The Dance

1 comments

I want to watch you dance for me.

I'll dress your body in silks and jewels, adorn you with a headress that drapes around you, gem droplets falling like rain along your forehead. I want to see the fabric slip over your hips and thighs as you move your body, little ripples in the material with each step. You can close your eyes - you need not look at me to know that you're the only thing that exists in this room.

There could be thousands around us and only you would move me with your moves

Every shimmering piece will be attached to that pale skin artfully, and I'll trace the lines of your form with my fingertips before allowing you on the floor. Your feet will be bare, and you'll grace the wooden boards with those soft pads. Each time you turn, you take me higher, and I raise the red wine to my lips to cool the heat. You're a diamond fit for a King like me, waiting to be seated on satin cushions at the feet of my throne.

So dance for me, I want to see what your body is capable of. I want to watch you dance for me.

Only for me.

Cleansing

0 comments

There she was, her knees curled to her chest, her bottom covered in blood that dripped down the curve of her thighs. It was falling to the floor in droplets, little spatters of the deep fluid coating the polished wood. He looked down at her, grinning while baring his canines, and pressed the tip of his shoe to the blood on her ass.

"You'll need to clean them now," he growled, a deep sound that cut through the overbearing silence. She shivered, nodded, and her ringlets covered her face, a more comfortable position when she was feeling particularly small, little. He nudged at her bottom in light kicks, making the flesh on her body jiggle and bounce. Still, she did not move; so he crouched down beside her, put his hand on her upper arm, and whispered in her ear. "Let's get this little girl cleaned up."

Few things were as calming or comforting as the sensation of warm water running over the cuts and scrapes. Daddy kisses made all of the boo-boos better, even when his kisses were vicious bites more painful than the cut itself. He picked her up, not caring about the blood getting on his suit pants, and brought her to the tub, turning the water on. It was tempting to drop her in and continue the sweet torture, but he held back silently, breathing heavily against her neck as he waited for the tub to fill halfway. She knew; he was such a good Daddy because he held back, because he knew when to let her be his little girl and not his little prey. They were sometimes one in the same, but right now, she needed his hands on her, cleansing her of her disgusting misdirection.

He lowered her body into the water gently and picked up their favorite cup: it had a little lip that made it easy to pour the water in the proper place. She was slumping in the bottom of the tub, still not saying anything. He placed a hand on her back, letting her feel him. "It is alright now, little one. It is going to be alright." Her sighing response received his fingers running through her hair, pulling it out of her face so that he could get a good look at her. "Daddy's here."

The tub was almost filled now, so he filled the cup completely to the brim and waited. "Tilt your head back for me," he commanded, and she did, whispering a small, Yes, Daddy. He took off his suit jacket, rolled his shirt sleeves up, and squeezed some shampoo into his hands before lathering it into her hair; she melted beneath his hands.

Finally, the water was pouring over her body, heat stinging the cuts but relaxing the knots and tension. Always pain but always comfort; comfort in the pain.

In Response to Someone's Post

0 comments
A person on Fetlife posted about kicking out their slave from their home. They questioned if they did anything wrong, and where to go from here at this point in their life. Something to remember about ownership is to know what's yours better than they know themselves. How else will you keep them on their toes, keep them ready and at attention to serve? Their mind needs to be stimulated as a slave and also as an individual, as a human being (even if you treat them otherwise at times). So here is my response.
slaves are meant to be slaves. If her job was to be a service-oriented slave, and that is it, then her slave mindset needs to be stimulated. What did she need as your slave? Did you know her well enough to say? If you did not know her well enough to know what she needed as a slave, and as your slave, then she should not have been living with you. 
Something I've learned about slaves is that they need to be used, thoroughly and often. What that use is, however, is up to you. Of course, this isn't a steadfast rule, but this is what I've learned with my girls and boys. If you do not surprise or stimulate their mind or give them tasks beyond the mundane cooking and cleaning, they will talk back, become complacent. Find a strange or odd chore to give them - like going to the store and only buying green foods (an example). Or say you're needing a knife for something, yeah? Don't tell her what for. Just tell her to find the sharpest knife in the store. These are just a few examples of what you can do to keep up the pace. 
Now, if within a month and a half, she was already talking back, she certainly was not the slave for you. As I said, slaves are slaves. If her identity was that of a slave, she should uphold that title. If she was a submissive, I am more understanding. But as everyone else has said before me, I cannot pass any judgment without knowing the depth of the situation, from both sides. You need to find out what you did wrong, if you did anything wrong or out of line, and improve. Look into yourself.

On Mastery of the Self and D/s

0 comments
As a slave asked me to explain what self-discipline was, I decided to explain how I became self-disciplined and how I continually grow on my path to mastery of the self. I do hope that you enjoy the read, and that perhaps it is helpful to those who are learning their own level of submission or Dominance.

On either side of the slash, we must maintain our sense of self, make sure that we are adequately fed in our service and receipt of that service, and that we continually and actively seek ways to learn more about our souls. slaves should always have the goal of complete and total surrender to the one who they serve, otherwise it is not being slave. Dominants should always seek to understand themselves and their needs in order to better communicate those needs to the ones who serve them.

When both are satiated, it creates a beautiful dynamic of power exchange and what I call love.

Self-discipline is learned through years of practice and generally keeping the voice in the back of the mind very loud. I have to calm myself on a regular basis. It is a technique that plenty of Dominants use to keep themselves in check in order to better maintain their property (both themselves and their slaves). When I start to sense myself acting out of anger, or becoming angry over little, nonsensical things, that is when I try my best to center myself. It is then that I keep my mind on my goals, where I would like to take this individual, and how I can get them there without breaking them in a way that I will not be able to build them afterward. 
It is very much the same for a slave; the slave must center itself and understand who this individual is that they are serving, and the importance their role is to their Dominant. The slave must question themselves, “Are my choices to his/her liking? Am I acting in a manner that will better serve his/her wishes?” The next line of questioning should be, “Why am I acting in a shameful manner? What is causing me to act in this way?” When the slave finds the answers to those questions, they must communicate this with their Dominant. It is imperative. This is how a slave becomes self-disciplined. Through growth, understanding, and keeping tabs on their actions, behaviors, and service.

Public Punishment

0 comments

She looked down and shivered, her newly exposed breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her nipples hardened at the air. He re-sheathed his knife closed and grabbed a breast in his gloved hand, running the leather over the little buds.

"This is what you deserve for betraying me," he whispered in her ear. She didn't bother to look up, because she could hear the crowd's coos and hoots. Some were yelling remarks about whether or not her loins had become hot, others simply made yells and animalistic growls.

This is what she deserved. Her wrists tied to the pillar, her upper body bare and moving as she breathed. She heard him draw his knife again, and the tip of the blade poked at her lower back.

And then it toyed with the edge of her skirt, and was brought down in one quick slice.
Copyright © The Art of Lovemaking