#power exchange
power exchange between Mistress Katarina and Miss Anaïs before the suspension … a nice challenge for the french girl !
*** old post reblog *** : image added to tumblr on Oct 7, 2012
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Who knew what had started out as a dare between Amanda and her friends would end up in months worth of bullying and humiliation soon after this photo made its way onto Facebook …
Best friends Alyssa and Piper, raiding the refrigerator of the their favorite teacher. The one that they have been having “fun” with all year. They are waiting for her to come home. Hopefully she will be ready for more “fun”. If not, well Alyssa and Piper will have “fun” with her anyways. Alphas always has fun.
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You had never really got along with your step daughter … then She found out about your bully fetish and submissive tendencies. Things have certainly changed now, haven’t they?
I was thinking about this earlier. It legitimately terrifies me and I want to say I don’t want to do this because it’s so frightening or too dangerous. I look at this and start to get a taste of the sort of things I would experience in this situation, a hint of that primal flight response, the struggling, the panic. And I get turned on. Of course I want to do this. It’s frightening and dangerous.
The interesting thing is that from the other side, it’s not about the fear, not about the danger—at least for me. You’re completely safe. There’s no way I’m going to let anything serious happen to you, no matter that you’re naked, bound and completely helpless. If you didn’t trust me, after all, there’s no way this scene would even have started.
The water and the ropes serve the same purpose: they constrain you, remove your options and your ability to choose what happens to your body. They reduce you to reactions. They make you an instrument, to be stimulated or denied, no matter how you fight. (They also make you wet.)
You can always go limp, when I make you fight me. You can always refuse to react, or at least muffle your reactions. Not when I drop you into the tub, though. The reason I put you in there is because I can make you panic. You’re back to a thrashing, panicked thing beneath me, your body struggling even though it will make you run out of oxygen faster.
In a moment I’ll haul you out, turn you over to cough, watch your chest and back heave with your frantic breathing. And then maybe I’ll play with you, in your dripping, helpless state, before I drop you in again. It’s a shortcut way to create a specific behavior. The struggle is what I want from you, and right now, it’s what you’re going to give me.
Mmm, excellently said!
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If you only follow your rules when you feel like it, then you don’t understand the concept of submission or power exchange and perhaps you need to research whether d/s is for you.
Things over at bdsmlr are moving along at a great pace. A lot of my favorite tumblr. bloggers are there and it’s starting to feel more like home.
I’ve downloaded a backup of my tumblr. and bdsmlr is working hard on a lot of things, one of them being working around all of tumblr.s recent policy changes to allow us to upload our full tumblr. blogs there.
They haven’t managed it yet, but they are very responsive and have accomplished a lot in a very short time, so i’m hopeful.
i wont be writing any more original content on tumblr. and will be transferring my writing to bdsmlr and my blogger blog.
Any new writing from me will be posted to one or both of those.
~sandi
It’s a shame really. Been a while since you were last employed and you desperately needed this one. Vanessa was the office bully. What other choice did you have? You would do anything She wanted just to keep your job.
MASTERs photo captions capture the dynamic between owner and property this weekend out and about in the neighbourhood:SIR handsome and powerful as ever keeping slave on a short leash whilst putting it through its public exhibition paces.
slave spirited, confident, obedient and proud of what it is and what it is becoming by MASTERs design
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A small window popped up on my laptop screen, flashing blue. An instant message from Daddy.
Put your sparkly [anal] plug in. Find the hood and 20 clothespins
A felt a wave of excitement. Was this for real? What happens if I don’t do it? I had just been punished two days prior for not listening, did I really want to be punished again?
I grabbed the hood and carefully counted out 20 clothespins. Twice. Paranoia set in and I counted them a third time. Exactly 20. Not 19, not 21. Good. I laid them all out on the bed and placed the hood right next to it.
Anal plug. I considered using lube since the message didn’t say anything about it, but decided against it. Daddy never uses lube. I bent over and slid the plug in, gasping at the feel of cold metal being buried inside me.
The window flashed again. More instructions.
Now pick out a cane and a pair of handcuffs. I want you to get on your knees, put the cane at your feet, put on all the clothes pins, hood yourself and handcuff yourself behind the back. Wait for daddy and realize what a dirty little toy you are
I felt myself get wet and I wanted to touch myself, but couldn’t. Literally couldn’t without permission. I grabbed the clothespins and hood and laid them neatly on the floor in front of my bedroom door.
I pulled all the canes out of the closet. I looked through all of them. The sight of them made my bruises from the previous punishment ache. I ended up picking the cane/slapper hybrid that @SirRonC had given us as a collaring present. I laid it behind me. I grabbed the dull black handcuffs and laid them next to the hood.
I looked at the 20 clothespins then at my body. Did Daddy care where I put these? Was it even possible to put all them on my body? What would happen to be if any of these came off after I handcuffed myself?
I re-counted them one last time to make sure I had all 20. I proceed to clip them on me in groups of 5: 5 on my side of my pussy, 5 on the other. 5 on the left breast, 5 on the right. I saved putting them on my nipples until last. The painful sensation of the last two clothespins ran through my body and I for a full minute or so I was afraid to move. Every movement made me intensely aware of everything clipped onto me and I suddenly ached for Daddy to be home.
I pulled the hood over my face and readjusted it. It wasn’t completely opaque, but I definitely couldn’t see what I was doing. I blindly groped in front of me until my fingers brushed into the handcuffs. I hesitated. What if Daddy doesn’t come home? How long would I be sitting here, in pain, waiting?
It didn’t matter. Daddy told me to do it, so I did it. He could have left me there all night long and I still would have done it. I clumsily cuffed my hands behind my back.
and I waited. It felt like forever. My knees ached and my whole body stung. I drifted in and out of my head. I wondered what Daddy had planned and I shivered with anticipation.
After what felt like a lifetime toying with different ideas and fantasies, I finally heard my door click. I felt myself smile in relief a bit, knowing he was here. Then a brief wave of embarrassment because I knew what Daddy was going to say.
“Wow, what a dirty little slut. What kind of proper girl does this to herself?” He chided. I felt my face get hot and I tilted my head down. He was right, of course. What kind of girl WOULD do this to themselves?
I turn a shutter go off and snapped my head up futilely. I couldn’t see, but I knew he was taking pictures of me. Intensely embarrassed, I tilted my head down again.
“No, slut, keep your head up.”
I did as I was told and I heard the shutter go off one more time. I felt Daddy walk up to me and bend over. I could feel his face next to mine.
“You did a good job at listening to Daddy. Good girl. I’ll let you kiss me.”
I sighed and leaned in eagerly. I felt his lips brush against mine and I wanted more.
“Is this really 20 clothespins?” He asked suddenly, flicking a couple of the one between my legs. I gasped at the sensation and fought the urge to shut my legs. Daddy caught the movement, he’s always so perceptive.
“Don’t you dare shut your legs, you know better than that.” He flicked each clothespin on my body, each producing a different pain, a different sensation. I moaned and wanted him to touch me, thought about begging him, but didn’t. If Daddy wanted to touch me, he would.
“Let’s see if you have all 20, shall we?”
Daddy shifted around me and picked up the cane from the floor. He used it to trace the curves of my body. Then he promptly used the cane to knock off each clothespin one by one. He started with the ones on my breasts. The entire time he used his free hand to play with the ones between my legs. He occasionally ran his fingers a little higher to feel how turned on I was. I expected him to say something about it, but he didn’t. He didn’t even acknowledge me.
After all the ones on my breasts were knocked off, he pulled the ones between my legs off, varying the speed at which he pulled. He would tug on them, to see the stretch, to hear me cry or gasp, When they were finally removed, I could hear Daddy move the clothespins around to count them.
Daddy ripped the hood off my me and I blinked several times so my eyes could adjust. Daddy was frowning. He grabbed me by a fistful of my hair and pulled me closer to look at all the clothespins. He had separated them into 4 piles of 5 clothespins. Except…
“Count these. How many are there?” He demanded and he yanked my hair.
I stared at the clothespins for a long time and didn’t answer.
He slapped me and pulled my hair.
“Answer me. How many clothespins are there?”
“1..19.”
“How many?”
“19”
“Do you know what happens to bad girls who don’t listen, Lily?”
Click. Click. Click.
Black handcuffs, dulled with age and use, enveloped my small wrists. I watched as Daddy tightened them down and locked them into place. For a brief moment, I thought about protesting or asking why we weren’t using ropes. Instead, I just stayed silent and listened to the metal clacking.
“There’s something about genuine handcuffs, isn’t there?” He mused aloud. I looked up, about to respond, but instead stayed quiet. I relished the weight of cuffs, the feel of them. The unfamiliarity of it all excited me.
He meticulously bound my elbows back with a leather strap. I briefly wondered if Daddy could get my elbows to touch while I still had handcuffs on, but all those thoughts were quickly replaced with a wave of pain.
Punishment time had started.
Daddy’s fingers wove through my hair, balled them into a fist and pulled. Hard. He ripped me from the bed and threw me on the floor. Before I could recompose myself, Daddy pulled me by the hair again, into a sitting position. More leather straps came out and he wrapped them around my legs, frog tie style. Then he pushed my face back into the floor.
“Sloppy,” he murmured and he roughly readjusted me into a modified version of a kow-tow, my ass high in the air. The position already made my knees and forehead ache as I tried to support my weight and regain balance. I was vulnerable. Exposed. If I could blush, I would have. Instead, I turned my head away from Daddy and stared into my closet.
I heard him wrestle around in the closet: he then walked behind me and dropped several items behind me, the sound of wood banging against one another and hitting the carpeted floor.
This was the worst part. The waiting. It felt like an eternity had passed before Daddy even said anything.
“You know why you’re being punished?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a hard thud landed straight across my ass. I gasped and shifted forward for balance, the rug burning my knees and hands.
“Thank you,” I mustered weakly.
Daddy caned me as he lectured: “This is…what happens…to girls…who don’t behave. You had…better be…sorry.” With each stinging slash, I thanked him. He suddenly stopped.
“It doesn’t sound like you’re very sorry. These ‘thank yous’ are weak. Pathetic,” he seethed. I heard him drop the first cane and pick up a second.
and a third. and a fourth. With each caning, more tears, more thank yous.
In between the canings, Daddy would slide a hand between my legs and touch me. I was soaking wet, embarrassingly so.
“You’re just a filthy little slut, aren’t you?” He whispered as his finger circled my clit. I didn’t want to believe him, I didn’t want to like this. Hot tears slid down my face as I continued to stare in the closet.
Not the correct response.
“If I ask you a question, you had better respond. and respond properly. It looks like you haven’t learned anything from this. Shame…looks like I’m going to have to start over.”
Antes de salir de casa, igual que al entrar, lo mejor es dejar claro quién lleva las riendas, tanto dentro como fuera. Arrodillado, el sumiso besa los pies de su Ama, como último acto de demostración de la transferencia de poder. Ya está mentalmente preparado para salir.
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Daily Picture Assignment #97
I wore this little number when Reaction Junkie went out Saturday night. There were also boots over the rainbow pegasus socks.
When Reaction Junkie wants me to do something, he doesn’t always frame it as an order. Sometimes he’ll say something like, “Would you please get me a glass of water?” or “When we get home, could you star the laundry?” I often find myself being more obedient when things are phrased as orders instead of requests, so I’d prefer he give me orders.
Reaction Junkie doesn’t need to be polite or ask me to do things. When I’ve pointed this out to him in the past, he’s told me that because he owns me, is dominant over me, I should interpret any instruction, no matter how polite it may appear, as an order. He added that if he wants to extend social niceties to me, he can do that. He may decide to be polite to keep up appearances around those who don’t understand that he owns me.
And, of course, he’s right. I need to learn to interpret his polite requests as the orders they are. However, I think that, as I sometimes forget my place, Reaction Junkie sometimes forgets his place. He’s my owner, and I’ve submitted to him, yes, but we’re also in a loving relationship where we are each as important and deserving of respect as the other. That can make it easy to forget the underlying truth of our dynamic.
I’m going to work hard to take even the most polite requests as orders. At the same time, I’m going to start responding to all of those instructions, from the request phrased as a question to the barked order, with “Yes, sir” or “No, sir,” and I’m going to start referring to him with honorifics (sir, dear, or other ones we’ve discussed) more frequently, especially when we’re focusing on our dynamic and when I’m feeling disobedient or moody.
Using honorifics more often, and always when obeying an order, will remind both Reaction Junkie and I of our respective places.
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“That’s an adult mood, isn’t it?”
“I do not think, sir, you have any right to command me, merely because you are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time and experience.”
- Charlotte Brontë
