Wednesday, January 28, 2009

After The Dust Settles

I have been with her like a wolf after a bitch in heat. Yes, I am horny, and yes, she is sexy. She is not in heat, just terribly attractive. Oh, all right! I am horny! I have already said so. Sheesh!

It has been a couple of days since my return from a trip. No release, just closeness to her. I am worried that she may be fed up with my constant attention.

Yesterday she planned a family gathering at our son’s house. She can do that. Late afternoon she told me to put on the CB3000 after my shower. I had an idea where this was going. I helped her with drying as she stepped out of her shower. Too bad that she was stressed, and misinterpreted my attitude. She had me drop my pants and lean over the bed in the bedroom. I felt silly with my private parts enclosed in the device, but I did what I had to.

She asked me, “How many strikes do you think you deserve?”


“Do you mean three dozen?”

“No Ma’am. Just three.”

“Think again.”


“Six it is, then!”

She proceeded to whack my bare bottom with one of her heavy-duty paddles six times. When I thought it was over, she gave me one more. She is very kind. With my attitude adjusted she visibly felt better. I took the car out to the driveway and got it ready for her. We left for the event.

The gathering was a success; we all had a good time. That was last night.

Today I still ran around with my tongue hanging and my Little Guy in the cage. I could not stop myself from kissing her neck, her arms, her shoulders, or anything that I could reach as she sat at her computer.

After I had done some work well into the afternoon, I was ready to settle for some writing. She had other plans. We were going to watch a movie on a DVD. She had me shower and wait on her. After her shower I helped her dry, and then flipped the bed covers so that she could lie down on the sheet.

It was early evening, the light still streaming through the windows, giving me a clear view of her charms. I took a bottle of lotion in hand and poured out some. After spreading the liquid around my palms I began to apply it to one of her legs. I do this every day, so I don’t always get an erection. This time was different. The Little Guy was pressing on the cage with skin bulging through the small openings. I tried to ignore him, but he has his own mind, so it did not matter. I worked on her left leg from the knee down, and then the foot. After the lotion was applied, I did a massage on the same leg. She was purring with joy. I moved to the right leg and repeated the lotion and the massage. When done, I returned to her left foot that always gets extra attention. When I thought that I was done, she said, “Massage my thighs.”

The Little Guy took a quantum leap forward. Her thighs always do that to us. I must have done something right, for she squealed in delight from time to time. Maybe I just got carried away with the joy of giving her this pleasure. Having my fingers on her softness and kneading her muscles repeatedly pleases us both. I continued on to her legs, and repeated with the thighs.

The provocative little tufts of fur between her white thighs were asking for attention. I gently tugged on them. Apparently they are connected to some stuff deep within, for she warned me, “You have started something that you may have to finish,” as she turned onto her front.

That was all right with me. The Big Guy was straining against the bars. I began with the back of her thighs spending a lot of time there in one of my favorite places. But, with so much beautiful ground to cover, I had to move on to other parts. Her back was thoroughly massaged, and her twin dimples thoroughly kissed and licked. Oh, I am sure that I have mentioned her twin dimples before. They are just above her butt. They have a special connection to her insides, so I must be very careful with them. Kisses and licks are appropriate handling.

I did some more tugging of those little tufts of her fur. She said, “We can’t do anything there, I need a haircut.”

“You taste wonderful with or without a haircut.” She did not object, so I continued. Before I knew it, she was on her back again. She had me fetch the tit clamps (see A Bit Of Tit Play,), which she affixed, to my on/off buttons.

I did some more massaging, but I sensed that she was ready for the next stage. I resumed our favorite position, and we locked lips. She was ready. I played her like a fine instrument. She enjoyed it like the Queen she is. Alas, after one orgasm, she booted me out of the room. I guess she wanted to be alone with the Girls. That’s so sweet!

I went to get some wine, and then waited for her. In a while she came out of the mistress bedroom to tell me that I was in trouble because I did not close the bedroom door after I left. As a consequence, she was concerned about the lack of privacy, which in turn … Let’s just say that she was not really satisfied after four big ones. I was really sorry.

We settled down to watch the movie. About half an hour later she generously ripped off the tit clamps from my on/off buttons. I was both relived and in great pain. She is wonderful.

During the viewing of the movie she was reclining next to me. I love to feel her skin. I love to touch her soft wonderful parts, so I ran my finger lightly over the velvety skin of her breast without touching her nipple. I don’t touch there without invitation unless I am willing to be seriously punished. She told me to stay away. Her skin was too sensitive after the recent events. So near, yet unattainable. At least she did not have me wash my face. She is so good to me.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Is She Real?

Why Am I Doing This?

Some blogs beg to be examined for their veracity. I have been following, even quoting from a blog, Femdom 101. The author, Kathy, has an interesting lifestyle with her husband. She and he are not as deviate or whacky as some about (or by) whom we read daily. She has her ideas defined, and she implements them. He goes along. What she writes is entertaining, enticing, erotic, and interesting. I left a comment on her site recently:

Mistress Kathy,

I tend to be skeptical of blogs. I have left comments on blogs, and produced several postings on my own blog that dealt with what I perceived to be fake.

I am also gullible when it comes to females or to those who pass as females. All I mean here is that I am not an authority on ferreting out males who fake being dominant females.

I have stayed with your blog because I find it interesting. I like the way you let all the vitreous comments roll off, and allow your faithful readers to defend you. You don't get down into the gutter with them. That shows class. If you are who you claim to be, I bow before you. If you are faking it, you are doing an excellent job of it, and hurting no one.

I am not a debunker of fake and myth. I do it occasionally because it is fun, and generally helpful rather than destructive. With respect to the above I have some thoughts to explore. I have always wondered how I would handle a situation that I will describe below.

The Trip

I am traveling on business. After work I attend a work-related social gathering where I meet an attractive woman. I am not looking for casual sex, but I welcome female companionship, for I love everything about females. Since I am alone temporarily, I can use a few hours of conversation, pleasantry, and relaxation from work. I find the woman charming to the point where I see nothing wrong with an offer to take her to dinner. We have a date.

I arrive at the restaurant. She is there already, and I spot her right away in a somewhat secluded booth. The subdued lights accentuate her general charms. She is slightly heavier than thin, in her forties. Her makeup is not heavy but well done. She is dark brunette, has green eyes. She is wearing a short-sleeved green dress that hugs her curves, at least those that I can see above the table where she sits. I am thinking, She is too much for me. I don’t need this much temptation. But I stop at the table and hand her a corsage. I thought that it was too early in the relationship to give her underwear, and I can’t afford jewelry. She blushes and gushes with joy.

I sit opposite from her in the booth. I compliment her on her looks, and we order drinks. Her voice is a contralto, but pleasant, just on the verge of masculine. I imagine her with a whip … I must divert my thoughts to avoid a stain on the front of my pants.

Conversation covers a wide range of subjects, and we both enjoy the give and take. Dinner follows. She eats like a human, rather than one of those who live on iceberg lettuce.

At the end of dinner there is the awkward moment of decision. Do I take her home in a cab, do I send her home in a cab, or do I invite her for a drink in my hotel? She beats me to it. She offers drinks at her apartment.

We ride to her place. The doorman acknowledges me and greets her warmly. We take the elevator to her floor, and enter a lavish apartment. I am impressed. I take her coat and hang it in the closet by the front door. She says, “Do fix us some drinks. You’ll find everything in the bar off the living room. I’ll have some Cabernet.”

I find my way to the bar. There are clean glasses on a tray. I pull a bottle of Cabernet off the wine rack, and open it. I pour for both of us, and bring them to the coffee table in the living room. She returns from another room wearing a turquoise silk robe with high-heeled slippers. Her legs are fantastic. Her face is freshly scrubbed. She is not voluptuous, but has definite curves. I try to sway my thinking toward less distractive thoughts. We sit opposite each other, I on the sofa, and she on a chair.

The wine is good. Her voice is soothing. I may have had one too many martinis. She moves to sit next to me. She turns to me and looks me in the eyes. Her clear skin, devoid of makeup, reminds me of sunshine over a green meadow: pure, beautiful, and lovely. In a short time she moves her face close enough such that I smell toothpaste on her breath. Our wine glasses are on the coffee table. She barely touches my lips with hers. I am overwhelmed. I pull back just to keep my presence.

We sip wine not really needing it, but it is something to do. We want to move on. “You are shy, aren’t you?” she asks.

I probably blush in my awkwardness, and mumble something. She takes my hand and puts it over her upper arm, “Do try to feel me. I would love it.”

I follow her suggestion and feel her. We kiss. Her scent is enticing. Her lips taste of wine with a hint of toothpaste. A heady mixture of our hormones promotes our closeness. We have our arms around each other. All is well.

I again have to decide: do I allow this to continue, or let it settle down to just an evening of lovely encounter without deeper involvement. I am hot, she is hot, but I back off. I am not ready. I don’t really know her. I know that I am wasting a terrific opportunity, but it is the way I am.

She senses my withdrawal, and pulls back smiling, “You are not bad. I have had few better kisses.”

Barely managing my composure I say, “I apologize. I am highly turned on, and did enjoy kissing you. But I must wait a bit. We should get to know each other.”

With laughter in her voice she responds, “Ha, you are married!”

“Indeed I am. Although my wife would understand and approve, that has nothing to do with this.”

“Interesting. Does she allow one-night-stands or more serious involvements?”

“I guess, we have never really stated the specifics. She, herself, does what she wants, but I am kind of tentative about this.”

“I can tell. Would you like to call your wife to ask her permission? Or should I ask her?”

I pause feeling very embarrassed about her realizing that I am a bit out of my element. “I’m sorry. This is going way too fast for me. You are a very charming lady, but I am simply overwhelmed.”

As if she had been expecting my answer, she says, “Tell you what. I have a spare bedroom. You are welcome to sleep there. I promise not to overwhelm you in any way. If you still like me in the morning, we will take it up at that point. If not, we will part as friends.”

I feel like a child who has been rescued by an adult. I stammer something, and follow her into the suggested bedroom. She points out the necessary amenities. She gives a peck on my lips and she leaves. In a major way I am disappointed, and am trying to justify my erection in view of my more or less refusal to commune with her.

I shower and go to bed. I must have slept, for I become aware of a voice from the living room through the open door leading to the hall. I put on my pants and walk out. She is sitting on the arm of the sofa talking on the phone. She looks agitated. Not wanting to eavesdrop I back out of the room and close the door. It is about four in the morning. I don’t think I can sleep more, so I brush my teeth, and making some noise, walk in the direction of the living room. She is not there, but I hear her noises in the kitchen. I knock and enter. She stands before the sink in a silk robe. Her hair is a bit messy as if she had just been awakened from sleep. Not wanting to startle her I say gently, “I heard voices, I thought you might need some company.”

“It was a phone call from family. Sorry about waking you.”

“That is all right. Was it bad news?”


“Can I do something for you?”

“A hug would feel good right now.”

I don’t need more prompting. I walk to her and fold my arms around her. I feel her softness gently but protectively. She rests her head on my chest. I have to arch my back a bit to avoid being blatant with my growing erection. I think she does not notice.

She does not want to talk about the phone call. We make coffee and chat about trivia.

“So, it is morning. Are you staying or leaving?”

“I have my work to do.”

“After that?”

“I can’t leave you if you are distraught. Can we talk?”

Instead of talking she takes my hand and leads me into her bedroom. The bed looks barely slept in. She pushes me down on it and lies beside me. I cannot contain my erection. She notices and playfully pokes a finger at it.

“You want me to do something about that?” she asks.

“I can’t imagine what that would be.” I try to be noncommittal.

She turns off the lights. With the drapes over the window room is mostly dark. She removes her robe, and we hug as we lie side by side. Then she moves down toward the end of the bed, coming face to face with the bulge in my pants. She opens the zipper. My not wearing underwear is a reason why my something pops out immediately. She finds it.

It does not take long for me to succumb to her loving care. She does not spill a drop. After a while I say, “This was wonderful. But now I feel guilty. I received, and I must give in kind.”

“Not many men would be willing to do that.”

“I know, but I am willing to do a lot for a lovely woman like you.”

“Do you really wish to do that? Now?”


“Be careful what you wish.”

“Well, I am a little kinky that way. It is easy to demonstrate my prowess and my willingness when horny, but it takes a real dedicated lover to do it afterward, you know?”

“Fine. I will be back in a minute.” She grabs her robe as she walks toward the bathroom.

I leave to clean up a bit, and return wearing my boxer shorts only. Sitting on the edge of the bed I wait for her. She returns in a short time. She stands in front of me pressing her breasts into my face. I can hardly wait to continue. She pushes me down, and lies next to me again as before. We kiss, fondle, and I pull open her robe. I begin to head south just as she had done a few minutes before, but I manage to kiss and lick the territory between her lovely breasts and what I encounter going south.

I am already turned on, regardless of my not being horny based on common assumption of after orgasm. After all, being horny is not just hormones. In my experience, it is in the mind of the beholder of the male equipment. I really look forward to more than one thing. Pleasuring a woman orally had always been a joy for me. Pleasuring her after she pleasured me is not only an obligation, but a joy. And then, I have to prove to her that I meant what I said. This is not exactly a test for me. Rather, it is a re-affirmation of my fortitude to please a deserving woman.

But there is something wrong! I feel something between our bodies that is like a third person, in a way. I am just a few inches from my target. I reach down with my hand, and find what I would expect between my own thighs. And it is hardening as I touch.

I freeze in my attempt to go further, and try to formulate a reasonable comment to explain why I can’t proceed. She must have sensed my predicament, for she says, “I can’t believe that you had not guessed all this time.”

“I think that you are too much of a woman for me to have guessed,” I blurt.

After an awkward second of silence, she bursts out laughing, and I join her in genuine mirth myself. I roll over, partly lying on my back across her. After our laugher subsides to occasional giggles, I move up to see her face to face. “Aside from the unexpected encounter, I have found you a beautiful and fascinating woman. Would you mind a goodbye kiss?

“I would love one.”

We kiss. It is still good, but somehow I cannot not help thinking what I had missed by finding the unexpected.

She offers to make breakfast, and I graciously accept. After breakfast I dress and we part as friends.

Aside from that one little (actually it was not that little) problem, she would have been a wonderful female friend while I was out of town. I still wonder what I would have done if I had stayed a little longer.

The Usual Disclaimer

The above story is not totally real. I am not saying what I am willing to do or wanting to do in the above scenario, although I would love to be squeezed to provide the answer, assuming that I had it. The point of the story is that we encounter situations where we don’t have the answers, and make decisions on what is evident, and what we feel. Reality may be much different. Let’s say that I took the course of the regular male who is not into homosexuality, by parting under the circumstances described. What does that make me? Am I homosexual? After all, I succumbed to the charms of a person who appeared to be very feminine, even to the extent of more than cursory examination, but she was not a real woman!

OK, I did not grope her genitalia, a-la-Crocodile-Dundee, but other than that I did all that it takes. Should I wash my mouth with soap?

What if I had developed a suspicion, but was intrigued by it and continued?

What if I had found her surprise and continued with nonchalance? What would have been the outcome?

Would I have been pursuing a very sexy female, or my own fantasy of something else?

I know that I would not have turned violent. Some men are very sensitive about this. Any hint of them being homosexual induces instant retaliation. I have never been called a "homo”. Depending on the circumstances I would have different reactions. Being called one does not make me one. Then again, I could be called worse names, so I really don’t give a you-know-what.

So, when I evaluate a blog that is assumed to be published by a dominant female, but appears to be just another male fantasy, I don’t take it too seriously. If you want to believe it is real, fine. I may make my comments, but I am not saying that the particular blog has no right to exist. Even if it is fake, some people, including the author, take joy and satisfaction from it. All that is well, and not much different from a novel of prurient nature. Except, the author of the novel is not trying to deceive.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

“I Don’t Get no Respect” (credit to Rodney what's hisname)

Ok, I am just trying to make a point. Credit for the title goes to Rodney Dangerfield.

When I proposed to MW that I would post this, she said, "What a big pussy!" I don't think it was a compliment. I have bitched about this before. I write what I consider good stuff, yet rarely do I receive a comment. Why? It's because I don't get no respect.

I read other blogs that are presented in a different way with a different emphasis. Generally we are both relating to FLR, but our style and content diverge. I have identified some characteristics of the successful blogs on the subject of FLR, mine not included.

  1. Have a real problem, which clearly shows that a Female Led Relationship (FLR) in your life is only wishful thinking. This is because your significant other does not give a crap, or only dabbles in FLR when it suits her purpose.
  2. If you ever resolve a problem in FLR, don’t give up: create another.
  3. Get into cuckolding, or at least, wishful cuckolding. Everybody reading your blog will be either sympathetic or envious.
  4. Do explore orgasm denial and chastity to any extent, whether or not it is actually part of your life.
  5. Create or relate outrageous scenarios. They need to be on the fringes of societal acceptance.
  6. Include photographs that are at least loosely related, but not necessarily real. For example, they were not created by you, but they are provocative and sort of support your current post.
  7. In typical “Hollywood publicity style” good and bad responses are equally desired, so say or do anything to provoke them.
  8. Find out what most readers want, and provide it, never mind reality.

I could list more ideas, but I am already getting bored with it.

I know exactly what is wrong with my blog that is supposed to be all about FLR: I don’t provide enough exciting details of how I am making my wife happy, how happy I am about serving her, how I miss not being satisfied, how she teases and denies me, how she punishes me, how she cuckolds me, … etc. As an example, she wants my (sorry, “Her”) private parts shaved. It is up to me what method I use as long as it works. Have you ever done “dry shave”? That is what I do, and I could go into the details of why and why not. I could show supporting photographs to really jazz up the scenario. I could explain how she whips my ass because, upon final inspection, she found a single stubble on one of my balls that I missed with my dry razor. And then I could bitch about having to do it every few days while I have a lot of other things to do. Hey, I could do that! I am a writer of sort; I could make it sensual, pathetic, provocative, or even fictitious. In a way all that is part of my life, so it would add some color to my otherwise drab rendering of life in the “burbs”.

OK, it is my fault. I don’t do much of that. Should I?

Then there is another problem. I tend to pontificate, and bring in unrelated, or loosely related subjects to explore. I feel that I am boring the reader who entered my blog after having searched for orgasm denial. Maybe I should change the charter of my blog from “Experiences of a Husband in a Wished-for Female Led Relationship” to “Pontification about Anything.” At least I would not disappoint anyone. Sheesh! Why do I bother?

Saturday, January 24, 2009

I Wish I Knew Then What I Know Now

I ran across an often-used sentiment at A Special Thank You .... The author said, “Looking back I wish I knew then what I know now.” Her writing is one that most often arouses in me the need to relate my thoughts and experiences on the same subject. This time she is writing about when she was first dating John, her husband and slave of many years.

MW will probably have me sleep with the dogs for the next few nights for this revelation. We don’t actually have a doghouse, but if we did, I could experience the pleasure. Here it goes anyway.

I am reminded of a girlfriend while I was young and naïve. We worked at the same company. My boss suggested that there was this girl, Betty, in the office who was also young and naïve, and that the two of us could be "young and naïve together." Or something like that. Anyway, he pointed out that her face was not that great, but the rest of her was as good as it gets.

Betty was not a classic beauty, but I found her tremendously attractive. In my assessment her figure was “nicely proportioned, well developed in all areas, favorably impressed 98 percent of males, and made females produce jealously snide comments.” We began to date.

The perfume Betty wore on our dates was like the gravitational force between large masses: it acted at a distance, and there was no natural way to fight its attraction. When I went out with her, I wore a nice dress shirt among other things. We hugged and kissed. Her perfume enhanced by her warm clean skin imparted the most enthralling scent to my shirt. The next day when I went to work, I wore the same shirt. Inhaling her heavenly scent all day made my otherwise long boring job joyous.

One might assume at this point that I was in love. Not so. Most certainly “I was in lust with her.” As naïve as I was then, if I had thought that I was in love, I would have asked her to marry me. I wanted penetrating sex with her. Well, any kind of sex for that matter. She did not exactly turn me down. Instead, she said, “Say the magic words, and you will have it.”

As it turns out, I did not say the magic words, and then the other thing did not happen either. But that does not mean that we did nothing. By today’s standards whatever we did would be considered a play date between two nine year olds. Which brings me to the theme of this post, which I introduced at the beginning: “I wish I knew then what I know now.” What I know now is what I have learned since I married my sweetheart, MW, whose name is not, even coincidentally, Betty. It took a while to learn, for we both were inexperienced, but the process was delightful. It was a process that was not available to me while I dated Betty. Getting back to Betty …

After dinner out, or a drive-in movie, or some other public entertainment we usually returned to her apartment. We remained in our clothes. Well, mostly. Some wine, good music, and her devastatingly sexy self were conducive to hours of sitting or semi-reclining on her sofa. We kissed, although kissing is not nearly descriptive enough. We inhaled each other’s pheromones. Her blouse was open, and at some point her generous breasts were free of constraints. I must admire her self-control. She was hot! My being a gentleman (read that as naïve, inexperienced, non-devious) allowed her to at least experience what I could offer, if only she were willing to accept.

In those dark hours of the late evenings, often going through the night, my fingers found their way to that juicy, lovely, feminine place that was otherwise denied to me. She was thoroughly wet. Her essence was all over my hand, and often found its way to my lips and tongue. Alas, only second-hand. If only I had the knowledge of what my lips and tongue could do to her directly, we might have had our mutual pleasure escalated to another level.

I feel bad about the missed opportunity, for it would have been benign. In spite of that, Betty and I still would not have married. However, I don’t hold a grudge against fate. Years later I did marry the woman whom I almost instantly came to love. MW and I had frustrations about my need to serve her orally, and her being shy about it. But as you may have guessed, we overcame her shyness to a large extent. All that time I learned that serving MW orally was more satisfying to me than any other sex with her. That is not saying that I would turn down anything that she wants to do with me, or to me for that matter. Just that pleasing her in that manner is my ultimate joy and satisfaction. So, maybe Betty’s purpose in my life was to prime the pump that later served our pleasure between MW and me. I have only good recollections of the beginning, and the subsequent process. I hope that MW sees this as a necessary step in my development to serve her.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Sometimes Taking A Life Means Saving Another

Relatively Recent History

I read a book some years ago that made an impression on me. It was not the kind of impression that would give me pleasant dreams, or nostalgia for a similar scenario. This impression seldom leaves my consciousness. It is there as an incentive to protect.

I cannot give credit to the author, for I don’t remember the title of the book or the person. Some of you may recognize what I am about to relate, and know who the author was. Without going to details I will give enough to describe the context of what I need to convey.

In the book a man was condemned and soon to be executed, or at least spend his life in prison. He tried to clear his conscience to some extent by confessing to having participated in a debauchery that he later very much regretted. In his past he allowed himself to go with a man who had offered an “easy fuck”. He followed the man to a place where he was escorted into a room with a woman. When left alone with her she indicated that she was held captive. She related to him that he should take his pleasure, for, if there were any indication of her not providing what he wanted, she would be severely punished

In this case, at least in the scenario proposed by the author of the book, the person relating the story could not have done much aside from calling the police at the nearest access to a telephone once he was clear of the bad scene. This was before cell phones were in existence.

Old History

I grew up loving women. First, there was my mother. I know that she was not a saint, but damn it, she was close enough for me.

Then there was my older sister. I was a pain in her ass for a while, but it did not take me long to appreciate her true value to me. I was in my early teens when I realized that she was great, she was beautiful, and a valuable asset to our being. At that point I had a rare opportunity to give my fifteen-year-old life to save her in a particularly dire scenario. Lucky for us, I was not called on it. All my early life I had the opportunity to learn to love, respect, and to obey women, mostly in a benign way. There were exceptions.

All I am saying here is that women in my life have been, well, “my life.”

The Present

I don’t know why I love women. Why do I want to protect them and to serve them?

I have spent most of my life being rational and logical. That is the way I am, that is what my profession required, and that is what I provided. But that did not detach me from my demonstration of love for women all along. My god, you just can’t imagine!

It is not possible, but I try to put myself into the situation of the condemned man in my introduction. For one thing, I would not talk with an asshole who hints of having a female slave that will do anything, as in this case. I would not associate with sleaze balls, at least not in a social environment. If there had been any hint of this sort of thing, I would have contacted the police right away. But this is 20/20 hindsight.

Going on with the unlikely scenario, this sleaze ball offered an “easy pussy” for a fee. Ok, a prostitute is not my thing, but as long as it is consensual, I have no problem with her earning a living by it. Then again, I despise pimps. So, right away, this line of thinking got me going into a bad way. This guy who offered the pussy was not a pimp, just one stupid schmuck trying to make a few bucks. I don’t know which is worse.

The man in the story reluctantly went along with the (pimp) schmuck to see this pussy for hire. Without going to a lot of detail, I will say this: The woman in position to provide the service was a true captive. She was starved, cruelly treated, and she feared for her life for a good reason. The man did not partake the dubious pleasure after he realized that the woman was a true captive in this situation. He went along with the ruse to give her a fair time, yet he did nothing to help her to escape, which concludes the episode in the book. She ended up as a carcass along some highway, and he awaiting execution by the state for an unrelated crime.

Back to the scenario that this guy entered. What if I ran into such, where I knew that a woman was kept truly against her will? At any time I would have struck the perpetrators with as much devastation as I could summon under the circumstances. Some years ago I might have been gallant and tried to save her, and may have had myself and her killed in the process. Later on, with my exposure to training in law enforcement, I would have tried to save her using some other means. Now, I would try to call the police, and be there to protect her and try to be a witness.

The range of potential reactions change depending on hormones, strength, reasoning ability, and circumstances. Even now, after appreciating the implications, I feel the need to really punish these fictitious men involved in this situation. I realize that I must not be a judge, yet I feel judgmental. It is because I am protective of women. I cannot allow mistreatment of females under any circumstances. That was one of the reasons why I exited law enforcement: being that close to temptation to punish the evil.

There is justifiable homicide. This would have been one of the situations where I think that I would have no regrets having taken a life or two. Maybe. Could I live with it? Could I live with not having done it?

Thursday, January 22, 2009

About Male Slavery ... Again

I continue to read the Owning and Training a Male Slave blog. I am curious about where it is going. So far he has regurgitated the “book” by Bellemare. Now he is trying to go beyond, but it still sounds more of the same: more whipping, more suffering, etc.

The thing I find interesting goes back to the basic premise of this supposedly non-consensual slavery. He says, “Now after more than thirteen years of service Madam expects absolute perfection and Her punishments, though slightly rarer, have increased in severity.”

This states that he has been serving her in involuntary slavery for thirteen years. Seems like a life sentence. By now he should be perfect, and never in need of correction. Then he says, “My servitude now is harder than it has ever been but I have no choice but to endure because the penalty for dissent is greater than ever. With the coming of the Internet all my personal details the details of my slavery could be seen around The World within minutes and I would never know who had viewed them.”

I can see that, but I ask, “After his being out of sight, out of touch of friends or family for thirteen years, and being a true slave to a severe woman, would he, or anyone else give a f**k about his pictures of thirteen years ago being published on the internet?” Give me a friggin’ break. Either people already know he is a slave, or have given up on his existence. I just don’t see the impact of being “outed” over the Internet at this point. Maybe back at the beginning, but not now.

Wait! Have I been saying “he”? But the blog is done by a female, Bellemare. So who is really writing this? The male Bellemare?

Sorry, there is only so much one can squeeze out of this scenario, and he has done it. Consider that after thirteen years he is still writing, "Meeting Madam Ingrid - Part Twenty Five
PUNISHMENT". Is he still meeting her? Part Twenty Five? How about writing about something that took place yesterday after those thirteen years, not just extreme punishment, but something real?

But all along, there has been nothing to indicate that this is about real people. It has been only about what a male fantasizes on the subject of extreme D/S. There is no personality. There is no relaxation and enjoyment of life. There is no relationship. There is only the relentless torment by a two dimensional micro-managing female without feelings, and a totally compliant male without need of feelings. Total satisfaction on both sides: extreme dominance and extreme obedience, nothing else exists. It sounds like real hard work for both parties. I can see it continuing a few days maybe, or intermittently over some time, but not continuously for thirteen years.

It does not matter. The blog is entertaining, especially when people succumb to the charm of the extremes, and comment on how great it is. I am still curious to see where this will go. I will keep you posted.

By the way, I am not sure that the author of Owning and Training a Male Slave is aware of my evaluation. I have not left a comment on the blog because it does not merit my comment. But, he could somehow learn of my evaluation, and begin to make adjustments. That would be good for his blog. But it would also give away the fact that he is faking it. You see, I have pointed out the holes in the scenario. If he were to try to plug them now, it would prove that he is just following my suggestions, instead of relying on reality.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

I Love This Boy!

We have a large family. One of the members is a boy approaching thirty. He is smart, intelligent, and a good person. I love this boy, but I feel that he is a total dud when it comes to choosing female relationship. I will give you an example.

Girl #1: Nice looking, has all the right parts. Uneducated and lacking social skills. Turns out to be schizophrenic. He wants to marry her against my advice. She bails out at the last second. My relief.

Girl #2: Nice looking, but twenty years his senior. Has sub-teenage children who are into drugs and crime. No socially redeeming qualities, no plan for the future. After one too many visits of her home by the police he decides to break off the relationship. I exhale.

Girl #3: Beautiful, charming, very feminine. Everybody loves her, including her two former husbands and her four children, one of whom just gave birth. She tends to drink, and become abusive. After she cleared out his savings account he decided to break with her. I miss her, but that is life.

Girl #4: Sexy. Can do anything, even things that I could not imagine. Renaissance woman, and has a license for all that. Three times divorced, self destructive, “Walter Mitty” approach to life. Nothing to show for years of marriages except one child. We like her, but …

There were other girls equally worthy of his attention as those above.

This boy is not into worshipping a woman as I am. I support his lack of motivation given the quality of females he has allowed himself to befriend. Yet he is not a macho ass who simply uses women. He is respectful, caring, and monogamous for the duration of his relationship.

I would like to set him straight. He thinks that I have everything figured out (the little fool), and he listens to me. That is why I can’t tell him how to find the right woman whom he could serve. The first part is finding the right woman. I have no idea. The second part is serving her. Would she want to be served? Would he care to serve her?

I was older than he when I realized that my life would be fulfilled if I served a woman. Of course, I was already married, so I had no choice about whom I would serve. I am happy that it was my wife, and that she accepted my offer of servitude.

I don’t know about this boy. How will he find the right woman? Ideally she would be a strong woman who will make him do the right thing with his life. Not necessarily in an FLR, although that could evolve. But she has to be a responsible and good person. Any suggestions?

Monday, January 5, 2009

Girls Night Out

MW has arranged one of her regular get-togethers with two of her friends. It usually includes staying over for a night or two at one of their places. On New Year’s Day I loaded her paraphernalia into our vehicle, and drove her to Beatrice’s place. I lugged her stuff up the stairs and we checked in with the ladies. After the usual hugs and kisses I took care of some mundane chores like setting up a DVD player and taking out the garbage. After that I had a glass of sherry with them. But, duty called, and I had to leave. MW and I said farewell, the ladies said farewell with their hugs and kisses, and I left.

Late in the evening I called MW and told her that I missed her, but that she should try to have fun.

I expected a couple days of solitude and bachelor debauchery. Mid morning the next day she called. She sounded less than happy. She wanted me to come to her and take her home. This was not usual, but not entirely unexpected. She has been feeling sad lately, and nothing that we did had been able to nudge her back to a happier state. I got dressed immediately, and drove the forty-minutes to meet her. She was ready to take a break from her friends.

They don’t usually go to town and frequent nightclubs, etc. They are more likely to stay, order food, and drink enough to feel good. They talk, laugh, watch movies, and stay up late. They did stay up late, had a lot to drink and eat. It was very much like guys who are given a chance to live it up for a night without female supervision. The two friends are nocturnal. As a result MW did not get to sleep even though she tried. This time MW was not fully into that, which explained her sudden need to return home. On the way home she explained that she needs to be recharged, and will drive back to Beatrice’s place in a few hours.

At home I did what I could to make her feel good. She showered and caught up on some correspondence. Early afternoon she was ready to drive herself back to her friends. She was still not feeling well, so I offered to drive her. She did not protest, so again I dressed and put our vehicle into the driveway to await her.

On the way there she asked, “Why are you so good to me?”

I know I should have said something like, “Because you are my beloved Mistress, and it is my place to serve you in any way.” Somehow that felt true but shallow. Instead, I said, “I have a lot invested in you. For that, I have to take care of you.” I don’t know how she took it, for she did not respond.

While at Beatrice’s place I did some electrical work that needed serious attention. It took a couple of hours, but when finished, Beatrice was very satisfied and thankful. They all think that I am some kind of saint. Little do they know that I am just a horny man who is willing to serve under my wife’s command. Oh yeah, I am also a nice guy who loves women.

After it was over, I again left for home to deal with what I was interrupted to do.

The evening went well enough given that I was without MW again. In the morning I was planning the rest of the day. I would do some daily chores, take care of the animals, do some maintenance on MW’s computer, shave my (actually “her”) genitals, then wait for her phone call to come and fetch her. The call was planned around noon when she and friends were having a meal in a favorite restaurant. I planned to stop at a florist on the way there and buy a dozen roses. When arriving at the restaurant I would find MW, approach her table, and drop to one knee while presenting her the flowers. It was to be a romantic event that would make her feel good, and maybe a little embarrassed, and impress her friends with our love and commitment to her lead. I don’t know what is higher than sainthood without getting into gods, which I am not. It was a neat plan.

The plan was short-circuited. She called early in the morning wanting me to get her. Apparently the plan to have lunch for the three of them fizzled. I don’t know whether this is natural evolution of a relationship or part of MW’s current state. I hope they will continue to enjoy one another’s company, for they are good friends. But this time the scenario was different. I arrived there, took care of some more chores, and parted as the good friends that we are.

On the way home MW dozed off due to the sleep deprivation of their debauchery. As we approached our home she looked at the familiar scenery and remarked, “I am glad to be coming home with you.” I felt the same. Once home, I suggested that she could have a warm shower and put on something sexy that would make her feel good. Then she could take the rest of the day off to recuperate from the debauchery. She thought it was a good idea.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

The Eternal Beauty of Women

Ancient History Sets Precedent

On my way to the Orient I had a one-day layover in Yokohama, which was then “the armpit-of Japan”. During the hours I had to waste I saw an old movie, “Come Blow Your Horn,” with Frank Sinatra and others in more impressive roles. This movie evoked in me my total commitment to the beauty, the challenge, and my need to submit to the American female. Having seen that movie was both right and wrong under my circumstances. “Right” was being presented the beautiful women who had a role in it, reinforcing my love to their charms, and assertive beings. “Wrong” was that I was being forcibly distanced from all that wonderful loveliness to face death and destruction for an indeterminate amount of time in an otherwise beautiful land of waste and devastation.

While in my government-enforced exile I had rare opportunity to go to town (if there was a town) when I was not needed for something specific. Usually I declined. Sleep and relaxation were a luxury. In time off duty I chose to do some reading whenever books were available, or listen to the lame music produced by one or more of my fellow conscripts using a guitar, or just a foot locker and hands as stand-in for percussion instruments.

Going to town meant partaking the local food and fauna. Females of the for-hire-persuasion had nothing to offer to me. I was willing to wait until I got home, assuming that I did reach that goal at the end of my commitment.

That was many years ago.

Superficial Enhancements Beauty Do not Make
After my return to the greatest country on Earth I could go out any day and see beauty around me in a different light. Being at a shopping mall was a great opportunity to peruse the abundance of the American female beauty. I am not talking about the extremely stylized Playboy (is it still around?) types, or the anemic wretches of the so-called “supermodels” portrayed on some useless catalogs of clothing, sex toys, and other paraphernalia.

Female beauty is all around me. I admit freely that a certain style of women is very attractive to me. I also insist that I am essentially unlimited in my appreciation of the female regardless of her attributes. As for being really turned on, I have my limits. Well, maybe I have not been tested, but I think I do.

A woman’s beauty may be enhanced by, but is not the same as, "makeup", expensive clothes, or jewelry. The nude form may be sexually provocative, and beautiful, but it is not the entire story.

I like to see cleanliness and a sense of propriety. She must look neat and well groomed. For example, some females show up in a store wearing what look like pajama bottoms lately. Aside from the garment looking tacky and unattractive, I consider it inappropriate. I might love to see this same woman in more erotic clothes, or even without, under intimate circumstances, but not in the damn store! Then there are those whose hair has not experienced water in ages. Or those who wear sneakers that did not merit consideration before becoming a hazardous waste.

The Tenth Commandment

In essence, it says, “Do not covet your neighbor's wife”. That is the only commandment with which I have a problem. With rare exceptions, I covet almost any woman whom I see. Of course, I do not, and most likely would not, do anything about it. At the same time I am not into serious religion where “thinking about it is a sin itself.” If so, I sin. But I don’t act.

I look at women as the center of creation. They are the source of life. In some ways they earn their position in life just by being, although there is more. They are there to be seen, but only few of us get to touch. Those who are easy I need, but I don’t want. Those who are beyond my reach I covet but only wish to have. The rest may be among my ability to reach. Alas, I will never have them. I am committed to one already. But that does not keep me from desiring and wanting the others.

I see nothing wrong with desire itself. It is the acting on some desires that could go wrong, and I have not, nor am I willing to do that.

Within my “more or less clear” conscience that leaves me free to look, wish, covet, desire, and fantasize about any female from all of the groups I described above. My wife knows my fertile imagination and my highly sexed self. She knows that I get an immediate erection when a certain female walks by me. She also knows that I will remain discreet in my reaction, and that, with the exception of my turning and watching this beauty walk by, I will say or do nothing. My love and lust are reserved for my wife. No female needs to fear my wanton desires.

Beauty of Women Through Ages

The good thing about this is that I can take on any age of female as an object of beauty. All right, I will skip pre-teens. Dammit, don’t get me started on that.

Teenage girls are OK as long as they are my daughters and I am trying to set them straight in what is right and wrong. Other than that, we have nothing in common. That does not say that I would not sacrifice my life to save one in dire circumstances. My experiences in law enforcement, traumatic from time to time, tend to demonstrate this. Whew! Let’s get past that.

Women in their twenties can be beautiful and a real pain in the ass, but not in a good way. That is because they have a good thing and don’t know what to do with it. Not that I object to having a conversation with one, or ogling her beauty under most circumstances. Just that we have nothing real in common. Politics, patriotism, plans for the future, etc. are not in their realm of existence. Religious mantras, such as “can’t we do something about global warming”, “can’t we just get along?” and “all I want is world peace” comprise their societal thought process. There is nothing wrong with any of that, just that, there is more to life. With any luck, they will mature. Alas, some never overcome their early handicap, and become frustrated Arianna Huffington wannabies without having the money to waste. Entering the adult world with this attitude will put them at a disadvantage.

After two or three divorces, a woman forms a character. One possibility is that she becomes a confirmed divorcé. Or she learns to despise males. She may succumb to the macho male who thinks he is God’s gift to women. A small percentage will mature and find a male worthy of her attention. Here is where a reasonable man looking for a worthy female must be very careful.

Women in their thirties are in their prime. They experience and learn. Being “glamorous” is a matter of current fad. Maturity of the thirties is benign and entrancing.

Then there are the wonderful women of the forties and older.

As I age my range of appreciation expands. On the young end I see beauty not as sexual, but more in purity. Somewhat like looking at and smelling the essence of a newly blossomed flower. On the older end I see beauty as a quality of soul, rather than sexuality (after all these years I am still naïve when it comes to women). Between the two there is a lot of latitude to appreciate all senses that are relevant to humanity, especially to women.

Meanwhile I look at women of all ages and appreciate beauty where I see it. Sometimes talking with them makes all the difference. Sometimes just watching their behavior does it. In all, I wish to express my tremendous appreciation of females in general.

In summary, it is not what women have, but what they do with it that makes the difference.

My love is limitless.

My appreciation is limited.

My subservience is targeted to a few.

My devotion and commitment are for only one.

But there is a lot of joy to see all of them out there, any time, every time. Thank God for women! Or as MW would say, “Thank the Goddess for women!”