True Punishment

Punishment that's part of play isn't truly punishment. It's good hurt, not after you've been "bad" hurt. True crime, spot-on reprimand isn't fun but when it is administered fairly by a dominant I think it can be an integral part of a bdsm relationship.

However, for me, the line is fine. When is punishment fair and fit to the submissive's grubby little caper for which he's been caught red-handed and when does it cross over to the disproportionate? Should us subbie guys have any say either before or after the fact; or is correction the simple and exclusive métier of the domme?

I suppose I don't envision life in a dommy dictatorship. I like to think that I might be permitted to plead my case prior to the imposition of sentence; or at the very least file an emotional appeal after the fact in the hopes of future understanding, compassion, and lenity.

Obviously, that's the fast talking lawyer in me.

I do admit to the attraction of just going with my domme's mood and flow; but in my opinion that's ultimately a recipe for passive aggressive, misdirected, connection damaging retaliation on my part. I think in any relationship, there has to be some sort of positive dialogue and communication; the imposition of punishment shouldn't withstand exclusion from a list of relationship talking points.

My musings are inspired by my recent long weekend and current interactions with She-Who-Visits. My unique, long distance, challenging relationship with her is the closest I've come in my life to a "lifestyle" bond with a domme. Our ties to one another are deep, long lasting, and complex. We've been "together" for five years though most of the time we live thousands of miles apart.

This past trip was wonderful. But more than any other face time we've spent; she said very mean and cutting things to me and chose to impose real punishment. It wasn't so much the substance of the mean things she said which hurt so much but the way she delivered it.

Sometimes, I don't even think she realizes she says very cutting and hurtful things. I can't really give examples because they are so personal and involve her life and my life in a way I'm just not comfortable sharing in the blogosphere.

Should a domme get a pass on fairness and self awareness just because she's in charge? Should a submissive just suck it up and take it because that's what we've signed up for? I suppose I could try to answer my own questions. But I really don't have any answers. The answers I come up with all breed more questions.

My most recent crime was ending a self imposed stint of on-my-honor chastity. I was at about three weeks when She and I met up for our long weekend. When she asked about how long it had been since I'd come she mocked my pride at making three weeks. An obvious back handed compliment.

Then, despite preparing for a last night of play, punishment took the form of final night denial. No play at all. Very mean things were said.

The next morning I told her she'd hurt me deeply. She said it was very important that I understand my deep transgression and she wanted to drive the point home. Just before we left for the airport I thanked her for not allowing me release. I told her for me, it's win-win. She smiled.

Later, when we retreated to our respective corners of the globe she blithely set a date after which I could end my self imposed stint of chastity. I told her I wished she could watch me. She said if I waited until October 6th; she might be able to. I told her I would.

I didn't.

I suppose I should be punished. She hung up on me Thursday night when I told her what I'd done. She called me a dirty pig and said she wouldn't speak to me until after the weekend.

So here I am; stewing in the juices of my domme's displeasure with me and wondering will her punishment fit my crime - or will it be a cruel, unfitting expression of where she is with her life - essentially unrelated to my passive aggressive act of indulgent self denial.

Getting off would have been so much better with her voice urging me on over the phone.

The Swimming Pool

"Do you see how easily you're replaced", she whispered a little breathlessly.

She was straddling a water jet in the warm darkness of our Gulf Coast resort's nightime swimming pool. The starlit small hours air and water were the same humid bathtub temperature. Every now and again she'd moan a soft little groan.

"Come over closer", she leered back at me. She'd suggested a swim. The off season cluster of cottages on stilts was silent, deserted, and still. We'd worn only our towels out to the pool. They lay on the chaises a few feet away.

"Here, put your finger down there. See how easy it is to replace you?"

I was in the middle of my third week of on-my-honor chastity. Pretty much self imposed as I knew I'd be seeing her. Makes it so much more interesting. I doggy paddled up behind her and grabbed the edge of the pool where she was fucking the water jet.

"Go on, right in between; feel the water shoot hard against me", her breath gaspy. She had thrust herself right against the fast spurting water.

"Do you want to hump my ass? Do you?"

I murmered something completely gutteral and unintelligable.

"Just don't bother me. Shut up and don't make your silly whimpery grunty sounds. And don't spooge."

With my finger against her water ravaged clit and my other hand gripping the slippery edge of the pool I moved up against her. She pushed back slightly and ground her sun tanned ass against my hard cock. She came almost instantly.

Later as we got ready for sleep and she turned on the static of the clock radio for the white noise she needs to drift off I made a lame excuse that the off channel hiss would disturb me and asked permission to sleep on the couch. Usually she lets me have a tiny sliver of her bed.

I ached badly for her.

But I just couldn't be that close to her after what had just happened in the swimming pool. Without betraying a hint of her own desire, She happily banished me to the sofa.

As I floated off perched on the narrow, uncomfortable couch I felt an inane sense of self righteous integrity. How I love on my honor chastity with She-Who-Visits.

A Long Time Comin'

I have this routine in the morning. I'm an early riser. I'm up by 5:15am for a cock-crow run with the dogs through the park and by the river no matter the season or the weather. But before I go, I make coffee. I grind rich, dark, oily beans for a combination of a decaf and high-test drip brew along with a shot of espresso. These days I'm into Irving Farm beans. There's a couple of Irving Farm cafes in Manhattan and one in Millerton, a little Dutchess County berg with a great movie theater and the coolest sporting goods store around.

I was introduced to Irving Farm coffee by a pro-domme with whom I had a deliciously disasterous frolic. Sometimes, as I mill my perfect morning infusion, I'll absent mindedly and fondly flash on the frilly little red, yellow, and white apron we bought to accessorize my service that was hung on a hook in her kitchen and never used. Or her asking the Meatpacking waitress to top up my glass from the Voss bottle - tinged the faintest of golden. Or pleading with her to slash yet again and harder at my urgently offered upper thighs with the rough leather horse crop, as I deleriously wriggled on the polished pine strip floor of her Horatio Street studio in the throes of a two week stint of on-my-honor chastity.

I love a good cup of fine coffee in the morning.

But it's a ritual of process and transition, my morning routine. From sleep I spend fifteen minutes of labor over the literal daily grind. And this morning as I write these words I really have to remind myself that my life is in complete makeover mode. In a little over a week I learn my bar exam fate from the gods of grading. In four months I'll be in a new apartment. There's nothing like looking at real estate in Manhattan to make you feel like an inadequate slacker who has utterly failed to attain a remotely respectable level of financial firepower.

This week I was out at a work related meet and greet and met two attractive, divorced women. Despite a fun chemistry with one, my fet-detector told me she was clueless about kink. I woke up this morning festering that I'm just flat-out undatable. Who wants to deal with a workaholic, aging hipster of a submissive, who comes to a romantic little restaurant with a separation agreement, a domme in the Caribbean who he adores, and huge pile of debt. Oh come on! It'll be fun. You'll see.

But the french roast rites of an April dawn hold aromatic promise. After the grind, the exertion of the run; the stretches, crunches, pull-ups and downward dogs - I get my reward. I just have to keep the faith because ready or not - a change is gonna come.

It Is What It Is...

So... How do you like the GrooveShark widget? I've been on Pandora alot and someone told me about GrooveShark. Compulsive playlisting. Music OCD heaven. When I saw the widget option it was so easy I couldn't resist. Old school hip hop. I'll change it up from time to time. Let me know if you like it...

A lunchtime email from She...uh oh.

Captital letters at the bottom. That's bad. She was going to buy her ticket but ...

Oh wait...

Only two days ago she'd ordered a crinolene skirt and a retro garter belt from Secrets In Lace. Part of a tease plan. She'd told me to line up stores in Miami that sold vintage lingerie. My favorite. At Day 58 it makes my knees buckle. I'd asked on the weekend if she could to give me an idea of when she'd arrive so I could plan meetings...but if she couldn't it was all good. Waay T&D. Heard nothing...

Until today.

Mr. She got an unexpected long weekend, she wrote, and had asked that they spend the found time together. She was stressing on the him or me. Said they'd talk tonight to divide the weekend, but I should come to her.

So I wrote back she shouldn't stress. There was only one answer and I would understandingly ride the backseat. As for coming to her, there's a very good reason I just can't. I've explained this many times. Believe me, if I could - I'd be there in a heartbeat.

So...Friday makes Day 60 and I have an absent keyholder. Funnily enough, I got over the shock pretty quickly. But whence chastity as a mutual bond? Do I ask...am I free? Do I wait for her to ask and focus? Maybe tomorrow will bring some new twist.

I'm an emotionally single, needy, play starved subbie. But I'm a married, emotionally single, needy play starved subbie. The wife thinks I'm going to Miami to meet some dominatrix. Meanwhile, my domme is going to spend our weekend with her husband.

Isn't life just a beautifully frustrating adventure? I guess it's all just dead-end roads and warning signs. Frustration surrounds me...solution bid farewell? Sedation, what the hell.

Nah ... I'm a writer. Such great grist for the mill.

An Ungrateful Kvetch

It is so unbecoming to whine. One should just suck it up. No muttered, grumbling asides. No sniveling simper-fests. But look. It's my blog and if I feel like yammering and yawping you all are going to get an earful. So give this offering a wide berth if you believe in the stiff upper lip. But if you like a little pout every now and again, then join me while I stamp my feet and squawk.

It's Day 53 of on my honor chastity. It's been years since since I've lasted this long. It's definitely an altered state of consciousness. I find I have more energy and need less sleep. While I'm not insanely horny all the time - sometimes I am deliciously out of my mind. Stir in that practically every aspect of my cozy, familiar life is in a serious state of flux and I end up wanting just a little tending.

I think a domme has a responsibility to check in on the chasened. When She couldn't come to Miami last month She asked me to wait. Until Day 66. So now, at her urging, I'm less than two weeks away from the goal line. She and I are bound up together in this process. It was not my idea and I'm not wanting to be ungrateful that she asked me to do this. But as is often the case with her, I'm feeling ignored and sorry for myself. It feels like weeks since she even asked how the chastity is going. Is it too much to want a little encouragement?

Yesterday after just missing me on the phone, She left a voice mail asking if I knew off the top of my head whether there was a fetish store in town that sold latex sheets. Not for her, but for Mr. D. Mr. D is the subbie hubbie of Ms. D - She's predecessor in her vanilla job. Ms. D is a domme. Now what are the chances of that? Of all the gin joints in the world... There on her perfect little Carribean Island, She has a nice kinky coffee klatch whenever the mood hits.

So I called Leatherman and had a fun chat with the sales guy about their Mind Fetish and Nasty Pig rubber fitted sheet offerings. I sent her website links, prices and of course offered to pick up the preferred bedding choice.

At her further request, I sent her flight information. Her exact words were she needed to make her reservations before it was too late and it just didn't make sense. So far as I know, She has not made her reservations yet. Nor has she dispatched me to do bedding shopping.

So She is teasing...right?

I'm not going to push or ask. When I do that She just gets mad. Either she'll book her flight for our weekend or she won't. If she doesn't, I'm sure I'll have another great time on my own down there. If she does come, I know it will be heaven. But come what may shouldn't I get at least a little pat on the head for making it through my days. I don't require much. Just occassional acknowledgement. I am learning I need an engaged keyholder. I suppose I could just sexualize being ignored but it seems too lonely.

While She is enjoying her weekend in the Caribbean sun - I'm a lonely, hurty, horny mess. And on top of it all, Alisa at Kink in Exile, thinks I'm a downright offensive, presumptive, submissive who doesn't see women as "holistic beings" and is unable to find a single sucker of a girl who will have even the most rudimentary of conversations about kinky sex ("or sex of any kind") with disrespectful, nasty, ill behaved old me.

Hey, I told you it was a pity party. Go way...it's my pity party and I'll cry if I want to.

Just Like The Old Man In That Book By Nabokov

The wife is away for ten days or so and I am off the leash. Yesterday was a beautiful, sunny day with a hint of fall in the soft September air. I've found over the years that back-to-school weather always excites the perv in me. Or maybe it's just Day Twenty of on-my-honor chastity that has me itching for a little of the old kinky slap and tickle. At any rate, loose in the dog run of life that is autumn in New York, I decided to make a trip to Purple Passion, a venerable Manhattan bdsm/fetish store.

I've been to PP a few times but yesterday just seemed so natural and fun. Like going to Whole Foods to see if they have the Louisiana-made chicory coffee I drink sometimes. It was a treat. Some years back on the rare occassion I went into a sex store, I used to feel like I was unshowered, wearing a stained raincoat over my dirty, naked body and aching to shout in a gnawing declaration of guilt - I'm a demented pervert. Yesterday I was a demented pervert and very proud of it, thank you very much.

I had a virtual laundry list of kinky nick nacks to acquire. I was after solid rings for my CB-3000, the new Birdlocked chastity device, some kind of CBT toy with teeth, a prostate massager, a cock whip, and some nipple clamps. Don't imagine She-Who-Visits might think I'm topping from the bottom now, do we? While she's been much more connected these days, she's understandably not kinky cataloguing just for me. Like a greedy little schoolboy in a sneaker store, I'm doing depraved wish listing all on my lonesome.

So anyway, I arrived at the store and cheerily asked the young guy at the register whether they had solid ring sets for the CB-3000. No stuff for the CB series at all, he responded. Maybe a shipment next week. What, there's been a run on chastity supplies? Maybe every other twisted money shot denial fiend in the city is locking up in honor of the start of classes. Let's see, pencils...check; notebooks...check; chastity device...check.

Well, do you have the Birdlocked, I asked hopefully? A quizzical, stumped look came over the guy's face and he confessed he had no clue what I was talking about. This totally floored me. Since when have I become more knowledgeable than venerable fetish store employees about chastity devices? We proceeded to have a perfectly nice chat about the features of the Birdlocked, on-line reviews of the thing, and his promise to check it all out.

Finally, I said I was looking for something in a nice cock whip. He showed me their "impact play" collection. Nice, but all were serious, full-sized, flat-out floggers. Save for one little wimpy, floppy, rubbery thing. Doesn't really inspire attention to teacher, now does it? But suddenly, he brightened and blurted, "Wait, I got it!". He rushed up to the register and pulled out a minature cane from an obscured countertop storage cannister. A snappy, turned black rubber handle gave way to a pretty, perky, blonde wood shaft. It had style, heft, and was about a foot long. I smacked my erect index finger with it a few times.

Now this has some serious potential.

And for $3.58 it was a fetish recessionary, blue-light, K-Mart special score. Sold American! After paying, I went outside on the street, publicly brandished my newfound toy and took a BlackBerry picture of it. I immediately emailed it to She to share my frugal find. So far, no responding comment. Oh well, what's an enterprising independant study oriented student to do?

And so, as fall inspires me to be true to my rock-'n-roll high school, I'm thinking that while I don't need no education and I don't need no thought control; this back to school feeling of hope and potential connects me to the universal human condition that we all just want to be happy, have friends, and suck up to teacher - especially if she's hot. Hey, in the process I might just learn something new!

New Year's Fun - Part II

Didja catch the foot service scene in the Stones "Saint of Me" clip I put in last week's post? I thought it was ha-ha-ha-hawt!!

So ... fun with Crimson! You may recall that just before the holidays I was whining that I wanted playtime! I whimpered;

And tonight, real fun would be a chastity playmate who loves the intense tease of semi-prolonged denial. A dominant woman who liked to play in a hot, hot kitchen with me. One who lives in the same town I do. One who wants to be friends.

So Crimson, who leads a busy, active and fascinating life in Chicago, reads this and takes pity on me. We became friends when she was here in Manhattan last summer. Before she arrived and by a complete coincidence, I had helped a domme at the suggestion of another without knowing who I was helping. We did it that way to protect identities. Then, through interactions on The Hang, Crimson and I (we'd become acquainted on message threads) discovered that it was her I had helped, or at least tried to help.

Based on this bit of kismet we decided to meet for dinner. From a list I provided, she chose a Kosher vegan joint in Chelsea. She's a dedicated vegetarian and actually quite picky and particular about her diet. In addition, I had learned by reading her back posts that she had a special fondness for Magnolia Bakery cupcakes. Of course, I brought her some. At dessert, we got busted for cupcake scarfing in violation of ancient dairy laws. Such gangstas! We've been fast friends ever since this daring brush with the law.

And so, as Crimson planned her trip to New York for first week of January '09, she read my kvetchy post and said:

You aren't on chastity detail with [she-who-lives-far-away-but-sometimes-visits] currently are you? Cause if you are, and want to stay that way until at least Thursday, that would be ok with me......

Mwahahaha!

Gotta love the laugh, huh? Truth be told, I was not on chastity detail with "She-Who-Visits" and Crimson's letter made me wonder just why I wasn't. Not to be deterred, I figured, "What's the harm in an innocent little request?". Consequently and with sincere ardor, I wrote "She-Who-Visits" and confessed Crimson's musings. Brazenly, I proposed the following:

So ... I'm checking with you to see if you'd consider putting me in on-my-honor chastity. I promise not be be needy and whiny and will only beg for your permission to cum if you tell me it's ok to beg you. Otherwise, my orgasm is yours to control. I recognize this in itself is a high maintenance type request as the hornier I get the more I'll want to talk to you about it. I totally understand if you don't want to do it, especially starting a new job and all. As your devoted, personal submissive who loves and adores you, I promise to try to be as low maintenance as I can. Please .... pretty pleeeeeeeze!!

Her answer, which shows why I love her so, was;

Okay. No jerking off until she gets to town. If she would like to give you permission to get off and directions of how you are to do it - perfect. If she does not give it, wait until after she leaves, catch me by phone and ask me when you can do it.

Crimson's thought after I told her of my newly chaste state:

Excellent! I love dining with boys who are suffering a bit.

And thus it came to pass that for a heavenly ten days, I was in on-my-honor chastity, beholden to both "She-Who-Visits" and Crimson. Ms. C sent very hot pictures of herself, "Backstabber" by the Dresden Dolls for mood, and plenty of suggestive little comments in our email exchanges.

Finally, we met for breakfast at Brasserie. We chatted about what she was doing, her dreams, hopes and plans. But every now and then she'd make a little comment like, "I hope it hasn't been too difficult" ... or "It's been a little torturous, hasn't it?" As our all too short time together was ending she asked if I had my briefcase with me. I had checked it so she just handed over the pair of pink stockings with the black Cuban heels, black back seam and black lasts. With it she gave me a folded piece of paper with "instructions". "Give me a little power and I take it!", she leered.
We hugged goodbye outside the restaurant and on the subway platform, waiting for the downtown Lex I greedily read:

Congratulations on completing your assignment. I hope it was at least slightly torturous. You can release today, but there are two caveats: you have to masturbate with one of these in your mouth and the other in your hand, rubbing your cock, and it has to be before 10pm. Enjoy!
xxx,
C

Whew...now I see why she said so sweetly, "Have a nice day at work, Advo." Luckily, I was spared doing the deed in the in-suite bathroom at the office! With the wife away, I had at myself with abandon in the privacy of my own apartment, thank you very much!

There were these amazing runners in the feet of the stockings, they were stretched out in all the right places and the aroma of her perfume was utterly intoxicating! It's amazing what you can tie up with the foot and ankle portion of a nice nylon and still have plenty left over for rubbing!

I duly reported my performance to both Ms. C and "She". Even though there were no dungeon doors, fetish fashions, or squirreled away tributes - this was one of the sexiest and hottest things I've ever done. Directed by dommes, both of whom are my dear friends.

"so don’t tell me what to write
and don’t tell me that I’m wrong……
and don’t tell me not to reference my songs within my songs"
-- Dresden Dolls - "Backstabber"

Do ya think Ms. C and "She" - Missed Me? Come on ... what can I say? I just couldn't find them doing "Pretty In Pink"!

South Of The Border

It used to be when the urge struck I'd turn up the heat. Ten days of onanistic, on-my-honor chastity would put an edge on any interaction I'd have with any attractive woman - the cute barrista at Starbucks, the prosecutor with the tight skirts, that hot, middle-aged blonde on the downtown Lex. By the two week mark I'd just be wild for a session and I'd dial-a-domme. Self imposed chastity has a mind-altering capability for me, kinda like drinking did. It's not until fairly recently that I've realized that for me, chastity is a drug to used in moderation, sparingly and with another I trust. Though I never did acid, I need a chastity playmate, a denial partner.

For all the progress I've made this year in being out with my kink, I'm still pretty closeted and isolated. Its been a couple of months since I've played. Maybe it's that a couple of really attractive, kinky women are visiting New York and I'm going to dine with them. Oh jeez, maybe I'm just horny. There's something about the week between Christmas and New Year's that just makes me wanna get my freak on.

Timothy Findley uses the phrase "The Rain of Onan" in his novel Not Wanted on the Voyage (1984). He writes, "it was now that the rain, having lost its translucence and its mauveness, began to take on an opaque milky look, and Noah said that what had been an "evil" rain was now a 'passionate' rain being poured from the sky-spent and wasted on the dying earth and this he called 'The Rain of Onan.'" Now, I'm just not all that literary, just a Wiki cheat ... but the quote feels way hot nevertheless. And my earth is dyin' and I'm tired of praying to Onan!!

So here's one New Year's resolution. More real time kinky friends, more munches, a class, a conference, a fetish party ... maybe even a private play party. Wait ... did I say one resolution. Sounds like a pack of 'em. Let's just say I resolve to have more real fun.

And tonight, real fun would be a chastity playmate who loves the intense tease of semi-prolonged denial. A dominant woman who liked to play in a hot, hot kitchen with me. One who lives in the same town I do. One who wants to be friends.

Or maybe a T&D lapdance in a bar ... I like to think Vanessa has dabbed a little Icy Hot on the business end of a CB-3000 and Kurt is at the three week mark of combined on-his-honor and device enforced chastity. Whew ... it gets hot south of my border.

Wicked Game

Miss Troy Orleans has a very thought provoking post on Max about chastity. I'm so glad she has posted. When I first joined Max I looked forward to getting to know her and loved reading her posts. Then she kinda stopped. The Max board has been a truly wonderful place for me, despite all its problems, and when she stopped I felt her absence though I didn't even know her. I've met her briefly and pretty religiously read her blog Whipsmart. She's got such a gorgeously hot vocabulary!

Anyway, while I responded to her post, it got me thinking more about the complexity of chastity as it is the core of my bdsm self. No ropes, no leather, no whacking ... just a committed bond with my "keyholder". For me, the "key" has been largely metaphoric. I've done most of my stints in chastity without a device.

Sometimes, I've done self-imposed chastity. I'll deny myself for two or three weeks at a time. It's a bit lonely and incomplete. No one to honor and please. No one to taunt me and tease me. No one to seduce and deny me. But going there reminds me of how much I love the taste of that full frontal romanti-submission. It is mind altering and consciousness bending. It is drug like.

The dark side of chastity for me is how much it's like getting intoxicated. I get completely shitfaced on my need for release and the counter-weight of chivalrous integrity in service of her desire to keep me chaste. These days I'm pretty scared of chastity. I can get pretty hammered and trashed at the two week mark of on-my-honor purity. Does it affect my life? Must I deny myself the essence of my kink? Should I develop other passionate bdsm interests? Should I just say no?

Then again, maybe I just need the right guide. My very own Chastity Director? Maybe that's a fine reason to remain Client Nine and a Half ...

'Cos I do so love the wicked game.