The Dance

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

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.

On Mastery of the Self and D/s

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

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.

Random Worries of Being in the Lifestyle

When I have the means and the space to keep a child, I'd like to have one or two (by adoption, more than likely). And I have to wonder: what if they're not into BDSM? The bigger question is, where will all of my wonderful things go when I die?

Currently, I have no one who I would pass my gear onto, but when I reach about sixty, hopefully I'll have it all laid out (if I reach that age, that is).

Here's to hoping that I have children who will love the feeling of leather and cuffs as much as I do, and who will carry on my legacy.

-Sir

Demon

The below was not written by me. I found it in Coming to Power (3rd Edition, 1987), a book edited and compiled by SAMOIS. They are a "lesbian/feminist S/M organization." It is entitled Demon, written by Dorothy Allison. If words could describe the heart wrenching feeling that I was overcome with. There's something about  reading writing that describes me perfectly that I cannot get enough of. It's very rare to find writing that I find good, so when I do, it's usually something that touches me deeply.

I yearn to be someone's Demon. Without further ado, Demon, by Dorothy Allison.

Some there are
found in the hands of a demon
a demon who tears and takes and makes you
something you were not before.
No matter the nature of the demon
the details of what was done or when or how
No matter, in fact, if you escape.
     No one escapes.

The Demon is always there.
Years later, so far after the fact
that there are no facts left
no memories that can be trusted
- and it is the nature of the demon
that trust is the first eaten
the possibility of trust,
the hope of anything at all -
Yeas later, the demon turns around
grins from the inside
that wounded place.

And Oh!
the demon is clever.
The demon is beautiful.
The demon is much lusted after, much denied
and when, in time, he recedes
it is the dream of the demon that grips and tears
while only the audience remains,
the audience that whispers

     "Tell us about the demon."
     "Tell us how he touched you."
     "Tell us about his belt, his teeth, his cock."
     "Tell us about your blood, how hot it was
       and how it ran down."
     "Tell us about you,
       though, we know of course,
       the only notable thing about you
       is that once a demon wanted you."

     "Once."

The audience grows teeth
takes up a belt, becomes beautiful,
The audience looks down
     sees itself
     sees the demon.

You see the demon.
You are not alone anymore.
You have it back - all you wanted.
Now all you want is to be free of it.

But didn't I tell you?
IT does not matter what you want.
The demon does not care.
The demon does not even notice.
The demon is filing its nails
     bending over
     waiting.

Like I said,
          No one escapes.

Sound of Sex

He growls into my ear, his breath hot on my face, warm, soft. The heaving of his stomach against my pelvis soothes me, its up and down, in and out movements calming. He groans, fingertips pressing into my waist as I feel a droplet of sweat fall onto my chest. I feel him finish inside of me, his erection changing to a limp, soft muscle.

I dig my nails into his shoulder blades, and smile.

Property

“Use your voice. I want to hear you say my name.” Her head is tilted back as his fingers trace vertical lines on her neck, hair firmly held in his other hand that’s curled into a fist. She closes her eyes and her lips as tightly as she can as his fingertips attempt entrance to her mouth; she shakes her head a few times, and he lets go of her hair to smack her ass. “Stay still,” he commands, and he hits her on the lips a few times before sliding his fingers in. She says nothing, remains silent—completely focused on the task of sucking on his fingers and wetting them before they enter elsewhere.

Finally, he removes his fingers and releases her hair, throwing her forward as she coughs and gasps. Nails graze her thighs as he plays with the hem of her skirt, flipping it up and revealing two round orbs of flesh. “This belongs to me,” he whispers into her ear, flicking the tip of his tongue over her earlobe and biting down to stifle a groan. He wraps a hand around her neck to keep her steady, and slides two of his fingers into her heat.

She gasps and clenches around him, involuntarily, and he drives in another finger. “It’s mine, don’t you see,” he asks, but not really asking at all as he removes his fingers to undo his zipper. The sound of the shuffling of fabric echoes against the tiles in the kitchen, and she feels her entire body being lifted as she’s pressed face first against the counter. His engorged cock enters her body, filling her until her ass presses against his abdomen. He starts to move into her, and then bends over her body to growl in her ear.

"Give me everything."

No More Little Girl

How could daddy be any less pleased than when he's dressing his little one up? Pulling knee-high socks over thin legs, ruffled panties with white and pink lace over her meaty bottom, tiered-dress with puffy sleeves zipped up her tiny back—that's what daddy loves. When he's holding her around her waist, giggles coming out of slightly spread lips, embarrassed little girl, sweet little girl; when he's combing his fingers through that thin, curly hair that only children have, kissing her cheek and whispering, "I love you, my beautiful girl." How could daddy be any less pleased than when she's sitting in his lap, being a good little girl, just playing with her toys on his chest?

Daddy isn't so pleased with her when she says no to him. Defiant, disobedient, bad little girl. How could baby girl forget? How could she forget her daddy, what she means to him? How could daddy be any less unhappy? Little girl isn't being so good; she isn't being so nice anymore. When daddy only wants to hold her, cuddle her, snuggle her, love her, she pushes him away and whines, whines to leave her alone and go away. "I only want to hold you, little girl. Come here, sit in my lap." But no, daddy, she doesn't want to sit in daddy's lap anymore. She's a big girl now, daddy—she wants bigger, better things.

How could daddy be any less happy than when his little girl crawls into his lap, nips at his fingers and nuzzles his hand? He pulls a collar around her neck, presses his lips to her there, and slides two of his fingers into her mouth, her eager tongue wrapping around them, her lips moving against them, sucking him in and out, in and out. Daddy was always pleased when she did that to him, when she made him feel that way. He whispers, "That's a good girl...very good," and she stays in his arms that night, lays her head on daddy's chest and snuggles him, hands clasped around his upper arm, keeping them around her so that she can feel safe.

But little girl doesn't need daddy anymore. What person needs their daddy when they're a grown adult? Going to work every day, she needs no father to control her, no father to give her rules or stupid chores. She's a big girl now, and she tells him that every day, that she's a big girl, daddy, she understands. She's a big girl, daddy, she doesn't need you to tell her that. Pushing him away, slamming the door behind her, she says that she wants to go out and see the world, she wants to experience life without daddy. She doesn't want you holding her hand anymore, little girl doesn't need that. She needs to be alone. Alone. Away from her father, her daddy.

After all that daddy taught her, showed her of himself, she leaves him, picks up her things and says, "Goodbye, you are not my father anymore. Do not call me again, I'm not your little girl." But oh, he is. Daddy will always be her father, like she will always be his little girl. Daddy will always be waiting, no matter how unhappy little girl makes him, no matter how much she pushes him away. Daddy knows that she needs him there, knows that little girl will not survive without him. So he takes her suitcase, her car keys, throws them on the floor and picks her up into his arms, kissing the side of her head as she cries. Daddy drops little girl on the bed, wraps blankets around her body and wraps his arms around her again, never letting go. He kisses her face, her neck, her arms, her ears, whispering to her, soothing little girl so that she'll stop crying. Daddy holds her, and sighs.

Little girl leaves for good the next day. Daddy calls her, every five minutes for the next week, and she never picks up. After a month, her cell phone is disconnected. Five months pass, and he received the new phone book, immediately looking her up and not finding her. He calls mutual friends; they haven't heard from her since before she left. After a year, her stuffed animals accumulate dust. Daddy looks around their home, picking up some things and putting them away, putting all of her toys in a bag to go to charity. Then he sits down on their couch, sighs to himself, and turns on the telly, news report of a young lady who jumped from a building, little girl who committed suicide. Little girl who left daddy forever, never coming back. "Goodbye, daddy," she said, "you'll never see me again. I promise."

Little Geisha Girl

Her arms were lifted to the ceiling as I slipped the dress over her body, smoothing it over her curves with my palms and zipping it up her side. She waited for me to do something more, give her something more, but she knew that I wouldn't—I was too focused on dressing her up, my sweet Lolita, my geisha doll. She put her arms down and wiggled her bum a bit, knowing that it wouldn't phase me, hoping that it would.

I bent my head over her shoulder, rubbing my lips against the side of her neck, pulling the sash around her waist and tightening it so that her body arched into mine. I moved my hand down her stomach, spreading my fingers over her abdomen and holding her into me. She let out a soft sigh and shivered a bit. So I kissed her lightly and moved away from her.

"I will not give you anything right now, little girl," I said coldly as I attached the obi to her back. "I don't believe that you deserve it." I turned her around so that she was facing me, looked her body over. "Turn for me. No, a full turn. Good girl. You look beautiful." I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her forehead, sighing against the top of her head. "Get out your makeup for me."

She nodded at me, turned around and went to the bathroom. She knew what I was expecting of her. Returning with a brush, smooth red lipstick, powder and liquid eyeliner, she put her things on the desk, standing in front of me, waiting for me to say something. "Good. Now stand still."

I picked up the powder first, brushing her bangs out of her face to cover her completely. Lightly dabbing the puff in the compact, I applied the powder to her face, smoothing it over with my ring finger when I was finished. I moved her bangs back over her face and combed my fingers through her hair. She didn't respond—she just stood there, waiting for me to finish. So I ran the brush through her red lipstick, smoothly loading it with the thick paste and applying it to her lips. Curving over the arch of her top lip, I smirked, watching her mouth turn to a brighter shade. "Blot your lips on this once," I ordered as I handed her a tissue. "Good. Now close your eyes."

She shut them, softly, her eyes fluttering a bit as I outlined her top eyelid. She giggled, shortly stopping afterward, knowing that it wouldn't please me to continue. Making a short wing coming off of the edge of her eyelids, I finished, finally done with my masterpiece. "Open your eyes, little girl." I looked her over as she opened them, my eyes moving over that beautiful little face, that beautiful little body.

I brought her to me, fingertips sliding down her sides, holding her at her waist. Leaving a few kisses at her neck and collar bone, I moved a hand up the dress, slipping my index finger between her lips, feeling her wetness. She sighed at me, wrapping hands around the back of my neck. "You will not have me yet," I reminded, then pushed her away from me and threw her on our bed. After handcuffing her to the bedposts, I smirked. "You stay there, whore," I said to her, as if she would be able to escape.

She started to struggle against the cuffs, yelling after me as I left our bedroom, "Where are you going? Daddy? Where are you going, Daddy?"

"Stop talking, you'll mess up the beautiful makeup that I put on you." I laughed, and went to the bathroom to wash my hands. Loosening my tie, I undid a few buttons at the top of my shirt, then rolled up my sleeves and splashed some cool water on my face. I returned to her, holding a riding crop and hitting my hand with it a few times. I smirked at her, laughing lowly. "Your little pussy must be getting so wet looking at me like this."

She sighed in response and blushed, confirming my statement. I met her on the bed, trailing kisses up the insides of her thighs, making her shut them in shyness. "Daddy..." I smacked her thigh with the crop, making her squeal and shudder. Slowly, I moved the dress up to her hips, moving between her legs and lifting her thighs up around me.

"You want Daddy inside of you," I whispered into her ear, rubbing myself against her wet cunt.

She sighed at me, turning her head to the side and letting out an exasperated, "Yes."

I groaned at her, moving a hand down to my belt to undo it and my pants. Then I sighed into her ear, kissing her neck a few times and pulling out my penis to rub it against her slit. Again, she sighed at me, letting out a small moan and biting her lip. "Do not mess up your makeup," I warned her, nuzzling under her dress to expose her breasts and flicking my tongue over one of her nipples. She let out a soft noise, trying to move down against me and push me in.

But she didn't. I moved myself away from her after kissing her collar bone, sitting up and pulling her legs up around my waist. She moved her wrists, struggling slightly, and made a scowl at me, stroking my back with her toes. "Daddy...please?"

"Please what, little girl?" I responded by bringing one of her feet to my lips, kissing each of her toes and nuzzling the side of her foot. Giggling, she turned her head to the side, her foot twitching against my face. "Answer me," I murmured near her ankle, kissing her there a few times and groaning.

"Please...please make love to me, Daddy. Please."

"Good girl...very good girl." I groaned against her leg, moving it back around my waist and meeting her body on our bed, kissing her neck and letting the head of my penis graze against her clitoris. She moaned, turning her head to the side and bringing her knees tighter around my body, clenching around me.

Then I slipped into her. Slowly. Softly. I let her feel all of me, angling up inside of her, hitting her in just the right spots. She gasped a few times as I let out a sigh, sitting inside of her, waiting for movement. I kissed her cheek, her neck, her breasts, her insides quivering around me.

"Please, Daddy! Daddy, please!"

"You want me to move into you, beautiful girl," I whispered into her ear, kissing her hair and moving one of my hands up to grab her wrist. She nodded at me, softly moaning at the pressure on her wrist, and I moved out of her just as slowly as I had gone in, the tip of my penis still inside of her. "Good. You make me pleased."

So I kissed her cheek again, smirking, and slammed my penis into her dripping pussy, moving out and slamming it back in. She gasped at me, her body tightening around me, contracting around me, and sucking me in. I moved into her again, more forceful, groaning against her neck.

"Daddy, let me touch you...please, take the handcuffs off, I want to touch you," she whined, moaning between every few words as my erection pumped into her body. She moved her foot to my pants pocket, nudging where the key was and giggling a bit. I sighed, and kissed her neck.

"Tell me why you want to touch me, little girl." I trailed a few kisses down her chest, opening my lips around her nipple and blowing on her. She shivered, gasping quietly.

"Because I want to please you...please, Daddy. Please let me." I put my head down against her chest, sighing, and taking my keys out.

"Alright, little girl. Alright." As I unlocked one of her wrists, she immediately moved her hands down to my abdomen, stroking me with her fingertips and making little smiles. I undid the other handcuff and moved them to the side, pressing my tongue against her neck and rhythmically moving myself into her cunt.

"Daddy," she moaned, spreading her hands over me and slipping them up the back of my shirt. There she grabbed onto me, sinking her nails into my back as I thrusted into her faster, harder. I groaned as I bit down into her neck, arching against her, shaking as she dragged her nails down my shoulder blades.

"Do not do that, little girl." She smiled at me, giggled, and moved her hands to my shirt buttons, undoing the rest and taking it off of me. Then she put her hands around my neck, pulling me closer to her and making sweet noises into my ear.

We were both needing to finish. Her pussy clenched around me, her moans getting louder, more like cries. I slammed into her with more force, slid my hands up her thighs and smacked her little tush. She squealed, her knees tightening at my body. "Daddy, please..."

"What, beautiful Lolita," I breathed as I moved my engorged cock into her faster, on the edge of bursting.

"Please, Daddy!"

"Tell me, little girl, what," I groaned, her pussy contracting around me, making me need release.

"Daddy, please come in me!"

"Good girl. Come with me." She screamed my name, grabbing onto my shoulders and sinking her fingertips into my skin, her wet little cunt closing around me, soaking me in her juices as I shot into her.

Then she collapsed under me; limp, exhausted. I stayed inside of her, holding her around her waist and cuddling her, breathing heavily. She rubbed her legs against my back, giggling, kissing the side of my head. I groaned at her, telling her what a good girl she is and she shouldn't make Daddy so tired. She giggled again, and said that she does it because it pleases me.

After kissing her a few times, I nuzzled her cheek, and whispered against her forehead: "I love you, my sweet little girl."

Twenty-five

“Listen to me. You will do as I say, am I understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You won’t ever disobey me again. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Sir…”

“Good girl. I’m glad.”

Do not move unless I tell you to, do not speak unless you are spoken to, I will tell you when I want to hear you. You are miles away from me, but you will obey me, you will submit to me and give me whatever I tell you to give me. My beauty, my little girl, my slut—you are mine.

“Stand up. Pick up your feet.” I slip the panties over her smooth legs, adjust them at her hips and pluck the side-string just once to make her jump. “Did I tell you to move?”

“No, Sir…”

“Then why did you,” I whisper into her ear, groping and massaging a breast until it perks up.

She doesn’t answer me, but instead makes a light sigh and I can feel her nipple becoming harder between my fingers. I lightly brush my fingers over her, her breast bouncing back every time I do. Her nipples call to me, and I take one into my mouth, running my fingertips down her spine, hearing her gasp, feeling her body get warmer.

Abruptly, I jerk back, letting go of her after becoming fully erect. I click my tongue at her a few times and stroke the underside of her chin. “You tease me, baby girl.” I can see her immediately become defensive as her eyebrows clench together and her lips form into a scowl.

“No I don’t,” she instinctively yells, and I spank her ass in response, correcting her. She cries out a bit and stumbles forward into me. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You’re such a good girl…” I say to her, my voice evidently dropping a few pitches in my need. My gloved hand strokes one of her ass cheeks, soothing the mark that I just made. I lower myself to my knees, now stroking both of her ass cheeks, and kissing her thighs. She gasps at me, and I move my kisses further into her crease, my fingers slipping under her thong, stroking her shaved lips. I kiss her there, and tell her that I’m pleased with what a good girl she’s being for me. She nods and bites her lower lip.

I stop and tell her to get on her elbows and knees, and she complies, saying, “Yes, Sir.” I walk over to her, adjust my leather gloves, and lightly kick her knees to spread her legs further apart. After choosing a flogger and hitting my hand with it a few times, I trace her back with its tails. “How many do you think you deserve, slut?”

“Fifteen, Sir…”

“No. Twenty-five.” After rolling my shoulders back, I tighten my grip on the handle, smirk a bit, and send one stroke right into her cute ass.

“One, Master,” she manages out after squealing and jerking around. I correct her, and she obeys, staying still. Each lash of the flogger I make more intense than the last, her tush becoming more red, her fluids dripping down her thighs. She continues to count, each time more pained, more exasperated. Finally, we’re at twenty five.

I kneel down behind her and brush her rouged bum with the tails, laughing lowly. She sighs at me, not moving. “Please, Sir…,” she begs, keeping her head down, her position unfaltering. I put the flogger down and give her ass a light tap and rub, then bend down to kiss her. She gasps at me, and I get up again, ready to give her the final blow.

“You’ve been a very good girl. I’m pleased with you.” Then the flogger makes a hissing noise as I bring it down against her, and she counts one last time, crying out and thanking me. Again, I lightly stroke her back with the tails, and bend down behind her. I pluck the string of her thong and she winces, gasping a bit. I lick her there, soothing her.

“You are such a good girl…” I whisper against her ass, rubbing her with my cheek and hands. She sighs in response; I stroke her cunt. Slowly, I slide two of my fingers into her, and kiss her curved back. “Now, I’m going to make love to you.”