly my fault, because I am the one who wants her to be in charge, whereas she would have been OK with being vanilla if I had not brought up my kinky desire for FLR. This is not saying that she does not enjoy being in charge in general. She loves it, she loves to use me, and she loves the apparent power that she has.

I have tried to work around the first problem by helping her to overcome the pressures of the particular situation. I have a lot of love invested in her, and so my support is a given. The problem here is that from time to time I am the one who triggers the crash. Even worse, there are times when I give her logical solutions, rather than what she needs. We work it out eventually, but the entire angst mitigation is wasted or at best, delayed. I need to be better at this. The problem will not go away, but my approach to handling it should improve.

The solution to the second problem is more in her realm. I can help by continually reassuring her that I mean to be her support group under all circumstances, and that she has complete authority over our relationship. I trust her to do the right thing, and to not do anything illegal or harmful. Everything else is not a consideration by me. It is all hers to resolve in any way that feels good for her.

She has power over me. I have been in love with her since we met many years ago. I have been lusting after her just as long. And, for the last several years, I have wanted to serve her as her consort, protector, and most of all, pet. The “pet” part is her favorite definition of who and what I am under our FLR. She takes care of her pet. She receives enjoyment from her pet. Her pet is dependent on her. Her pet is trained to do what she needs. Her pet is lower on the scale of importance than she is. Her pet exists to make her life more pleasurable.

Her pet being human, can take verbal, written, and physical cues about what she expects. He is not perfect, but he can learn. He is dedicated to be all that she wants him to be. This includes the vanilla husband obligations.

This is why she needs to feel comfortable about using her position for the benefit of both of us.

I ran across a passage in one of my favorite blogs, http://femdom101.blogspot.com/. The writer, Kathy, made a statement that describes the situation with her husband, John. She describes him as her slave. If he is really that, it is by his choice. Here is the quote in pieces,

“When I snap my fingers, he drops to the ground. To me this is a very basic command that any submissive male should be taught by his wife.”

From my vantage as a submissive to MW this is a very desired conditioning. It has sexual, spiritual, and very practical implications. It does not demean me, at least in my opinion. I did agree to serve MW in any way that she wants me to serve, and this is trivial when compared to some other, mostly drudgery things. I get a thrill just writing about this, knowing (actually, wishing) that she can put me on my knees with a snap of her fingers.

“As a mistress you can use it any time, almost any place, for any purpose. If a man sta[r]ts to argue with you, a quick snap of the fingers puts him in his place.”

This is one of the tools that MW could use when there is even a hint of contention. My rendering of the restaurant scene in The Last Day of Her Vacation could have been handled using this. She could have snapped her fingers, and I would have gotten up from my chair and dropped to my knees before her. I can imagine the stares of the customers and the staff, and the amused curiosity of her two lady friends.

“If you want him out of the way, and you don't have a kennel, this command brings him to the floor. In that position John is required to be absolutely silent unless mistress asks a specific question. He is required to stay in that position, very still, until mistress allows him to rise.”

I consider this a holding pattern as is done for an aircraft that cannot land due to local conditions. It does not matter what the reason is, or how I feel about it. What matters is that she wants me to be on hold until further notice.

If she so desires, she could go out and do whatever she likes, and be back hours later. Meanwhile I would probably tire and just sit on the floor. But I would stay there, because I know that eventually she would be back and would release me. If subsequent punishment were involved, I would accept it, as I try to accept everything that she does. If I act angry because I think that the holding pattern was unjustified, she has the right to correct my attitude until I learn that her way is the right way.

It is strange that rationally I don’t want any of this, but I am thrilled to experience it. It is also strange that all this is supposed to be for her benefit, yet it is basically to thrill me at a primal level. I don’t dispute the object of the benefit or the thrill. If it works for both of us, we have a great FLR. If it is for only one of us, the relationship will not last. What we have is not perfect, but it seems to work for both of us.

Driver, Baggage Handler, etc., Concluded

Comments Concerning Postings …

I have said this before (I have said everything before: I tend to repeat myself) that many people don’t comment on postings when they think that the person has most of the problems solved. Saying something like, “That’s nice” is not constructive. However, when the posting person is in trouble, is puzzled or obviously misguided, or way out of line, etc., comments are offered in abundance.

I don’t wish anyone to think that I have it all figured out, and that MW and I are the perfect FLR couple (see Poster Couple for FLR ). We have problems on different levels, but we deal with them most of the time. This posting is a demonstration that all is not perfect between us, but in my dear wife’s words, “These annoyances will happen, and I do not believe there is anything we can do to avoid them. Does make life interesting though...doan-it?” My sentiments exactly.

The Last Day of Her Vacation

Monday morning, while parting with MW at the resort as I set out to head home she said, “You will wear Kali again when you return for me on Thursday.” Duly noted.

The few days between my leaving her to go home and the day of my rejoining MW on Thursday went like seconds. Not that I had any kind of fun, just that I was busy and before I knew it, it was Thursday morning. I was busy with chores outside, so I did not hear MW’s plaintive telephone call. In mid-sentence her cell phone quit (according to her later explanation), and she had no charger handy. She resorted to emailing our sons with instruction to call me and tell me to use Instant Message to contact her. One of my boys did call, and I happened to be in the house at the time. I installed IM on my computer, and did contact MW as soon as that was done. I immediately received a ton of messages.

By the tone of her communiqué she appeared to be very distressed. It appeared that she had problems handling her two rowdy friends. I responded, by saying, “I will send you email.” And that is where the trouble began.

In my email, among other things, I said, “I am willing to help you in any way, but please leave me out of any mystical ceremonies or activities. You will find me much more pleasant afterward.” I was referring to some activities that she was contemplating. Her response was, “…I won't bother you again.” I could tell that this was not good.

I got ready for the trip to join her, installed Kali, and left. Three hours later upon arrival at the resort Laura let me into the condo since she saw me through the window as I was approaching from my truck. We hugged and kissed (as usual), and I walked into the adjoining apartment to see MW. My reception was not as warm as I had hoped. This was when she told me that I signed my email to her with my full name. I have to admit that seeing my full name under an email message to her is neither romantic nor erotic.

However, I sent this email from my email account that is reserved for business. As usual, my signature using my full name was appended automatically. In may haste I neglected to conclude the message with a phrase proclaiming my eternal love to her. I am bad.

But that was not the real problem. She had experienced an episode of depression, likely brought on by stress, and this was just another burden imposed on her already thin layer of joy eroded by little annoyances. I assured her that I still loved her, and then asked whether it was all right for me to talk with her friends and explain why she had been avoiding them that day. I did that, and returned to her. We talked in private. In a short time she was back to her loving and lovely self, and all was well. We had a good evening.

Next morning I was up early, made coffee for myself while MW was still sleeping. I spent a couple of hours reading until she began to stir. I joined her in bed and shared her warm softness. She began to appreciate my hand gently playing with her skin. I asked her to lie face down so that I can do more. I gave her the kind of massage that she likes, which from time to time results in her taking pleasure from my tongue. The little guy was drooling in anticipation. I think that she may have been inhibited by the presence of her friends on the other side of the door, so we did not progress in that direction. Still, it was a lovely experience.

It was checkout time. The ladies packed, and I loaded all the luggage into two vehicles. After I checked us out, we agreed to meet at a place that they usually visit for one last pleasant outing before returning home. We had a good time. It was mid afternoon before we were ready to leave. Having missed lunch, they decided to eat first. After being seated at the restaurant, MW and I discussed what I would have for my meal. I chose one item from the menu. She suggested another as I was leaving to the restroom to wash my hands. When I returned the waitress was just completing the requests. I asked, “Have I ordered yet?” I was asking, really, whether MW had ordered my meal. She did, but it turned out to be one that I did not want. So, I told the waitress that I want to change it to what I originally chose. The reason does not matter, but I could tell by MW’s facial expression that I had just committed a blunder.

The meal went well, we joked and laughed. Afterward we parted company with the two ladies, and MW and I headed out of town toward high country, the way we usually travel home from this place. The route we chose avoided the somewhat boring, monotonous, and busy interstate highway. In a short time the temperature dropped twenty degrees due to the high elevation that we reached. Rugged mountains, tall pines, dramatic sunset made a pleasant drive. MW slept through most of it, since she had not had much sleep during the prior four days. We made a pit stop for refreshments after the sun set. I drove in the dark over the serpentine mountainous road enjoying the radio, coffee, and her company. At some point she said, “I love you.”

“I am glad to hear that,” was my response. I know that she would prefer to hear me say, “I love you too,” but I am always a little quirky, and seldom provide the accepted response. At least, I did not say what I often say, “That’s good, I love me too.”

“I appreciate that you always save my butt by snatching it out of the fire,” she continued. She was referring to situations that she prefers not to handle when I am there to do it. She added, “The only things I do for you in return are little things.”

“They are good,” I answered, “and it is OK by me if you do something big once in a while.”

We bantered a bit and felt good about the day. Arriving home late I had some problems with the Beast while trying to unload our gear. I took care of the animals while she did some other chores. After showering we retired to watch a movie.

In the morning I assumed that things were back to normal until she accused me, “You humiliated me with your refusal of my order in the restaurant.”

There was no point in my arguing. I did change her order. About my humiliating her, I just did not see that. I guess she felt embarrassed. Afterwards I found out that when she ordered for me, her friends asked whether I will go with it, and she assured them that I would. It turned out that I was not aware of this conversation, so I did change the order. If I had known, I would have eaten anything to save her embarrassment.

Basis of Power Exchange

I pontificated over this concept in More Anticipation of the Trip (see Power Exchange). The bottom line was that I cannot give her power, and she cannot take power from me. It is there to use as appropriate. Period.

Let’s take a hypothetical scenario of a business where I as an employee approach the owner’s wife, and say, “I want you to be the boss, do with me as you please. And, by the way, the badge of your power is this,” and I hand her some token. Hypothetically she takes the token and from time to time she exercises her power over me, using me in any way that she deems proper. Then some day I approach her, and take away the token. The meaning is, “I have taken back the power that I gave you. You are no longer boss.”

Does this make sense? It could be woven into a short story or a novel, but it cannot be real in the sense that a lowly employee cannot appoint a person to be boss. There are other ways, and this may be the worst. But this was a hypothetical scenario meant to illustrate my point. When MW and I agreed to live a FLR, I had one reason to submit to her rule: I wished to serve a deserving woman. This one reason may have been complex, but it is summed up nicely as this: she is a woman, she has raised our children and helped me through adversity, she is my wife, and I love her. Oh yes, and there is also her taking charge of sex. All that holds true today, hence, we are still in an FLR. But “I did not give her the power over me.” I simply asked her to take charge of anything with which she would feel comfortable. I set no limits and imposed no conditions.

I admit that I am not the perfect submissive to her, assuming that I could define the role. I try to be good, and I fail. But I don’t fail out of pride, selfishness, misplaced propriety, etc. I fail because I am human, and imperfect. I cannot read her mind, I feel differently about things. I feel good when she feels good. I feel bad when I know that she is not satisfied with me, like when I was driving to the resort this last time. I knew that I did the wrong thing for her.

There is a difficulty here. I have said before that she is not a naturally dominant female. It appears that she may take the hypothetical scenario above literally, that is, “I gave her the power over me, and at some point I snatched it out of her hand without warning.” This is not logical, and she knows it. Is it rational? We are getting into the fringes of a concept that may defy definition. I just wish that she would choose a way to handle a situation positively, rather than just react and retreat. If she wants the power, it is hers. It’s not mine to give or take. If she has a grievance, she should confront the cause and do something positive to work out a satisfactory solution. I am willing. I may not like the method or the result, but I am in this relationship for life, and I support her regardless of my occasionally grumpy attitude.

The single assessment of the restaurant situation is this. Due to my absence I was not aware of her attempted demonstration of her power over me, and I blew it by changing the order. She could, and I sincerely wish that she had, stopped me. I wish that she had said, “I have already ordered the other meal, and that is what you will have.” Had she done that, I would have said, “Of course.” All would have been well.

Driver, Baggage Handler, etc.

I mentioned earlier that MW had reserved a few days’ stay at a nearby resort for herself and two lady friends. Her purpose is to give these two females a chance to relax, something that they would not do themselves. The resorts that she arranges are not extravagant by any expectation, but they are way above the average hotel or condominium. They are usually in picturesque setting, mostly out of the city, and are well serviced with respect to cleaning and other amenities. The staff is accommodating, there are activities available, and usually beautiful scenery to see and visit.

Yesterday morning, after I finished my chores, I was expected to load MW’s luggage into the Beast. When done, we waited till noon to begin the trip. I showered and put on my traveling clothes. As I was leaving the bedroom MW waylaid me and pointed to the MCD (AKA, “Kali’s Teeth Bracelet) that she left on a silver tray on the bed.

I have mentioned this device before in We Are Playing Again. It looks innocent, but you just have to be there. It was obvious that she expected me to put it where it belonged. As she watched I installed it and snipped the extraneous end of the plastic tie. I also slipped the small side cutters into my pocket after I pulled up my pants again.

MW does not like to drive. Whenever I am available she has me to drive her car. She also likes to take a lot of baggage. Not so much as too many clothes, but an eclectic assortment of items that relate to what she does at home, and what she likes to do when that is all she has to do. Over the years she has streamlined her options, and they are now down to a couple of big items, such as suitcases, and several smaller bags.

After handling some chores in town, we headed to her friend Beatrice’s condo. Her friends live, with respect to us, at points of a triangle whose sides are on the order of 30 to 50 miles. Upon arrival I was “asked” to bring up some items from Beatrice’s car, which I did. After that I carried and loaded several bags and boxes into the Beast. Beatrice was to drive her car to Laura’s house, from where the two of them would travel to the resort to join MW and me.

MW and I set off toward our target, and had a pleasant drive. I did a lot of fidgeting because of the device on my very private part. Normally, in my natural state I can live with it, hardly know that it is there. But those rows of evil little teeth can cause pain from mild to severe. “How? you might ask.” Well, she can squeeze it, hit it with a crop, or play with my tits, and a lot of other things. Once the little guy erects, he is relentlessly determined to cause me pain. But that was not the case this time. I wore tight undershorts with tight Levi’s while sitting in a vehicle with seat belt on for a couple of hours. After a while fidgeting was justifiable.

We made one pit stop where I could adjust the works so it did not hurt so much, and then moved on toward our destination. Upon arrival we checked in, and drove to our two-bedroom unit with a studio apartment. Beatrice and Laura were there already. After messing with the magnetic keys for a while we called the host to send someone over to open the studio where MW and I were to stay. The others were to share the main floor.

Meanwhile I moved in the luggage, although Beatrice was very kind to move most of hers into the unit during this time.

Once in, the ladies decided to implement their plan to go to town for groceries to last for the week. MW knew already that I just wanted to relax, so she graciously allowed me to stay. She even suggested that I have a drink. That was fine with me. The three of them left in Laura’s SUV. I poured myself a double Scotch, took off my shoes, and settled down with a book. Upon finishing the Scotch I poured some dry white wine, and then checked the place around the building. I found where the barbecue area was, and where MW and I could sit early in the morning to watch the stars and satellites. I also took some pictures of the of which I show one.

The second hour of their departure came and went. By this time I had been up and active for seventeen hours, and without a meal for the last eight. I felt annoyance gnawing in my empty stomach. I had more wine.

Some three hours after their leaving they returned. MW looked a little apprehensive as she approached me. I must have looked pissed. After some verbal exchange she said, “Please don’t show your anger with them.” I knew exactly what she meant. She was sweet enough to offer to fix me a plate of food. I declined, explaining that, if they were to have dinner together, I would be happy to eat with them. At that point all was well. Sort of …

Each lady bought her own delicatessen food and other items, and the dining room table was covered with deliciousness. And I am not referring to the participating ladies at this point. The food was good, and I think I may have been convincing in my pleasant demeanor. After some red wine I was really all right.

The evening wore on, and I did not volunteer my cleanup services. MW did not force it, so I excused myself to retire. MW followed me into the studio later. She mentioned that she will attend to my ass, no matter how late she decides to come to bed. I accepted that, since we both signed up to her being right no matter what, and then maybe ask questions later.

I showered, and went to bed. Passed out real soon. She came in at some point, and I knew that she was going to whip me with the little metallic flogger. The one that is essentially silent if we ignore the sounds I make. She may have felt guilty, for she let me go back to sleep.

I think it was around midnight when she returned to join me. She grabbed the MCD-clad little guy and I gasped in pain. He was at his best. “Oh my,” she commented. “Would he like to be released?”

“I don’t know what he thinks, but I would very much appreciate it.”

“Then cut it off. Where is the cutter?”

“In my pants’ pocket.”

I assumed that she meant to cut the plastic tie, not the little guy. I got up to get the tool, and came over to her to see as I snipped it. The pain was momentarily overwhelming, but not lasting. I thanked her, and we lay down on the bed. She turned to me, and drew my face to her wondrous breasts.

I slept fairly well, but was up by 3:15, ready to face the day. The problem was the one-room accommodation. She was still in bed, and I was trying to make coffee for myself in the kitchenette. With all sounds quiet, any noise I made was loud. At some point I disturbed her enough where she asked me what the noise was. Being very careful, I managed to make coffee, set up my computer in the dark, and sat down to do some work.

Just before five she woke again, and we talked. I made coffee for both of us, put on some warm clothes, and went outside to see stars as we sipped coffee. Later on I set up the computer to connect to the Internet, and showed her how to put on a show using the pictures on a CD and a USB device. She prepared breakfast of some excellent deli items while I made coffee. After breakfast we talked, but we both knew that I had to leave. Her friends were still sleeping as we parted after my kissing the inside of her right thigh. I would have loved to stay and do more, but knew that the situation was not ready for that.

Her Pleasure

Who Gives Pleasure to Whom?

A man who lives to serve a woman can get pleasure from giving her pleasure. This is why I maintain, “There is no selfless serving by a male.” He always gets something out of it.

The concept can be explained in terms of the yin and yang. Yin being basically the female or the devotion to the female, and Yang being the male or his offer of this devotion. I hesitate to get too deeply into this, because I don’t have the necessary learning to support my assertion. It would also be unproductive to get off the subject. The bottom line is, “It is my pleasure to give her pleasure, and I don’t feel bad about being so selfish.” In fact, I feel very good about it. I could do it every day for the rest of my life.

I know that there are some stylized D/S relationships where the man is not supposed to get any pleasure out of it, but ours is not it. We both want to be pleasured, even if it is only through my service. I think that the relationship will survive only if each partner (out of two or more) gets roughly equal amount of pleasure out of it.

About Being Horny …

If some unbiased observer were to describe me with respect to my libido, he or she could call me a horny bastard, and would be absolutely correct. Although I am able to concentrate on my immediate task, even plan long-term tasks, this trait is ever present. I can walk into the dregs of society (as I have while in law enforcement), and find some female who stands out among them in a good way. She may not be cocktail-party quality, but would be passable in, say, at a local hardware store’s plumbing section. What I am saying is, I am not looking for perfection. If I occasionally find perfection, it gives me feelings of inadequacy. So, I would rather deal with less than perfect, but satisfactory outcome. I am not talking of personal beauty here, rather, situations. I love to have a good time, and really don’t long for the perfect time. In retrospect some experiences I have had I considered perfect, but only upon reflection on the experience. During the experience perfection was not an issue.

This condition of mine may be a chromosome thing. With men in general it does not take much to be pleased by a female. My wife can please me in a seemingly unbounded ways, and most of it takes little effort. It does take some thought and imagination, however. Almost any attention from her is good, even if my ass hurts afterward.

My Wife Requires Perfection

This darling woman thrives on perfection. She goes out of her way to make everything she does or experiences perfect. It is great.

We can have a home-cooked hamburger, for example. We sit at the table with all the ingredients within reach. I poke a fork into a patty and drop it onto my plate. I scoop some sliced onions, tomatoes, and a jalapeno pepper next to it. I may squirt some barbecue sauce on top of the meat, grab a slice of sourdough bread, and I am ready to eat it with my knife and fork, taking bites out of the bread.

Not so MW. She slices a bun or some other whole-wheat carrier, and puts it on her plate. It is followed by a beef patty subsequently covered with mayonnaise and ketchup. Over that a slice of lettuce, and sliced tomatoes and onion are placed. Pickle slices are next. And so on …

I am half done eating before she puts the other half of the bun on top, and is poised to take a bite. I would have to unhinge my jaws to be able to bite through that. She, on the other hand, has had a lifetime of perfect hamburgers, so it seems so effortless for her to eat it while holding it between two hands. Only sometimes do I need to dab her chin to remove the juices. That is perfection. Whereas in my case, close enough.

That is the way it is with sex for both of us. She wants it perfect, I want it close enough. Consequently, unless the setup is perfect, sex may be postponed until perfection is achieved. Based on this, I conclude that the quantity suffers. But that is just my male chromosome talking.

From time to time I step into perfection inadvertently. We seldom get lucky just by serious planning. For example, the day before yesterday she told me, “Tomorrow evening you will wear the signaling device (see Signaling Device). I will summon you when I need you.”

Well, “Tomorrow” was yesterday. After dinner I took care of the dishes while she went to shower, and such. She mentioned that she might be viewing some material of prurient nature, and that I should not bother her. Fine. I showered, put on the device, and sat down with my computer. Oh, I was also wearing a CB3000 that she had me put on earlier in the day.

At some point I got zapped in the private parts. That was her way to summon me. I hastened to the bedroom where I found her on the bed au naturel. That condition of hers always impresses me favorably, and the little guy began to fill the already tight space allowed to him by MW. She presented her backside to me, and I was ready to work. To make sure that my attention is fully focused on her, she “asked” me to bring tit clamps. I did, and she installed them. On my tits.

Well, you know, my attention was on her, but also on the immediate pain. I did my duty, and enjoyed it very much. I worked on her front side next with similar results. Apparently this was a perfect setup for her. She made it possible for me to put my tongue to work.

I am a very conscientious worker when it comes to this particular chore. I guess her earlier viewing of some videos helped also. With my fingers getting into the act, she soon had her pleasure. A few times. Then she was done with me.

I savored her scent on my face and in my nose. It would not have taken much to get me off, but that was not on her agenda. After she calmed down I asked whether she wanted her leg and feet massage with the lotion. She did, so I did.

Afterward we watched something on a DVD. We had dessert. I had tea to try to keep me awake. The tea may have helped, but not for long. I don’t remember what caused it or how it happened, but she began to gently whip the little guy, who was inside the cage, and the boys, with the little metallic flogger (see Flogger). I am as appreciative as the next guy when it comes to getting all that attention, but once in a while some thin skin was caught between the beads and the hard plastic of the cage, and I yelled. Her comment was something like, “You are lucky I am being gentle.” She got tired of it after a while, and I went to sleep.

This morning, after I was done with my work, she watched me approaching in my natural state. She asked about the damages. There were a dozen or so small cuts and contusions, but all were healing just fine. She said, “See, I do care about you!” She can be very kind.

A Gift From Mistress Wife

We have not done much sexually for the last few weeks, as I indicated earlier. The night before last MW “strongly suggested” that I shave my face and private parts “or else.” I knew what the “or else” meant, so yesterday afternoon after my work was finished I did shave all the goodies, and reported to her. She graciously accepted my efforts and approved the results.

During the morning coffee I mentioned to her that “sharing skin” would be nice. She remembered. Late in the evening as we watched some movies on DVDs while reclining in bed she pulled me to her. We lay face to face while I did that wonderful thing with my hand on her back and other parts. Apparently my hair tickled her face, so she suggested that I move south just a bit. I certainly did not need a second command to do so. My face embedded between her voluptuous breasts I was on the verge of eruption given my state of long-term denial.

I said nothing, but began to move further south in a somewhat stealthy mode. I don’t think that I was fooling her, but she did not object. After a while I arrived near my objective, and did some tentative probes with my tongue. My interpretation of her response was apparently correct, for she allowed it to enter between those provocatively fragrant lips. I took a bold move and turned into a 69 position for best advantage to give her maximum pleasure.

After some big Os on her part I backed off. She was done.

Later on I pointed out with amazement, “You have actually let me get away with that!”

She answered, “You seduced me.”

I could have just kissed her all over for that remark. That was just so-sweet!

The morning after was also good. She instructed me to sit at her feet as we sipped our potent brew. We conversed, we discussed our needs and wants. It was very constructive.

She is planning another week’s excursion with her lady friends at a resort a few hundred miles away. I have been selected as a driver, baggage handler, butler, etc. I will report on the details as they develop.

The Day After The Anniversary

I am listening to the howling of the wind through gaps in the windows. This is a late autumn night.

Today was a perfectly lovely day. The hot summer has waned. First day of “no need for air conditioning.” Breeze blowing through the open doors and windows keeping temperatures at a most pleasant point. The afternoon went with quiet enjoyment for both of us. I did some work outside with the dogs helping me. I will not show pictures because these mutts are too well known, and I want to maintain our privacy. But these sweet big bumbling mutts were all over me, and I loved it. We had a free-for-all one after the other. I was licked in places that I did not know I had. Fangs were flashed before my eyes and behind my butt. It was not sexual, but it was all love. These guys (one male and one female) kind of like me. As for the rest of you, just don’t jump over the fence. Actually don’t even stick your hand through the fence. These pups are very territorial, are big, and they do bite.

MW has asked me to stay out of her space while she would attend to some personal meditative therapy. I was glad to oblige. During this time I attended to some writing while listening to some of my favorite music. Later, in the evening, we ate some of the anniversary dinner leftovers and loved it. I felt guilty when she said that she would load the dishwasher, and that I had no chores for the evening.

Well, that was not quite all. At some point I went to see what she was doing. It turns out that I missed drying her after her shower. Pity. But I asked her to be patient while I “batten down the hatches,” so to speak. After my return I did the daily leg and foot massage that we both love. By the way, it is her legs and feet that get massaged.

Afterward we began to watch one of the Jane Austen classics on a DVD. We love the wondrously green British countryside and the beautiful people who portray the characters in Austen’s novel. I guess the beautiful women in the movie prompted me to suggest that MW and I share some skin. She thought it to be a good idea, and we did. There went another half hour with fond memories. You may not know this, but cuddling with MW is a thrill. She has those wonderful parts that my hands explore as we lie side by side. My face can be nested in the crook of her neck. Or it can be between her generous breasts. Or anywhere.

Later, as we reclined side by side, she began to fondle my bejeweled member decorated by a wedding ring and a Prince Albert ring (see Mistress Wife is away). I was all for it, and it took a few seconds to have the little guy respond to the touch. From then on, for the next hour and a half, I was gasping, groaning, and writhing to support the little guy’s enjoyment. He does take over that way. MW, of course, went along with it, with occasional use of my on/off buttons. Aside from the pleasure she imparted plenty of pain by pinching and squeezing. She knew just what not to do to keep me from blowing it all over us.

At some point she decided that I was receiving too much pleasure in spite of the mistreatment of my private parts. She told me to present my butt unimpeded. I turned over and lay face down as instructed. For the next fifteen or so minutes she used a flail and a paddle (see the little darlings). I suffered and at the same time I loved her for doing this. When she was done, she sent me away to write about it, so here I am doing it.

On the way to my study I fondled my sore butt. Have you ever fondled a tire on your truck? If you have not, try it. That is what the skin on my butt felt. She is too good for me. I should serve her more. I am listening to Alan Jackson’s “I’ll Go on Loving You” as I write. Good music.

MW just now walked into my study to see what I was doing. She looked, and it appears that she was satisfied with what she saw on the monitor of my computer. She spread some love juice over my lips, and a finger or two between them. I guess she also liked the evening so far.

The wind makes ghostly sounds through the house. It is sounding like a real Halloween night. I hear the wind beating on the house all around me. The night should be cool. A warm wife in bed will be wonderful. Oh, and then there will be some cats in the bed too. Her comment to this was, "There is nothing like a horny Pet with a warm ass in bed too." Don't you just love her?