Question for a heterosexual man

My buddy Serverman asked the men in MaxFisch how they would feel about another man participating in their play. This was my response:

Serverman, Great question! I have several thoughts swirling in my head, so sorry if my answer seems disjointed. Many years ago at Club O (how's that for dating myself? ) I was put into suspension by a Mistress friend of mine, and while she was chatting with someone else, a male Dom simply decided it was OK for him to start whipping me. Whoa, I lost my hard-on in a nanosecond and finally got him to understand that he was violating my boundaries (he did have the class to apologize profusely afterward). Perhaps because of this incident, or maybe not, I have a visceral reaction to male Doms, and the reaction is not a good one. To keep my post positive, I won't elaborate further.

Secondly, I have had several experiences with Dommes topping me and another (or several) males. Sometimes this has been a fun experience, other times not so much. Just recently I was in a lifestyle situation with a Domme and one of her regular play partners. For some reason I was on edge the whole time and did not allow myself to enjoy what should have been an amazing experience. She and I talked about it at length later and agreed that there were several factors involved, including the fact that a man whom I just met earlier in the day was participating (there was no direct interaction between him and myself).

Finally, I'll divulge something a little more personal. There are several gay people in my family. While I have always considered myself purely hetero, in fact that is not totally true. I have always recognized that there is a bit of me on the other side, but it is something that I categorize like a piece of art on a museum shelf: periodically I'll take it down, admire it, say it's not for me, and put it back. Lately, however, there has been a slight change. While I'm fairly certain it will never happen, recently I have contemplated being in a bi scene with two people I know. Well, it takes three to tango, and there is zero interest from my friends, but still in a weird way I take some pride in having this thought. In a sense, I feel like a cherry has been broken, not because I have done something new, but because I have given myself the freedom to say, "yes, if by some miracle that situation presented itself, I would go there with no hesitation." So in fact, nothing has changed, I have done nothing new, but having this mindset makes me feel like some transformative experience has taken place. The interesting thing is that I have absolutely no desire to go there with anyone else. Thus, one could argue that it's all bullshit: I am allowing myself to contemplate something that has no shot of ever happening - a rather safe fantasy.

Who's the Dom(me) now?

I’m the Dom almost all the time. Except when I choose not to be. It’s almost always been like this, but is now especially pronounced since I have returned to my former (real) profession and am bossing people around almost every waking moment. Waitresses stop talking, freeze up and say through shaky smiles, “hi Chef, how are you today?” when I pass by. Wherever I go in the establishment, if there are other people there, they clear a path and ask what they can do to please me. My word is final, and everyone accepts that.

You would think all of this would make my dick hard, but it doesn’t. I do take satisfaction that everyone respects me and never sneers, grumbles or back-talks. That’s nice. And some of them actually fear me, which I find stupidly amusing. (My shrink, appalled that I would find projecting fear amusing, says I’m channeling my late father and continuing his tradition of toxicity. A little unfair, me thinks.) But if these people actually knew what made my dick hard, they’d faint.

Having it all

Is it possible to have it all?

Well, of course it is. We all know people who have it all. What do I mean by “having it all”? I’m talking about having relationships that satisfy both our BDSM joneses as well as our other, various human desires. All at the same time. So that you feel like a whole person, you know?

This topic has been on my mind since I enjoyed a dinner out with a ProDomme friend of mine a couple weeks ago (and, no, all you junior detectives, it was not with either my Mistress nor with any of her close associates, so give it a rest). My friend “Helene” was telling me that her successful BDSM practice satisfied 80% or more of her urges, but then there was the small matter of watching a movie with someone without it becoming a big deal; spending holidays with that someone; and , yes, getting a hug when it’s really needed. So just how do you fill in this “missing” 20%? Being dense and somewhat self-centered, I had never really appreciated that fact that ProDommes are frequently in the same dilemma as their clients. For the client with the wherewithal to session twice a month and attend fetish events once or twice a month, he too is 80% there. On paper it would seem to be an easy hole to plug (sorry). After all, we’re not looking to take someone out of their comfort zone and ask them to do things they probably consider weird; we’ve got that piece covered! So this will be easy! Well, not really. You see, any candidate willing to fill in the missing 20% is in fact going to want more than that, and rightly so. And, chances are excellent that when s/he figures out what is fueling the 80% part, your ‘wonderful’ friendship will come to a screeching halt.

I want to tell you a related story. A true story. For such a smart guy, sometimes I can be so thick it’s breathtaking. Stating it very briefly, I used to regularly see a ProDomme who is now retired. She was very famous, drop-dead gorgeous, brilliant and funny. By any measure one of the world’s most beautiful and charming women. I am fortunate enough to say that she adored me as a client and made every session seem extra special. She also had a list of dos and don’ts on her website that took a measure of concentration for the reader to get through -- in other words, she was highly ethical. Well, one fine day, without any prior warning that I recognized at the time (but with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, I see very clearly now) she began “forcing” me to perform vanilla sex acts while in session. Damn! I loved it in the moment, but later the thought of it weirded me out just a bit. Does she do this with everyone? (She tearfully protested that I was the “only one.”) And I was married at the time…this was not really what I was seeking when coming to the studio space she rented. Some 4+ years later, I get it. Finally. She was looking to plug the empty 20%. She told me that she attended many high-end formal events on the arm of this or that gentleman, but having sex with a slave who was tied up in a compromising and stressful position was something she could not do. Except with me, a client she decided was cool enough trust with the task. I really puzzled over this for a long time. This was a woman who should have been capable of reeling in any man she wanted “on command”. But there is always the untold story. I was one of the few who knew her well enough to know that her day job was as an executive VP at a major corporation. Ooooh, that 20% can be really hard to fulfill!

So circling back to my friend Helene, I’m not sure what the answer is. Her partial response seems to be to have her especially moneyed clients take her to very expensive restaurants for polite banter. I guess that fills the gap at least partly. As for myself, against my better judgment I have been seeing a vanilla girl who I know will cut off all contact with me when she hears about BDSM. She has somehow not noticed my decorative cutting or the hole where my cock piercing is (phew, I manage to get it out in time before any action starts. It might be fulfilling a need, but it still sucks. I hate being so dishonest with someone close to me. It makes me feel like a fucking criminal. And all this with a very beautiful younger woman who knows all my present and former business associates. Literally, a time bomb waiting to go off. Well, I’d love to search for a new “business” model, but I’m not sure how to go about that. Let’s see, seeing a ProDomme who is into totally different things, so “play” never becomes an issue, meanwhile we understand each other in a very organic sense. Hmmm. Actually, that sounds a bit like Helene and me, although she has made it clear that she deeply resents the fact that I have no desire to play with her. Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good. Or maybe I should try a polyamorous household…but that sounds so messy. Or serving a Mistress who maintains a stable of different subjects, each utilized for different moods. Feh. Than that leaves other gaps to fill.

When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.

JO

Time was, I’d do it anywhere. My first industrial jerking off took place in grammar school (my school system had no Junior High School) in the eighth grade. I became an expert in leaning my chair back, rocking slightly and rubbing my dick against the frame of my desk. Gently…back and forth…discretely. One of my classmates, Megan, was 14 going on 24, with a developed body and a firm grip on her own sexuality. Above average height with a meaty, athletic build, she cut an imposing figure, even in the eighth grade. She wore jeans so tight that it must have taken a half hour to get them on. And the back seam disappeared deep into her ass crack in the form of a mega wedgie, fueling my earliest ass fetish moments. Damn, she was hot...and seated two rows ahead of me. I even discretely ejaculated from my rocking chair position on at least two occasions, but after leaving a tell-tale wet spot on my pants, I learned to control my urges.

From that early start, I became a dedicated masturbator.

Getting a frenum piercing changed everything. Well…not quite like when I had stitches in my “good” hand and realized that I was a one-hand jerker-offer….but I digress. In order to have a painless JO session, I have to carefully place the frenum between my index and fore fingers, and keep it there throughout the whole process. Sounds like a pain, but it really isn’t. One other change the frenum has introduced: it is harder to do the act while sitting down, making the bed the new and improved place to jerk off. Not that I CAN’T do it while seated, it’s just that there is more potential for snagging the frenum if not lounging. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain …just take my word for it. So lying there and getting in the mood I will conjure up a variety of images, but when I really get rolling, I end up thinking about one individual. I just cannot shake it. Lately, there is a small part of me that feels like this is some sort of cosmic imposition; I can’t figure out if it’s cool or not. Then there is the whole matter of WHAT am I thinking about. Am I thinking about stuff that we do already? Well, yes. But those “appropriate” thoughts are ‘enhanced’, as our former Veep would say, by other thoughts, mostly of the anal worship variety. Tongue in asshole…mmmm, yes. Talk about motivation. My fave vanilla position, practiced many times with my ex, consisted of my tongue deep in her asshole, with my ex tugging on my nipple clamp chain with her left hand and rubbing one out with her right. But it seems like I’ve said this before. And maybe that’s not such a “vanilla” position, after all. No matter. Repetition is good and I hate categorizing things, first and foremost what I am and what I like. So, it’s rare for me to have a JO session without somehow getting to the point where I am dreaming of performing anal worship under painful duress, not to mention being given firm feedback on the merits (or lack thereof) of my performance. Actually, a current variation is to dream of performing this fete with my cock locked into chastity. That’s a whole other subject, of course, but the notion of jerking off while fantasizing about chastity strikes me as a little strange…even though I do it all the time. I love to dream about my Mistress climaxing several times in the position road-tested by my ex, while taunting me about my inability to get really hard, never mind ejaculating. (I always whimper, I know, Master, you have to come for both of us.) Since she is so sweet (not everyone knows this, ha!), after finishing the session and going out for a drink, she invites me back to her space for a brief post-script. Upon entering, I am told to drop my drawers and assume the kneeling position. Mistress mater-of-factly attaches the nastiest combination of nipple toys she has and coldly tells me that I have 90 seconds to ejaculate. Failure will mean six uninterrupted months in the chastity device. While jerking off to this well-rehearsed routine, I never fail to have a spooge explosion approximately 15 seconds after embarking on this last mini-scenario. In my dreams, as in a real life (live?!) session, I lick up the ejaculate and am cheerfully sent on my way by my Mistress. But I’m forgetting a few details. Not about my fantasies, but about how they are executed. You see, I cannot ejaculate if I am not being tortured. Truth. (Poor Keith Carradine. I relate to his predicament, though auto-erotic asphyxiation has never been my bag.) But while I may dream of zippers and nipple stick/clamp combos, I have a couple of very tight clothes pins that get the job done quite nicely. I will twist them as I slowly work my way up the ladder; I’ll imaging that my Mistress is using alligator clips, twisting them until I cry (which makes her laugh). She punctuates this with a series of spits. I know she prefers to sensually allow a stream of spittle to slowly decent into my mouth, but I dream more of her curtly spitting in my face…which I do not regard as a humiliating act, but rather an act of anointment. Then I dream of her gazing at me, expressionless, cool, not terribly amused until a tear gathers up and dribbles down my cheek. And then I’ve come again, this time a thinner, more watery version. Totally out of breath and slightly spaced

All of the above can easily take a couple of hours if I’m not careful; a ridiculous indulgence of time…and then I’m asleep with a smile on my face.

Forced

There is nothing quite like the silence one feels when blindfolded. Deprivation of one sense accentuates the acuity of the remaining senses, and the empty nothingness that defined normal silence in this case is replaced by a sort of mute roar that envelopes the him. It’s the grand hum of soundless static. Occasionally he could hear her walking about in the next room, her platform heals making a pronounced and authoritative sound. Not exactly clicking, not exactly pounding: a clipped kuk, kuk, kuk. He could intermittently hear her voice as well; whether this was her speaking into the iPhone, he could not determine. Or perhaps there was someone else present and she was chatting to her/him. Maybe.

He had been lead to this place while being blindfolded. What he was doing prior to this station-stop is not important. Suffice it to say that his world has slowed to a crawl; even her voice was sounding like something he had once heard during a particularly intense acid trip; harmonious and distorted all at once. He loves her confidence, her unflappability. Other people admire her command, but to him, her command is reality and is thus unremarkable. Her command and control just is. Upon arrival to this vast and empty loft space, she crisply removed some, but not all of his clothing, and in his current state he cannot determine or remember what he has left on. He does know that he is in some fashion clothed by the thick hemp rope that she applied to his body in a serpentine manner. Perhaps shibari. Does he have both feet on the ground? Who knows? She is silently inspecting him now. Touching lightly here and there, warily circling and evaluating him. He can feel her warm breath on his cool flesh. He is frankly a bit chilly, but he dares not say so. His mouth is bound by an unusual gag that keeps his hole forced open and available. Far from ideal for speaking, and in any event, he has understood that any communications he embarks upon now will be of the non-verbal variety. He feels mummified. He is trussed, suspended and immobilized. He is blindfolded. His world is dark. It is quiet.

She is touching his head. Her long and lanky digits (can a finger be lanky?) lightly but firmly caress his skull. He is reluctant to tell her how much he loves this, for fear she will stop doing it. There are some things they discuss in great detail and others that are left unmentioned. Despite allowing him to get closer to her – over a matter of years – she is always on guard…mustn’t let him get too close. This caution does not seem to come from a place of fear, but rather some sort of rectitude or probity that he understands…and yet doesn’t understand. He has not questioned her. His fear – yes it is a fear – is that inviting her answers and interpretations will cement their friendship in a static state that will preclude, or at least render difficult, any future adjustments. He wants badly to explain his motivations and goals to her. He thinks she would approve, though not necessarily because she is ready to embark on them, but because he feels certain, he knows and feels, that she would find them appropriate. But instead, he enjoys the sifting sand under his feet: their interaction is not what it was six months ago, and most probably not what it will be in another six months. They are explorers; she the Captain, he the mate. She will pilot this ship to whatever port she chooses.

She is lightly caressing him all around, spinning him from his overhead, single-point suspension. She is laughing softly, compressing certain body parts with her hands and fingernails, others with accessories. He feels her warmth and her proximity in an almost reiki-like way. Soft. Warm. Gentle. Firm. An intense squeeze here (accompanied by giggles) , a soft caress there. Her laughter did not punctuate events, but provided a backdrop to them.

Silence again. Alone. He is a human pendulum, slowly drifting from his tether. Time passes… in his dark and quiet world…

How much time, he cannot say. She is now back. Her greased cock has swiftly negotiated it’s way up his ass without preamble or commentary. He is relaxing his sphincter, enjoying, staying in the moment, doing his best to please her. She is pumping furiously. Removal and re-load. Slightly softer, this cock, and warmer, but not squishy. A mouth sensuously envelopes his cock. Warm, wet, experienced. Her? Not important. It is her because it is she who is manipulating these events; she is the maestro. More. Change of position. Masculine grunting, from somewhere. Someone now in front, it’s her, twisting his nipples with a vengeance. The cock in his ass is now not moving, but the mouth on his cock working hard. His head is spinning, he’s short of breath, confused and aroused. She breaks the silence with talk of total ownership: he is her toy, her object. He will accept anything, the sole criteria being that she finds it amusing. She is no longer interested in his opinions or limits; his limits have simply been replaced by her own limits, the contours of which she has not shared with him yet. On other occasions, in different contexts, he is her dutiful pet, but presently he is just a thing, a holster for her cock, a slut to be used and enjoyed. She had waited a long time before training him like this. Gales of laughter dance about, and he dreams of her smile. He knows she is happy. Suddenly, a change of vibe, and demands to come are issued. He is close. “You have no choice”, she said simply while viciously but lovingly twisting his nipples. It was so; he had no choice.

He ejaculates in three pronounced spasms. “Good boy, pet”, she approvingly coos. Out of breath and spent he is unexpectedly greeted with a come-filled mouth. A long kiss from an unfamiliar mouth follows and he obediently sucks semen. Upon completion, the mouths uncouple, their work now done. She wants to command, “spit on him”, but she remembers that he cannot be submissive to a man. So she does it herself. She spits and spits and spits. And pulls and twists some more. It matters not that he has just ejaculated. His devotion is enhanced after release, as it should be. His whimpers begging her to stop only encourage her to continue.

Then, she was done. “Next time you will be violently raped”, she tells him matter-of-factly. He remains a pendulum, listening to the sound of her heels, and a second set of feet – bare feet - fading away to the distant reaches of the loft.

Training my Subjects Part 2

by Mistress Lucy H. Cunningham

Well it been 9 months since I started training Benny in earnest, and as you can imagine, it’s been quite at trip! I knew he’s a bit of a character, but now he’s really blown me away on several levels. More on that in a few. But to be perfectly honest, certain aspects of his training were very easy. After all, Benny has been a BDSM player since college - a very long time. True, my chastity program is not “playing” per se, as in contracting for a 90 minute session, for example; it is very much true-grit reality – he gave me his cock, for crissake, how much more ‘real’ can we make it!. Ohhh, there’s nothing quite like reality – it can be the ultimate mindfuck when manipulated correctly. And manipulate it I do…often, totally and with great gusto.

We started the process slowly. Benny finally found a design he could live with, not to mention the spare several thousand bucks to buy it. With my approval he settled on a surgical steel tube custom made by a firm in Montreal. The tube has an appendage that wraps around his ball sack and also has three holes: two which allow a bar to pass through the tube horizontally (and also pass through his frenum piercing) and also a larger hole to accommodate a future Prince Albert piercing. Right now the device is locked in place with the frenum bar which works fine. I can’t wait until we get that PA; Benny thinks that the frenum will continue to be his locking mechanism, but I have other plans. I want a big, thick PA to be holding him down. Mmmm. One thing that I had not bargained for is how sexy the key itself is. Who knew how revered a fucking key could become? Benny stares at it like it’s the Hope Diamond and I just adore attaching it to a necklace and letting it fall cavalierly into my cleavage. I can’t quite describe the feeling of power it gives me. Not that locking up his fucking dick is any big whoop, I mean it’s really of no use to me. Still, the feeling of power is undeniable, and I’m all about feeling powerful.

As we began, Benny was locked for two days at a time. During each lock-down period I made him write his impressions in a diary, which, to my surprise, he found rewarding. As good a writer as Benny is, he never got into keeping a diary, finding it to be a self-conscious but of tedium. (“I went to the park today and saw a beautiful red-breasted robin. As I probed it’s preternatural sense of self…” Oh, fuck, gag me; I totally understand his aversion to such drivel. In this instance, however, Benny related all the delicious details of the mental torment he is experiencing and that I am causing. I just love reading about it, knowing that I am responsible for these feelings and indeed his entire mental frame of mind. All he wants to do is serve me. That was always the case, but locked down. the feeling is multiplied. I’m a little iffy on him getting too involved at this point so I provisionally settled on writing assignments as his job. He wants to be my cook/artisan/footstool, but that will just have to wait, if it comes at all. Interestingly, all the so-called “experts” on chastity training recommended beginning a regimen by locking up the property one day at a time, but I wasn’t having any of that. I’m too busy for such nonsense, though. of course. I am always available in a true emergency. Two days just struck me as a good compromise – two days in chastity and then two days of freedom. Good way to start! Freedom is relative, of course. In our case, “Freedom” means he can cum when I call or text him that he should. He is instructed to be on his knees and cum into his dog bowl. I’m always interested in knowing how long after my initial order before he is happily lapping up his spooge. Benny adores tantric sex, so left to his own devices it would take four hours of self-torture (nipple clamps) and lots of visits to the nexus of frustration and relief before finally releasing. Well, fine, but I wanted to cut down that timeframe in order to shape Benny for his new reality: only having brief periods of time in which to self-arouse, climax and tongue-clean. I decided that three minutes is ample time to do the deed. If I am feeling particularly generous and wanting to indulge Benny’s romantic streak, I may allow more time, while softly encouraging him with words, caresses, laughing and pinches. Other times, I might allow only a minute and a half while sadistically torturing him. My favorite thing (and his too, I suspect) is to go from bright and sweet to cold and cruel in a millisecond. After letting this new mood sink in, I matter of factly explain to Benny what the consequences will be for non-compliance within the allotted time (will it be a fisting, a severe caning, a week in lock up, oh, so many choices). Finally, with an expressionless face, I keep time while doing everything in my power to distract him. My dream is to put him in a humbler and have him attempt to jerk off while in an awkward position…with me dragon-tailing his balls, of course. Yummy. Gotta get that humbler.

One thing I had not really thought through is that there is a lot of cumming going on, which is sort of counterintuitive. I mean, chastity equals not cumming, right? Well come to find out (sorry!) chastity also means cumming as a way to delineate the end of a chastised period. Initially, in the 2 days locked / 2 days free scenario, it really did not matter; I could easily unlock him and simply send him on his way. But I started taking a perverse interest in his first orgasm after lock-up, and directing how he comes became an unexpected point of intrigue for me. Shit, if you’re going to own someone, might as well control the whole show, right? *Sigh* That leads me to my boy Xavier.

Xavier finally “got” the Mistress Lucy/Benny thing: Benny is my acolyte, my chastity slave and above all my pet. None of these things threatens the office Xavier inhabits, nor should it. After all, Xavier frequently spouts off that he would like to live in a poly-amorous BDSM family, and here he can’t even accept the fucking pet! Jeeesh. Actually, Xavier is young but not hopeless. I think he really does get it now. And, you know, if he can wrap his head around the concept, Benny could probably teach him a thing or three. Interestingly, Benny informed me that Xavier has been perusing his profile on CM. Hmm, interesting. But the improved karma is all very recent. For months all I got was attitude from Xavier when it was time for Benny to come over. Early on I decided that Benny’s visits would require “corner time” for Xavier. At least that way there would be no tantrums. Meanwhile as time went on I started thinking that this was a lost opportunity. After all, I have these two obedient sluts together, there just HAS to be some potential for mischief! In time, I started thinking about concrete ways I could have them interact in service to me. I know Benny would love to spank Xavier, but I need to be certain that there is no bitterness or resentment behind it. I’m a firm believer that discipline needs to come from a place of love.

And poor Benny, what an ass! He’s really painted himself into a corner. See, I am the only person he has played with for some three years now, and even though I have told him repeatedly that I am OK with him playing with someone else (particularly if it’s one of my buds such as Mistress Park, Mistress Betty or Mistress Sage) he says he just wants to reserve this part of himself for me. Frankly, I appreciate the loyalty, and now that I own his pecker, it seems even more appropriate. So as far as I’m concerned, it’s all good. Still, there are a few issues. Benny has trouble going to events now, for instance. I’m reluctant to invite him to go with us because I know it will put Xavier in a snit. Meanwhile, Benny’s good friend Mistress Helen won’t go with him, telling Benny that since he won’t play with her, why the hell should she? How’s that for friendship!? His buddy Mistress Summer would do it except she hates events, always telling Benny to forget that shit and come to JohnnyFrank’s bar for a few pops instead. Ditto Mistress Carter who hates gatherings of any sort. Well, in conversation a while ago, Benny told me he feel like a fucking loser showing up at events by himself, hoping someone like Mistress Betty will be there to talk to him. Failing that, he feels like il est arrivé comme le cheveu dan la soupe. Ha! Such a great expression…have to hand it to the French. But that’s his fucking problem - it’s all in his head, anyway; he’s advertised himself as not needy, so prove it, pal. Just fucking show up and I’ll be glad to share 2-3 minutes of my time with you. Hahahaha!

At any rate last Thursday we all experienced a breakthrough of sorts. Phew, so unexpected! Benny came over at my command to be unlocked after his two-day confinement. I was thinking as he was on his way over that it was time to change to a 4/2 set up: four days in chastity and 2 days of freedom, but kind of forgot about it when Benny arrived. I had a date that evening with my friend Mistress Park, and uncharacteristically Xavier was there on a Thursday to clean my apartment. I wanted to get this over with quickly. But after unlocking Benny, something got into me. Was the moon full? Instead of his usual 3-minute climax, I spontaneously started strangling him. I tied him into a most uncomfortable position and whipped him lustily. I spat on him, attached forceps to his nipples, walked on him and caned him with the rawhide cane he gave me a while ago. Must have been something in the air! I tethered the forceps handles to a stationary object so that the slightest upper body movement would be excruciating. Deep red, double-lined welts appeared on his ass, which only spurred me on to whip harder, with more focus, with more desire and with sadistic intent. Benny was unable to use his safe word, inasmuch as I have taken away his right to a safe word when he is in my residence. The only limits under my roof are my own. As it should be. Benny was now way over his limit and was softly sobbing as he took my punishment. Crying is a tricky thing with him, so I was really happy to get there. Meanwhile, kneeling Xavier took in the whole scene with an awestruck look on his face, and his trademark clincher around the waist (this time with a feather-duster and other cleaning implements attached, as he was there to clean) . Recently I had decided that his improved behavior warranted being allowed to watch these scenes, instead of being exiled into a corner with a morose expression. He seemed a bit lost on this particular evening, to be honest, but I’m certain that this single reality did not escape his attention: Benny was receiving the sort of sadistic treatment that Xavier could never tolerate, something which I’m sure gave Xavier pause. After all, where it not for Benny, it could have been him on the receiving end of all this.

Well, I’m in such a kinky mood by now that I’m thinking ‘money shot’. Why not have Benny cum in Xavier’s face? Oh, hell, I knew that it was something we had not previously discussed, but so fucking what? It was a spontaneous idea and I am a creative Mistress! Wow, what a rush - I felt like a porn producer with all the pieces at my disposal. I had Xavier kneel in position while I tortured Benny and compelled him to jerk off. Xavier was a foot away…money shot!! But then all my best laid plans began to unravel. Benny inched closer and seemed ready. He was softly sobbing. Just as I was about to order a pop shot, Benny reached out and sweetly caressed Xavier’s shoulder. Then he cradled the back of Xavier’s head, gently and lovingly pulled it toward him, firmly but slowly. He stopped stroking and softly pressing the crown of his dick into Xavier’s mouth (just up to his frenum), carefully directing it in. He gently cupped his enormous hands around Xavier’s jaw line and gently caressed his cheeks. Then, he sweetly ejaculated in Xavier’s mouth.

Well hell, I had no fucking idea what to do, the whole thing having been such a shock. I was stunned. In the aftermath, Benny immediately fell to his knees and started doing his worship thing. OK, fine. With what must have been a slack-jawed expression of disbelief, I hugged Xavier, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do, and he looked like he needed a hug. I was also momentarily disappointed; that wasn’t exactly the pop shot I had in mind, and it seemed like I had lost ultimate control of the scene. But I had to admit, it was very hot! There was absolutely no denying it…

Training my subjects

I do love him so. Well, in a way.

Let me introduce myself, I am Lucy Cunningham, lifestyle Domme, writer and lesbian...sort of. The truth is that I have “sex” with women and play BDSM games with boys. Pansexual, you might call it. To me the BDSM games are highly sexual, certainly in the mental sphere, so in that sense I am bi, but it seems the world at large does not consider BDSM to be sex. Whatever.

Let me tell you about my friend Benny. Benny is straight, but in fact lost interest in straight sex long ago. He expresses himself as a masochist who revels in having beautiful women hurt him. He is not a submissive per se, but he does submit to me – completely, and without reservation. His obeisance to me is all-encompassing; he will do absolutely anything for me. His gift of subservience is truly special to me. I do not avail myself of his services often, but it gratifies me to know they are always available. You see, I am a sadist. I need people like Benny to feed my fire. My job is to take him and his ilk on a guided tour. A tour of their pain, their limits and their suffering. Benny is such a dear. Truly the only thing he has ever asked for is to suffer for me. Such a good pet.

And, well, Benny is not my only guy friend; in fact he is not even my favorite. My favorite is Xavier. Ah, just a young lad: when I was his current age, he was just a tot of eight years. When I first met him he seemed a just bit sappy, replete with a moist, limp handshake and a halting, painfully shy way of being. Well, underneath this almost pathetic patina is a rapier-like wit and wisdom beyond his years. Indeed I am a specialist in looking beyond the envelopes of people and truly understanding and appreciating their true essence, like looking through the ice of a clear blue frozen New England lake and not seeing the pock marks on the surface, but seeing the fish and fauna below. I love that. I love the complexity of the creative mind. Xavier has truly progressed under my tutelage. Let’s face it, a lad in his early twenties has not had enough time to really have a string of accomplishments, but within the narrow context of these still formative years (what bullshit, by the way, all years are formative) he has grown exponentially and according to the strict specifications I have laid out for him. It is such a privilege to be here at this point in time and able to provide expert guidance to this youngster. See, after my own two marriages…well fuck that…that’s none of your fucking business.

But maybe that’s where Benny comes in. He’s older than me and has had two marriages of his own, with mega-alimony and all the other accompanying issues. He also fashions himself as a writer. Not at my lofty level, mind you, but his chatty style does amuse me. My goal for this year is to wean him from his childish addiction to points of suspension. Jesus, that annoys me! He thinks it helps him replicate the rhythm and pacing of actual conversations, but to me it shows the inherent limitation of his prose. And, well, he’s not exactly George Cluny, though as I always tell my friends, I have my preferences and I have my priorities. Benny’s ability to perform many technical feats somewhat offsets his limited envelope. Meanwhile, I am deeply attracted to Xavier’s slim waist, full head of hair and pale skin. A contrast between these two sluts, indeed.

Anyway, is my plate ever full these days. Training Xavier full time is a job all to itself, but Benny has applied to be my chastity slave and I accepted. Sometimes I wonder if that was the right decision, because I know once we have all the Indians lined up, this is going to take some of my precious time, but Benny really does amuse me and the thought of exploring this with him just sounded too delicious. One practical problem, which I have still not worked out, is how Xavier and Benny will interact with one another. The only way I can do justice to Benny’s training is to occasionally work them together. Benny has told me that training with other men is not an issue; he has had his ball sack tied to the ball sack of another slave, for example. For Benny, it is all about the focus on me – as long as I mentally control him, the physicality can go in a number of directions. Xavier, meanwhile, is not exactly brimming with confidence (something I am working on) and Benny can really be a pain in the ass, which frightens Xavier. One of the features I liked about Benny, aside from his total devotion to me, was his seeming lack of neediness. But recently there was an episode at a club that disturbed me. I went with the two boys and was proud of both of them – they really behaved well. But since I had spent some time early in the evening playing with Benny, I felt I had to give Xavier my undivided attention toward the end of the night. This meant ignoring Benny for the last 2 hours. Well, I didn’t exactly ignore him…I had him watch my bag for most of that time. I really wasn’t thinking straight: if I had forced Benny to his knees, tethered him in place, and congratulated him with a pat on the head (and maybe allowing a kiss on the toes) he would have been the happiest man in the room. But I was so focused on Xavier’s needs, and frankly my own desires at that moment, that I kind of spaced on Benny. Besides, the room was filled with his friends (though he told me later all of the ones he really likes had left early) so I never gave it a second thought until the rat-bastard skulked out like a confused dog, without saying goodbye. He was apologetic enough the day after, and *yawn* he seems to want to discuss it with me now, but it really fucking irritated me. And now that I really reflect on it, there was a general nervousness that pervaded the entire evening that really gives me pause.

Still, all this got me to thinking. I’m the kind of woman who is always looking to turn negatives into positives, especially when the negatives are the weaknesses of my boys. Benny confided to me a while ago that his devotion to me is now so strong that he will be willing to do anything (his emphasis) for me. Hmmm. I asked about his limits and his safeword. He surprised me by saying that at the end of the day his only hard limits are FT and submitting to male Doms. Well, that and drinking while lying down, which could cause him to choke to death because of his apnea, but that’s a health issue. All his other limits, says he, are soft and can be broken down given the right methodology. As long as the exercise is designed to please me, and he is allowed to focus mentally on me while it is happening, then he is down with it. Benny’s not a “microwave” kind of guy, he needs to be maneuvered into the right position over time, in an atmosphere of love and confidence. He’s constantly referencing bullshit like “ the right vibe” which sounds so annoyingly new-agey to me, but in truth, I do know what he means. The interesting thing about these two subjects is that Xavier is a sissy slut and poseur, whereas Benny is a pain and service slut. Wow, I thought, these two subjects really do compliment each other…you know, ying and yang, and all that horseshit.

So my project for the summer and fall is to see where I can take these sluts. Both give fabulous dildo blow jobs and Xavier especially can take it up the ass like a champ. Benny, as usual, has his own issues. The initial penetration is difficult, but once achieved, he can be fucked like a $50 hooker. Benny told me a long time ago that torturing other men in a non-sexual atmosphere was one of his fantasies, but that sort of thing is not what I want for Xavier. Still, the potential of bringing these two to another plane is too delicious to not think about…