Thewets Diary Weeks 1 To 3

[This is the 99% authentic autobiographical account of a long-distance domination/submission relationship between two men. This relationship is still ongoing at the time of writing. The hundredth inaccuracy (mainly chronological details and corrections of real messages) is only in the service of the story's fluidity.

This publication is my own initiative, with the kind permission of Master. The aim is to give you the benefit of a piece of writing that requires a major investment on my part. I hope to get some reactions from passing readers (on form and content), as I'm short of people with whom to share such an intimate and singular experience.

I ask for your indulgence as I'm a beginner, both in writing and in this type of relationship. In particular, writing in real time doesn't always give me the time to reread as much as I'd like. This English version is a translation from my mother tongue, French.

I update this diary daily for Master, but will only publish one new chapter per week, on Wednesday evening, compiling the seven texts from the previous week. Sequencing is therefore the result of chance, or rather of Master's choices in the sequence of events, which is not necessarily optimal for the coherence and tension of the story.

I do not authorize any form of AI to make use of this text, written in the hand of a human being, except for possible high-quality machine translations citing their source.]

Thewet's Diary

This morning, I put on a pair of underpants without knowing when I'd be allowed to change. Losing control of something so intimate is nothing compared to the permanent tension I feel: I know it could go much further, but I don't know how far... and I don't have much say in the matter. Here's the story of how I got into this situation. And what happens next...

A bit of background

I am a middle-aged man with a well-ordered life, but I have my own particular sexual attractions. Long before the popularization of a stereotypical form of BDSM culture (notably with the publishing success of the controversial

50 Shades of Grey

), I fantasized about this spicy universe. Discovering my first solitary emotions in comics by Crepax or Manara must have left its mark. I never actually went through with the act, for lack of a willing female partner, but these practices have never left my imagination (thanks in particular to certain kink.com productions).

They say that mid-life crises can reshuffle the deck. Following a marital break-up that left two adorable children in the middle, I tried to wipe away my despair with various excesses, including the discovery of an infinite number of amateur erotic stories. As I spun my discoveries, tag after tag, author after author, I ended up on gay stories. I've never really felt a physical attraction to boys, but like any open-minded hetero, you wonder from time to time. A heavy kiss at a drunken student party, a few gay videos to see if they make an impression on me... without much success. And yet, with coming-outs multiplying everywhere, we wonder if we're missing something.

I don't know what's happening, but I'm starting to read one gay story after another, often with a BDSM slant, and I can't stop. In fact, I realize something: while my secret garden has always been the domination of women, it's finally the idea of submission that stirs my desire more. And what greater submission could there be than to surrender myself to someone I'm not particularly attracted to, a man who desires me against my will? This idea obsesses me, and the months go by without it leaving me. Then I take stock. I tell myself I'm not going to spend the rest of my life jerking off under the comforter.

One evening, I decided to browse gay dating sites. Another exciting discovery of an unsuspected universe. But I'm not there to be a spectator, I write an ad under the unequivocal pseudonym

OuiMaître

(which means

YesMaster

in French, the story is taking place in France). I really enjoy the experience, as it opens up so many possibilities. But as with their heterosexual counterparts, these sites are full of messages without leading to much in the way of concrete results. So I let a little time pass, dissipating the excitement of the novelty and probing my deepest desires. In the end, I conclude that I want to persevere. Failing to find a shoe for my feet (or rather a swift for my bottom), I return to a

like

left three weeks earlier, on an obscure SM dating site, by a man with a pseudonym no more equivocal than mine,

WireDom

*.

* pseudonym changed at his request

Day 1, Tuesday, April 22 - Making contact and virtual leash

I throw myself

into the lion's den

with this first message of a conversation that will last, "I'm willing to give it a try."

We talk about our respective experiences and expectations... well, I'm the one who answers the questions. A Master is entitled to his share of mystery, while a submissive must be totally transparent. We talk about limits, which are not set in stone. I'm reassured by the one he spontaneously adds, "Everything must be done to protect the submissive's social, family and professional life, so that if we stop, I leave you in the state I found you."

The exchange continues on a mobile messaging system, a real modern leash. Continuously reachable, a vibration in the pocket and I'm on report. My fate is sealed by this exchange:

"Do you want a continuous control relationship or rather d/s sessions?" he asks.

"More like continuous control, within the limits of social/family/professional life."

"So receiving messages from your master at any time and giving him priority?"

After two minutes of internal trembling, a drop beads on my forehead. I finally answer, "Yes."

We'll leave it at that for tonight, but I'm already activating a specific vibrate notification to be reactive to Master's messages. And I'm extending the evening by masturbating for a long time reading tales of virtual domination. Better to enjoy it while I can.

Day 2, Wednesday, April 23 - First submission pledge

I spend all morning hoping for a message. But it's not my role to solicit anything. By mid-day, Master asks me if I'm still "wanting to be controlled and to obey". More than ever! But it would be unwise to over-enthusiasticate. In my position, I could pay dearly.

I have to prove my point by writing Master's name on my chest. The timing is awkward, as I'm spending the afternoon with the kids, but my mind is on my new mission. During a toddler's craft, I discreetly test various grease chalks and markers on my skin...

The day before, Master had talked about finding a moment to detail my schedule, so that he'd know when to "give me a bit of air" (I fear for the rest of the time!). As soon as he gave the first order to mark my chest, I realized that I had to move quickly on this organizational aspect if I was not to disappoint. Sending a photo six hours after it's been requested is not acceptable. So I quickly fill in a shared calendar, indicating all my usual availabilities, informing of my office and telecommuting times, and making it clear that my unavailabilities aren't necessarily strict, they just imply that I can't guarantee anything.

As soon as I'm free of my parental responsibilities, I run to a mirror to write the requested mark on my chest. I realize that it's slightly painful, but I self-censor the thought, imagining that what happens next could be much worse. I send the photo. I dread every vibration of my phone, every time it could be a humiliating order. This puts me in a state of advanced arousal, which I enjoy to the point of orgasm. Good for me, because shortly afterwards in the conversation, Master notifies me that from now on I must ask permission before masturbating.

I end the evening trying to concentrate on a series. But this new ban is still fresh in my mind, and I'm always worried about receiving new orders. By the way, I have to give an account of my evening's activity. I try to be transparent, even though I've never been very comfortable with my lazy lifestyle. Honestly, I'd rather keep some things private. But then, I choose to be in control...

Day 3, Thursday, April 24 - Masturbating on command... but can't come

After a night that was a little too short (I'm bothered by the fact that I don't know when I'll be allowed access to pleasure), this day gets off to a flying start. The feeling of submission is there when I get into the shower to wipe the mark off my chest. While still in the shower, I hear the characteristic vibration of Master's messages. On that day, I had indicated that I was only partially available, only from 10am onwards. What awaits me so early in the morning? My dick stands up.

"Hello submissive, get hard, write my first name on your cock, jerk off quickly to get you close to cumming but don't come, take a picture and put your cock away. It'll help you think of me during your work day."

Hurry up, I've got to leave for the station soon. Never mind, I'll have breakfast on the train. Don't think, find the marker, get my dick hard, write on it (a first... hummm, it tickles), find an angle for the photo, get excited without going too far... I'll send the photo from the train, it's time to go.

I let my emotions subside and try to think as best I can. What I was so worried about in bed is becoming a reality. My own sex no longer belongs to me. I had to brand it in Master's name. And I would have been able to ejaculate in a matter of seconds, but I've been ordered to abruptly cut off all stimulation. So I took a little initiative that Master had given me the freedom to do: I sent the photo using the word "Master". Because the reality I'm experiencing is that he dominates me and I'm submissive to him, so I might as well stick to the clichés of the genre.

This impression is confirmed when Master receives the photo. He likes the red boxer shorts, "You'll keep it (day and night) until I tell you to change it."

This emotional start to the day keeps me in a state of anxious anticipation. Every vibration of the telephone gives me goose bumps. I'm always a little excited during this day at the office, and the shorts I'm going to have to keep on for an indeterminate length of time are often a little damp. But in the end, nothing new happens until evening.

I'm the one who makes contact again. Back home, I'd like to masturbate, but I'm not free, so I ask permission. The answer is not long in coming. The morning photo not being very neat, Master orders, "I give you permission to jerk off and rewrite your master's name properly. I want a picture of a hard cock with beautiful handwriting, respectful of my superiority."

I'm jumping for joy! But I come back down a few seconds later, flabbergasted, "And because this is just the beginning and I'm being nice, I'll allow you to edge yourself five times before you stop and put your cock away without spurting."

"So no jizzing now, right?"

"That's right. But you're still going to enjoy yourself, so be grateful."

The tone is set: I'll have to be docile, diligent, not expect too much leniency. And in spite of everything, remain grateful. And loyal too, a quality he says he appreciates on his dating site profile. So I decide to report spontaneously that two drops of semen have escaped at the end of my fifth stimulation. To my astonishment, there are no consequences, I'm not punished.

Then I have to announce my evening's program again, which bothers me just as much as the day before (I'm still in front of the TV). I then announce my plan to start this story, as writing down thoughts often helps to put them in order and get them out of my head. Master agrees, but insists on being able to read the text.

I finally have to announce my bedtime, not without the apprehension of a new order on this occasion. But leaving me in a state of uncertainty is perhaps the only purpose, as nothing happens after this last message from me.

Day 4, Friday, April 25 - Allowed to soil my boxer shorts

My sleep was fragmented again last night. Has it ever happened to you, at 3 a.m., to deactivate the automatically engaged airplane mode, for fear of missing a message from your Master? I try to make myself as available as possible. Every time I wake up, I'm reminded of my situation and anticipate new instructions. This inevitably has an effect on my underpants... which never stay dry for very long.

When I wake up, I feel a nervous fatigue, perhaps due to the lack of sleep and the sexual tension that's starting to make itself felt. By the way, my mind wanders to the point of imagining making a long journey to join Master. I don't think it will ever happen, but I do think it would be a good opportunity to get to know another male sex for the first time, and to do so in an atmosphere of trust.

But my fatigue is mainly due to this strange conflict: I'm constantly both impatient and fearful of receiving a new message. It's as if my brain is always on standby, ready to obey, but worried that I don't know what's waiting for me.

This morning, I'm the one who initiates contact. Once the children have been dropped off at school, there's no rush for me to start teleworking. It's a time when I sometimes indulge myself. I anticipate a negative response, but to show my desire, I ask Master for permission to masturbate. To my surprise, after a little waiting, I get a green light... with conditions: "Hi submissive. Yes, I'll allow you to jerk off and cum. But to do so, you'll have to undress completely, get down on your knees, and make sure that all your semen lands on your red boxer shorts, which you'll wipe yourself with. Since you're alone at home, stay naked for an hour, then get dressed. Always with the same boxer shorts."

On receiving these instructions, I only think for a quarter of a second. I don't dwell on what might be degrading about it, too focused on the long-awaited pleasure that's finally in my grasp. As I rush to undress, Master remarks that I should thank him. I'd actually forgotten about this crunchy aspect of the d/s relationship: forcing the submissive to ask and then thank for something he only half wants, is tantamount to putting your finger on the fact that you're forcing his will. It's mega-exciting. My lack of gratitude isn't punished, but I correct it with a quick thank-you (I'm really not in the mood). And I reread the instructions one last time to make sure I haven't forgotten anything.

Without even touching it, my cock is already erect and seminal fluid is spontaneously pouring out. I get into position, trying to anticipate the trajectory of my spurt (the underpants have to receive EVERYTHING). In a few seconds, I'm already there: an abundant ejaculation like rarely seen, after an extremely brief stimulation.

Once I'm relieved, I tell myself that it's still too cold at this time of year to stay naked for an hour. At the same time, I'm in no hurry to get back into my cum-soaked shorts. At least I hope they've had time to dry out a bit.

As instructed, I take my place naked at my desk to start my telecommuting day. An hour later, shivering, I realize that the drying time was insufficient after all, but I'm not here to argue. I put the soiled underwear back on, with the discomfort of a cold sensation on my crotch. A little later in the morning, the excitement has subsided, I feel like I'm macerating, I find it dirty. In this way, I reach a true state of submission: being repulsed by what I'm forced to do. I can go back to work with a calmer mind.

At mid-day, Master asks me to take a break. It's a question of enjoying a clear mind after the pleasure I've been given.

"Go and sit on the floor for 45 minutes without anything. No clothes, no TV, no books, no music, no phone. Just you and your thoughts. Take 45 minutes to ask yourself if this is what you want. Obey me, potentially over the long term, potentially going far enough."

Gulp, those last words don't help my peace of mind, but I comply immediately. This step contributes to the confidence I can have in an experienced Master who is careful to preserve his submissives. The 45 minutes are long, but I obey and wait for the timer to run out. It's rare to allow oneself so much time for reflection, although I realize it's not useless.

First, I realize that I've forgotten one instruction: I wasn't naked. Master passes the sponge once more (I've already experienced some frustrating, degrading or uncomfortable treatment, but no punishment yet).

To sum up my thoughts, I'm determined to carry on, but I'm afraid of two things.

Firstly, abstinence is hard. In my life, periods of chastity have always been short and rare. I'm a big wanker, you see, and I realize now that it's not at all the same thing to abstain because you're busy as it is to abstain in a very exciting context, like the one I'm experiencing at the moment.

The second point is that I must remain vigilant not to let this story take up too much space in my mind, or at least not to alter the other aspects of my life too much. The upcoming family weekend should help me come to my senses. Master, however, leaves me feeling insecure, "I'll let you make your own life. Just don't imagine that you're free. [...] In principle, I won't give you any further orders, except on a whim, which is always possible."

Day 5, Saturday, April 26 - First failure, first punishment

The probable respite announced for this weekend helps me to find relative peace of mind and a restorative rest. As I get out of the shower, I look at the stained boxer shorts I have to put back on. I put my nose to them. I realize that my strategy of washing myself more often than usual has limited the damage.

I share this story with Master, as instructed. He is kind enough to let me know that it gives him some pleasure. This reassures me that there's something for everyone in this story. So, a priori, there's no reason for it to stop any time soon.

But Master starts a discussion on the place of punishment, which brings new knots to my brain, "I know a lot of submissives love the idea of being punished. But here's the thing: I've got a strong opinion on the subject. For me, punishment isn't there to satisfy a fantasy, it's not a reward. I use punishment to teach a lesson, to educate. To make the submissive no longer want to disobey. He mustn't wait for punishment, he must dread it. That's why when I punish, I'll pick from the list of limits, to make sure I'm imposing something he won't want to do again. I've been lenient, I won't be again. Make sure you satisfy me." Shivers run down my spine. We talk a bit about this ambiguity about limits, and I think we end up agreeing more or less.

Resuming a nearly normal day allows me to take a welcome step back from the situation. I don't have anyone to share such an intimate and singular experience with, but inside, I fully accept the situation. Something has been unblocked, I feel like I'm experiencing a rare and intense moment, and I feel happy.

In fact, I let myself be carried away by the pleasant atmosphere of a festival and come home later than usual with the kids. I'm not back until 10.45pm, even though I'd announced that I'd be available from 9pm to meet Master's wishes. As he had said he'd be relatively quiet this weekend, I'm not really worried. On the way home, I wonder how late I can disturb Master to ask for permission to masturbate.

As luck would have it, Master sent me a message at 10.56pm, just as I was finishing putting the kids to bed. Phew! But this happy alignment of schedules gives way to less good news. Master orders me to let him check his first name on my cock. I don't understand, there's nothing visible since my last shower. I send a photo anyway. But I'm called to order, I still don't understand. I go through the latest messages and realize with horror that I've read one of them a little too quickly. In fact, with each notification, I feel a strong emotion, a rush that clouds my mind. In future, I'll have to redouble my concentration to keep a cool head.