06

A few days go by and you are simply minding your own business when you get an RSS feed notification. Maybe you wanted to live vicariously through this lifestyle couple. Maybe you simply wanted to get off to what they were doing and discussing.

It didn't matter why, you simply clicked on the next blog titled 'Choices':

My slave is waiting for a punishment.

I gave him a nearly impossible decision last night. It was diabolical, really. Cum, and be punished. Don't cum, and don't be punished. (But I'm not promising you'll have even the chance to cum again anytime soon. Think carefully.)

What would you do, slave readers? I'll give you some context so you can make your choice....

My slave and I cuddled on the couch a bit last night. As usual, I lounged in some comfortable pajamas while he sat naked except for his two-inch-thick black leather collar, which for the last few weeks he has been commanded to wear whenever at home.

I was very engrossed in rereading Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles, and I wasn't sure I was much interested in sex that evening. But, naturally, with my slave's warm body cuddled up beside me, my free hand did wander over to stroke now and then. My slave shaves himself, as I've mentioned before, and while I read I simply started sliding my fingers along that bare skin more and more. I wasn't paying attention to it, really. Just petting. Enjoying the smooth skin over his pelvis. Scooping his balls into my palm and lightly squeezing. Trailing my fingertips up his slightly hardening shaft, feeling it jerk and twitch. Encircling the head tightly with my index finger and thumb, stroking down as the cock lengthened between my fingers. Slapping and tapping at it as it rose and bobbed higher into the air.

I didn't look at it much. I didn't look at him much. He sat there trembling, occasionally gasping a bit, his eyes focused on the floor or on my hand. He didn't presume to try to attract my attention. He knew that I was focused elsewhere. My slave does not impose upon me when I'm enjoying myself.

Around the time my slave started whimpering, I came to the end of a pivotal chapter. I knew it was time to pause in my reading, but I wasn't quite ready for sleep. My body had enjoyed the slow, gentle arousal of sitting next to my naked slave, registering his incredible horniness in a distant part of my mind. My pussy was soft and a little moist; my nipples were getting tight against my soft cotton shirt. I smiled the cat-that-ate-the-canary smile that always frightens and excites my slave, and I said, "Meet me in the bedroom, slave. And bring me a glass of water."

A whimper escaped him, and he stood up immediately, his head down, responding, "Yes, Mistress," in that hushed tone he uses when feeling submissive.

By the time he reached the bedroom, I lay naked against our satiny golden sheets, my hand between my thighs spreading the dampness around, circling my clit, testing the waters.

"Bring me the vibrator and come lie next to me. Play with my nipples," I commanded simply. He placed the vibrator within easy reach and lay down alongside me, careful not touch me in any way I had not requested.

My slave knew how I liked my nipples touched. I had taught him myself, very clearly. I did not worry about insulting him or hurting his feelings by insinuating that he didn't do it well enough himself. He wants to please me, and I want maximum pleasure. When I explicitly teach him what pleases me, we both win.

I continued touching myself, dipping into the moisture welling from my pussy, slicking it up to my sensitive clit, while he began to play. He brought the soft, cool sheet over my chest and brushed both my nipples with his fingers at the same time, the sensation drawing a gasp from me as a surge of pleasure shot through my clit. He stroked my breasts through the cloth for a few moments, and then, as I drew out the vibrator, he removed it so I could feel his hands against my bare skin.

I delved between my lips with the vibrator, quickly ramping up the setting since I was already highly aroused and ready for stimulation. My slave's cock was probably hard; his hips were rhythmically grinding against the air. I cannot say exactly what he was doing or thinking. I wasn't paying attention. I was getting so close.

His fingers circled my breasts until my body was reaching toward him, begging for that touch. The vibrator was in the perfect spot, my clit about to ignite, my every muscle tensing in anticipation. I heard myself begin whimpering too, small noises deep in my throat, aching, pleading noises. Finally, when I was about to command it, when I was poised to explode, his fingers pinched my nipples, hard but perfect, and I came hard, screaming, moaning, my body arching off the bed, the vibrator still pressed against my clit.

Slowly the tremors slowed, contentment spread throughout my body, and my awareness grew. My slave's hands stroked away from my nipples, down my abdomen, pressing against me lightly but hopefully. I sighed in satisfaction and turned my face toward him, nuzzling his chest below the collar, biting his nipple gently. I noticed his whimpering, his grinding, his eyes moving back and forth between my face to my cunny.

"Mmm," I sighed again. "Not tonight, slave. I'm so content."

He whined loudly in protest, his hips thrusting hard in disappointed reaction.

"Not at all?"

"No."

"But Mistress, when may slave cum again?"

I took a moment to consider. We have ventured only so far into orgasm denial territory yet, and I didn't want to press him too hard. But neither did I want to give in simply because he was horny. I was pleased with the night's work.

"You have a choice to make, slave. After I go to sleep, you will stroke yourself to the edge. You can then either cum or not cum. If you cum, you will be punished. I will tie you face down to the bed, your legs spread wide, your ass in the air, completely vulnerable to me. I will crop you, hard, fifty times. And then you will lie there and wonder whether I am going to get the vibrator and use it to fuck your ass."

He lay there groaning, his hand already fastened to the hard cock, moving up and down.

"If you don't cum," I continued, "you will not be punished. But I don't know when you'll cum again. And you may still incur punishment for something else in the next few days. Who knows?"

"But Mistress, this is an impossible decision!"

"You have your orders, slave."

With that, I turned off the lamp, curled up on my side, and drifted off to sleep.

As I said, my slave is waiting for a punishment today. I guess you know what he chose. Can you blame him?

You couldn't help but enjoy the latest blog. You actually sent a message on their feed telling them how much you loved their blog. They replied back, not just thanking you but interacting with you. How exciting! A few days later, that excitement would get to be even more when the blog titled 'Community' drop to the feed.

Before sitting down to write this post I cropped my slave. I bent him over the bed in his light pink panties and I smacked his ass hard and fast without counting. I didn't crop him because he needed to be punished. I cropped him because I was anxious. I cropped him to relieve my own tension. I cropped him because I can, and because he reminded me that I can.

As I cropped my slave, my reasons for starting this blog multiplied exponentially in my mind. Five days ago I'd barely ever considered the extent of the online femdom community. I figured we would be lucky if anyone at all ever read my posts. I had read books of encouraging advice about becoming a Mistress, but I never imagined actually personally interacting with other women like me or other couples like us.

Suddenly I have followers. People literally around the world have read about my intimate relationship with my husband. It seems like that should scare me. My sense of self-worth as a wife, as a Mistress, and as a writer is now tied to what I've posted here. People will have expectations of me, will be disappointed in some of my thoughts and feelings, in what I do and do not write or tweet or comment about. More importantly, my husband is now interacting with this community as he has never done before, and I am seeing a different side of him. We have always moved slowly, growing into our roles of Domme and sub at my pace. Now he has nameless faces encouraging him, cheering him, and handing him suggestions and photos and links.

This is a bit overwhelming, but my excitement outweighs my nerves. As I channeled all my worry into cropping my sissy slave, I realized: I would write about this cropping. And people would understand it. With complete nonchalance and approval they would accept that my husband and I both desired that little exchange of pain--something I still struggle with. Many of them would also empathize with my conflicted feelings. They might comment and tell me that they'd been through the same thing as novice Mistresses, or that they still feel that way now, or that they (as slaves themselves) can reassure me that my slave enjoys it as much as he claims.

In any case, this blog is clearly accomplishing one of its primary goals already: to help us explore this facet of our relationship more deeply. To keep him from bombarding me with new ideas too quickly, I have ordered my slave to keep a notebook of thoughts and desires inspired by his online interactions. I can look at them at leisure when I'm ready and indulge his desires in my own time. I have no doubt we'll both be emboldened to try new things on a regular basis. Furthermore, I will feel more fulfilled as an individual using my writing talent in an honest and passionate medium; my slave will have an outlet and a support community for the desires he's always experienced alone; and we will learn to trust each other more implicitly than ever.

I thank you, very sincerely, for reading and for sharing.