Why not? Ill make it weird Pt 2. Reposted w/permission written by Daughter of Kaos 2/09/18

I’m a firm believer that a day is not waste if you learn something. Well, during the first five seconds of what I was SURE was going to be awful I remembered two things and learned another.

  1. Capsaicin in high enough quantities, to some people, acts like a narcotic (think morphine). Capsaicin is the chemical in Chile peppers that makes it feel like your mouth is burning.
  2. Mucus membranes in your rectum are INSANELY absorbent to chemicals.

Then I learned very quickly and to my dismay that this particular concoction causes involuntary muscle spasms. Note I didn’t say cramps, I said muscle spasms. Remember where Bella was?

I told the two Harridans that had me at their mercy that this wasnt going well and, were they to keep going I didn’t know that I wasnt going to involuntarily redecorate the bathroom. To which they replied almost in unison “Deal with it”.

This was when the Capsaicin kicked in.

I.

Was.

Gone.

Luckily a seed had managed to gum up the works and clog the hose which was about the time that my ladies decided to stop and start the timer. Longest 5 minutes of my life.

As the timer expired I asked if I could get up to go take care of things (we are into some weird shit but NONE of us are INTO shit…ew.) I was granted permission and that’s where it got complicated. I knew the way to the other restroom( I didn’t want to demonize the master) but I lacked the capacity to get to it as I was higher than six kites at this point.

I was so stoned that my voice sounded weird in my own head and, as I stumbled to the guest bathroom, I may have remarked that I sounded like Optimus Prime.

I got to the bathroom and started to empty my bowels when Osha opened the door and sat down outside in the hallway. One major unavoidable and set-in-stone rule in kink is that if you incapacitate someone then you are required to keep a watch over them. Osha and Bella are amazing Dominatrices and did just that. These two motherfuckers sat in the hallway while I blew up my bathroom and cackled as all three of us had a conversation. It was at this point I began to have trouble staying on the toilet as I was too high for all my muscular structure to function correctly. I was quite literally on all four hanging on to the toilet for dear life as I didn’t want to have to clean it up after.

An hour passed and i finished up and made the stupid mistake of trying to get up. New dilemma; now my legs are asleep and, you guessed it, still very stoned!

I rose just long enough to reach my full height and fall forward as my body gave out. I rammed my skull into a sheet metal folding door and laid on the floor at their feet. I would recount the conversation but I don’t remember it so you’ll have to hope they write something about this. Needless to say that after this was over I was put straight to bed as I was useless as a human being at that point.

They spent the rest of the night hanging out and being them and I haven’t slept better.

Why not? Ill make it weird Pt 2. Reposted w/permission written by Daughter of Kaos 2/07/18

I realized what had happened and decided to proactively inform Mistress Osha. Bad Idea. She just looked at me incredulously and said “Thats 5 strokes for speaking out of turn. Now what is wrong?” I informed her that the upstairs was ready and that the downstairs looked like someone had been on a drinking binge that ended with them raiding Ikea and Amazon for luggage. At this point though, Bella was already in the chaos so it was too late. She had gotten into the bathroom and had to run an obstacle course just to pee which I would imagine was like watching a baby giraffe learn to walk as she is only 5’2 and the obstacles range from 6 inches to 4 feet in height.

The Red Queen emerged from the fray unscathed and flustered. She greeted Mistress Osha in her usual way and then asked why her first introduction to the house was having to run a gauntlet for a simple bodily function. “She didnt bother to tell me until it was too late. We can handle it later if your prefer as she should have said something.” Osha glared at me and I knew I was in for it.

The night progressed with dinner and drinks and finally we all retired to the secondary bedroom where I was presented with a wrapped package. I was told that I had two options;

  1. I could open the box but I was required to go through what was in it without question. If I managed to complete the task then I would be “forgiven” for my earlier mushroom slapping. I would also get the opportunity to service both of them and potentially earn myself a release as well.
  2. I could forgo what was in the box but i would spend the next two weeks wearing a chastity cage. Id like to take a minute to express how much I enjoy tease and denial but two weeks of having both of them rev me up JUST to do nothing didn’t seem fun. Reason is both Osha and Bella speak very well, they also write very well and have fiercely creative imaginations. I do too which would have made two weeks hellish.

To make matters SO much worse she had acquired an hourglass that was a minute long so I couldn’t stall. If I ran out of time it was automatically option B but with the added hell of canes and paddles.

Dont you JUST want to be me at this point?

I opened the box to find the medical enema kit (not usually that bad but wait there was more!) another hourglass and a freezer pouch.

Fair warning; it gets relatively graphic (funny) but graphic from here on so….dont bitch at me if you need brain bleach.

In said freezer pouch was a shit-ton of chile peppers and it was at this point that i started to worry. Bella informed me that she had been looking into infusing them into the enema and Osha chimed in that she had spoken to our pet ER nurse and none of what was about to happen would be fatal, just very painful.

Kink Pro Tip: If you’re going to do weird shit (which we do….a LOT) then you need to get really friendly with an ER professional. That shit is gold and has saved me SO many times.

I was told that the hourglass was 5 minutes and would only start AFTER the bag was empty.

I complied, because I cant help myself this shit is just too much fun, and was led into our master bathroom and knelt on the floor. Bella was behind me as I bent over and got set up. I felt the water start and begin to flood me completely.

Remember earlier where I said the setup was sexy but real life tends to intervene? Yea it’s about to be another one of those so if you’re just looking for spank-bank material then you may want to end here.

Why not? Ill make it weird Pt 1. Reposted w/permission written by Daughter of Kaos 2/02/18

One of the cool things about being a submissive (Switch technically but topping is more of a service thing…I digress) to two of the most sadistic women I have ever encountered is the fact that you never quite know what’s coming down the pipe until it shows up.  

Continue reading “Why not? Ill make it weird Pt 1. Reposted w/permission written by Daughter of Kaos 2/02/18”

When the bough breaks Originally published 09/24/18

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Friday came around and the girl arrived at Home 2.0. She had gotten herself into a not insignificant amount of trouble during the previous two weeks which I believe she expected to be dealt with swiftly upon arrival; but that didn’t happen. We had dinner and late into the evening I led her outside to the patio, where we settled in to catch up on activities since we were again face to face. The conversation came around to some of her shenanigans which had been the source of my displeasure.

It was during this conversation that I impulsively decided we needed to retire to the play room, though it was already after midnight. Earlier in the week she had asked me a favor, that I not stop our scene if she started to panic as she had previously. I had told her I would honor her request even though I knew the potential risk involved. While a lot of what we do is risky and I have no issue hurting her; harming her in any way would absolutely devastate me. I know that a lot of you reading this aren’t lifestyle folk and this statement could be incredibly confusing but I can assure you – there is a tremendous difference.

We hit the hour and a half mark and I had her chained on her back to the box, the three foot by three foot contraption I had commissioned recently. She was wearing nothing but ankle cuffs and the locking mitts that she hates because she can’t escape. As she is a former fighter and her vantage point was typically on her back, to be in this particular position can really cause her duress. And it did.

I had been rotating between using my hands, implements and teeth to punch, bite, hit and manipulate every available body part. Her head and shoulders suddenly reared up and she snarled something at me. I thought I had heard it but wasn’t entirely sure as she’d never said these words to me before.

“Alexa, pause.” The music stopped.

“What did you say to me?”

With some difficulty, her eyes flash darkly at me. “Fuck. You.” She sneers.

“Fuck me?” I ask. “Really?”

“Yeah. FUCK YOU.”

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I’m instantly on top of her, straddling her body with mine and holding her down with all of my weight; hand gripped tightly down on either side of her throat while pushing her head back as her face starts to darken and she’s struggling for oxygen that won’t come.

I put my mouth next to her ear and purr “No baby, fuck YOU. Cause you ain’t going nowhere until I let you go, and I’m not done yet.” For emphasis I take a nice long lick from her chin to just under her eye before letting her go. I remove my hand and watch the color in her face return to normal as she coughs and tries to shake it off.

I continue with my assault on her and eventually end up grabbing the cane she gifted me early into our relationship. It has a fantastic reach and is particularly effective on the most sensitive of areas; inside of the upper arms, breasts, inner thighs and feet are favored targets. At this point she was trying to curl up into a fetal position and was talking again, though softer this time. Once again I paused the music to hear.

“……I have to get up.” She’s trying to push herself up but cannot as she’s attached to the box. Her eyes are rolling back into her head. She can no longer focus and is no longer fighting, just trying to sit up. “I have to get up.” She repeats.

“Why?” I ask her. Genuinely curious.

She’s struggling to form her words. “A lot of people are going to lose a lot of money. They’re counting on me. I’ve got to get up.”

A chill runs through me. The boy child is back and he’s back in the ring, just where muse left him so many years ago. He’d recently made an appearance after many, many years of being locked away deep inside of her psyche and here he was, lying in front of me trying to do what had been so deeply ingrained in him to do. Never give up. Keep going no matter what the circumstance.

I put the cane down and straddled him again, softly speaking as I did.

“No, you don’t have to. You aren’t there anymore, you’re safe. You’re with Osha and I. You don’t have to fight anymore, baby. Just rest. We love you and it will all be okay.” I just kept talking to her softly and gently touching her where just moments earlier I’d been striking her. I watched her slowly relax and then she ended up simply collapsing, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks from under her closed lids.

I unhooked the cuffs that had been binding her and prodded her to wake up enough to help me help her get to the bedroom where she promptly tumbled onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

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The next morning I was out of bed before she was as my mind was dancing over the details of the previous nights activities. I didn’t realize how deeply it had affected me until I started texting a dear friend about what had happened and found myself with tears of my own running down my face.

When muse woke up a little later we started talking about what happened, and she didn’t remember any but a very few details.  When I started describing it I suddenly became overwhelmed and found myself breaking down and unable to stop crying for a moment.

I didn’t cry because I am ashamed of what we do or who we are; I cried because I see that sweet, broken boy trapped inside of our beautiful girlfriend and I know his presence haunts her. We are tap dancing over the ghost of him and possibly others and as all of this unfolds we really don’t know what to expect, but we do know that we have to move forward because stopping is not an acceptable option.

Had the boy been allowed by his family and society to evolve as he would have, perhaps there wouldn’t be such a tormented soul now speaking up from the unmarked grave he currently occupies.

But had things gone any differently; would she still resemble the person we know and love now? What would have been sacrificed back then in homage to her being allowed to transition when she first expressed a need to? Her talent? Her passion? Her strength or fiercely protective nature over those she values?

In reality had all of that happened back then, we would not be here writing this blog and trying to figure all of this out, and while the whole thing at times has been confusing and incredibly painful in ways I could have never imagined; I am honored to be trusted to help carry her through this journey as she comes to truly know who she is; and not just who others want or demand her to be.

Many of us never get that privilege.

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Six chicks, five dicks and a head in a box. Originally published 09/14/18

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Could be the title of a porno, or a Quentin Tarantino movie. Either way, it was one of the sweetest, sexiest and most hysterical evenings I’ve ever had. But I digress. Let’s jump right into it.

Muse adores being put on display. We had been discussing how much she enjoyed serving and initially the idea started out as a small dinner party to introduce her to several of my closest long term girlfriends and then I stumbled upon THE BOX. Suddenly the conversation turned and I half jokingly said I should let them all wear strap-ons and have at my princess after she fed them all dinner. When the idea was met with enthusiasm I ended up commissioning a local friend to build my box and plans were set in place.

I sent messages out to my girls asking if they’d be interested in coming over and having dinner with us, and oh – by the way – how do you feel about strapping on a cock and using my girlfriend like a fuck doll? A good old fashioned Saturday night girly gang bang?

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The idea was met with an enthusiastic yes from everyone. Seriously, no one turned me down. What kind of freak show friends do I have?!?

Unfortunately right before the 10 week drought was about to end and she was finally coming home to 2.0, we were fighting. Big time. I had almost cancelled plans with the girls but didn’t even though I told her that I had and luckily everything calmed down once we had an opportunity to talk face to face. She had no idea plans were proceeding until late morning the day of when I told her we needed to pick up food for dinner.

As several of the girls have specific dietary restrictions I cooked while she rested in our room. When she came out Foxtrot, Alpha, Tango, and Beta were already here and sitting around catching up with each other.

I’d made seared tuna steaks and rice and walked into the art room and grabbed the two compartment dog bowl I’d bought for Muse. As I was walking back into the kitchen she saw what I had in my hand and her eyes became big as saucers and she subtly shook her head no.

I addressed the room. “Ladies. I need your input on something. This I bought especially for the girl and I want you to vote. Should we make her use it this evening or should she be allowed to eat at the table with us?”

They voted unanimously for her to use the bowl. I laughed as she declared she’d been set up and I prepared her meal and set it on the living room floor after shackling her hands behind her back.

At one point in time she’d dropped a piece of tuna on the floor and Alpha told her to eat it, and she obediently complied. I must admit I was quite surprised that Alpha so enthusiastically gave such an order and I was proud of muse for not hesitating to do as she was told. (Previously there would have been a tremendous amount of posturing, backtalk and likely a tongue being stuck out.)

Before dinner was even through the ladies were eagerly asking when they were getting “the box”. Now please keep in mind I’ve known three of these women for over a dozen years and one for five or so. I specifically asked them if they wanted to be involved because they all know and are very comfortable around each other and are all a little twisted themselves, some more than others. The atmosphere was relaxed, playful and extremely comfortable.

Time for the main event.

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I told our girl to strip as I wanted to demonstrate the naughty chair. It was one I’d constructed specifically for forced orgasm torture and it worked exceptionally well. I cuffed her wrists and ankles to the chair and slid the lubricated sleeve over the mini muse and proceeded to amuse them with the reactions that the changing speeds would elicit from her. After toying with her for a few minutes I let her go and led her to the box.

We locked her wrists and ankles to it and before locking her head into the hole I addressed the room.

“The rules are simple. My friends will take turns having their fun until they are through with you. I’m handing you this clicker and if you are in distress click once. If you come close to cumming however you’d better click like a mutherfucker as that is not allowed and whomever is wielding the cock will slow down or stop long enough to let you recover. Should you get tipped over the edge however; you shall be wearing a new tattoo applied with this. The noise of my stun gun filled the room as I held it up for all to see.

“Do you understand?” “Yes Daddy” she said.

Good, head down.

Alpha took her spot on the couch, watching closely. I was right beside the box keeping a close eye on muse and Beta and Tango were standing nearby. Foxtrot had geared up with the mini muse, a casting of her own cock that we’d done a few month back. (Let the “Go fuck yourself” jokes commence!) She was having issues with positioning as our girl is six feet tall so we ended up letting her head out of the box for better access. It didn’t take long for both of them to get caught up in the moment with muse enthusiastically grinding up against her own penis as the rest of us enjoyed the show. When she began clicking Foxtrot dismounted and was shortly replaced by our ninja, Beta.

Beta is the quiet one. She’s the one that sneaks up on you and you never know what to expect. Not only did Beta have her own harness; she’d bought a brand new dildo just for the occasion.

During the changing of the guard though a couple of things had happened at the prompting of Tango. She had asked if I had clothespins (which I did) and stated it was too bad I didn’t have washable markers. (Guess again – I did.) The girls proceeded to write and draw naughty things in colored marker all over the girl, much to their amusement; and I and Tango put clothes pins on her various pink parts. As much as she HATES clothespins they are extremely successful at sending her into orbit so they are a very cheap and effective addition to the toy bag. As a side note Tango is one of my former play partners and I couldn’t help but laugh as I remembered using the same exact techniques on her years prior. It was incredibly satisfying to see her taking on a much different role.

So back to Beta. She slipped behind the princess and slid into her. Immediately the girl was lost in the sensation of the clothespins on her goodies and this new cock buried inside her and Beta working it like she was born with it. The girl was bucking back against it like a porn star earning a paycheck. Suddenly the room is echoing with the frantic sounds of the dog clicker being worked at a desperate speed and the entire room cheers and howls with laughter. Beta slips out of the girl and while raising her hands above her head starts gyrating her hips to the music as the cock waves with her movement. The girls start high fiving her and I’m literally crying from laughing so hard. Poor muse can’t see all of the activity going on behind her and was simply trying to recover and continue doing all she could to keep from getting tattood with the stun gun at this point.

Cue Deadpool.

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Tango LOVES masks. When we played she used to wear a piggy nose that my son (a professional mask maker) had made for her and she always referred to herself as a greedy little piggy. She was thrilled to see I still had it and wore it for a bit throughout the night but when it was her turn traded it for Deadpool.

And she decided to use my electric dildo.

This one is from my collection and has metal plating on each side. It has a setting that allows you to turn electricity on and literally feels like a tens unit, but is meant for insertion. Wrap your head around that for a second.

So Deadpool Tango takes position from behind, turning on vibration and electricity on a low setting. I grab the hitachi with attachment and come at her from the front and slip it around her cock and turn it on while removing clothespins which sends blood rushing back into the pinched parts. She is overloaded with sensation and shortly cannot hold back the powerful orgasm that had been building all night. At this point she’s yelling and fighting the restraints and I tell Tango to keep going and shortly thereafter she has a second orgasm. Her first ever multiple.She collapses in exhaustion and we carefully release her from her restraints and I help her to the sofa.

Her birthday had been a few days earlier and the girls sang Happy Birthday to her as she blew out the candles. We sat and ate cake and they thanked her for a wonderful time and hugged her tightly before they each departed.

I tucked our exhausted girl into bed shortly thereafter and she curled up on my shoulder with her binky and was soon fast asleep.

I’m sure the reactions of this post will run the gamut from amusement to shock to horror and will pretty much cover everything in between. I’m incredibly fortunately to not only be able to explore my fantasies and to be able to help my partner explore some of hers; but I’m surrounded by an amazing tribe of women whom I trust, love and adore and it’s an incredible feeling to have them not only accept me for all of my weirdness but to be willing to be a part of it as well.

I love you all.

The Broken and The Damned – Originally published 09/08/18

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She makes fun of my love for My Chemical Romance, but after her homecoming to 2.0 last night, I can’t help but hear the words from Welcome to The Black Parade in my head:

When I was a young boy
My father took me into the city
To see a marching band
He said, son, when you grow up
Would you be the savior of the broken
The beaten, and the damned?
He said, will you defeat them
Your demons and all the non-believers?
The plans that they have made?
Because one day I’ll leave you
A phantom to lead you in the summer
To join the black parade
When I was a young boy
My father took me into the city
To see a marching band
He said, son, when you grow up
You will be the savior of the broken
The beaten, and the damned?
Sometimes I get the feeling
She’s watching over me
And other times I feel like I should go
And through it all
The rise and fall
The bodies in the streets
And when you’re gone, we want you all to know
We’ll carry on, we’ll carry on
And though you’re dead and gone, believe me
Your memory will carry on
We’ll carry on
And in my heart I can’t contain it

The anthem won’t explain it A world that sends you reeling
From decimated dreams
Your misery and hate will kill us all
So paint it black
And take it back
Let’s shout it loud and clear
Defiant to the end
We hear the call to
To carry on

Last night took us somewhere we haven’t been before, and thought I’ve only had a few hours sleep I’m sitting here with my coffee trying to process it all.

If you’ve been following along throughout our journey you’re familiar with the road we’re traveling. we are trying on a M/s dynamic to see if it’s fitting.

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Surprisingly, not only has it seemed to help muse immensely, I find that I’ve comfortably fallen into a role that previously I would have avoided at all costs. While my interests and activities in the lifestyle may be considered somewhat extreme; my general demeanor is very laid back and low key. The thought of doing this with her was intimidating, but after the subject coming up repeatedly, something compelled me to move forward with it and here we are.

You’ve likely seen that things have been rocky, with all of the various issues we’ve had including my using alcohol to self medicate, health issues, distance and a serious lack of communication. Initially I thought now would be an awful time to work on introducing this type of dynamic but it truly has seemed to help and for that I’m grateful.

As discussed before, muse has alters. She doesn’t have multiple personality disorder but something that looks like it – she has different personalities that pop up depending on what she is dealing with at any given time. The first time we played Ronin made his presence known. A dark, violent character that completely blocks out pain and will stand up no matter what has been done to him. He honestly terrified me, as I’ve never dealt with anything like this and have never seen someone physically transform in front of me like muse did when Ronin appeared.

Next I was introduced to Nixie, the seven year old girl child. She’s playful and mischievous. She frequently gets into trouble with her antics and she was one I was initially reluctant to deal with

because I find brats annoying and cumbersome but she’s an important part of muse as she represents the childhood that muse was denied.

After 10 weeks of not seeing each other, muse came home two weeks ago and we worked on putting the pieces of our relationship back together where damage and mistrust had tried to settle in. In spite of both of us still being in the midst of trying to heal the weekend was successful in many ways, and we were able to part ways feeling as if something good had been accomplished and we were back on track.

Friday night rolled around and she arrived home before I did. As I had been working on some things for her the night before, a few chores around the house hadn’t been completed so she’d been instructed to work on those before I got home.

When I arrived she unloaded the groceries and put them away. She led me to my living room chair and handed me a glass of tea she had waiting for me. When she finished with her chores I had her kneeling at my feet so we could have a conversation which led into the exposure of someone new.

I asked her to remind me about some of the things we’d discussed working on. She has a few horrible habits that I’m trying to steer her away from and she sat listening to me as I rattled them off. I pointed out that when she unloaded my car, she left it unlocked. Details are important to me and while I appreciate everything that is done on my behest; I expect tasks to be executed properly without me having to go behind someone to verify that it was completed to my satisfaction.

She apologizes, constantly. She apologizes for her thoughts. For expressing her fears, needs and desires although I’ve made it clear that in order for me to be most effective I need to hear them. She apologizes for being a burden. At times it feels like she apologizes for merely existing. It’s heartbreaking and unnecessary.

She belittles herself, referring to herself as if she’s a waste of time and energy. She has lived in darkness for so long she feels she’s undeserving of the love that Osha and I give to her without reservation and this conversation comes up regularly. It’s absolutely maddening.

While speaking with her about these things I told her that if she kept reiterating to me the things that she says about herself to me; that eventually she was going to be successful in convincing me that she is destined to always be the nothing that she portrays herself to be – the waste of time – and that if this behavior continued that she would be successful in pushing me away.

The whole time I was speaking to her, she kept avoiding my eyes. I spoke softly and deliberately to her. I told her I needed for this behavior to stop.

While speaking to her, muse disappeared. During the conversation I studied her closely as I could see various pieces of her popping through. The girl popped in and out and I’m pretty sure Ronin appeared for a second, but when the brief period of cycling stopped there was a stranger sitting in front of me.

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When it happens; muse literally disappears. Her body language changes. Her face changes. She had avoided my gaze up until this point and I demanded she look at me. When she finally met my gaze I was looking at a stranger.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am me” was the reply.

“Who is me?” I prodded.

What came out of my love’s mouth at that point was startling. She said “I am…” and used her given name.

The boy child had appeared.

He looked confused, as if I’d asked a silly question.

I repeated his name back to him.

He recoiled as if I’d slapped him full force across the face.

I tried to talk to him, to assure him that all was okay and he was safe. Whenever I touched him he jerked away from me as if my hands were on fire. It was obvious that he was scared and confused and it was taking everything in his power to stay rooted to the spot where I’d put him. A few minutes later he retreated but his presence hung heavily over the room.

Muse had told me that Ronin had all but disappeared and had been replaced by something she couldn’t identify yet, but she knew it was waiting in the shadows. Last night he made himself known.

When we were discussing it shortly thereafter she made it clear she wasn’t happy that he had appeared because the dead needed to stay dead. As I told her, he was never given the opportunity for a proper goodbye and ignoring him isn’t going to make him go away. Now that he’s shown himself I feel he needs a voice too so he can properly be put to rest instead of cut off or ignored. I am in no way, shape or form interested in or trying to regress muse into going back to her previous life, but I do want her to address it so we can move forward in a healthier manner.

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In a previous post I had mentioned that I thought perhaps our 16 year age difference influences the way she responds to me. Yes, I am her partner and girlfriend but I thought that perhaps subconsciously she responded to me at times because I also represent a parental figure to her; a thought she vehemently rejected.

When he made his appearance she admitted that while I was speaking to her, she heard her parents in my voice. She heard me saying I was going to send her away although she knew and understood that wasn’t what I said.

The damage runs deep. The boy child is demanding his time.

She calls me Daddy. Or ~ Congratulations! It’s a Girl! Originally published 8/28/18

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Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more complicated…

Dear reader, it can. and it will. But finally I’d like to offer you something a little sweeter and more light hearted.

Early on when all of this started I knew a lot about what I was getting into before she even hit my doorstep. I knew about play style, interests, likes and dislikes. Sexual history. Things that got the green light and things that were a hard no. I knew about her alter, Ronin. There was something pretty significant though that I didn’t know – at least not the full extent of; until sometime later.

I had been chatting with a local guy online that I was interested in getting to know and possibly play with and we’d been having some pretty intense smut chat via messenger. During these conversations he would start calling me Mommy and I was half intrigued, half completely freaked out. I had decided I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything and told Muse so. Why she asked? The whole age play thing just really squicks me. Why? She asked again. I don’t know, because I’m a Mom? Well why would that bother you? She kept gently pushing.

Well, shit. What are you not telling me?

She hesitantly told me about her little, Nixie. Nixie is seven years old. Mischievous. Playful. Bratty. She is innocence and she is extremely naughty. She is the coping mechanism that developed as a result of muse being trans and never having the opportunity to be a little girl. Initially my heart sunk because on top of EVERYTHING else in this little bag of tricks now I’d been thrown a curve ball. Something that in all my years of being in the lifestyle I was in no way prepared for and to be perfectly honest; was uncomfortable with.

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I knew I had to meet her. Turns out I already had, I just didn’t realize it at the time.

When Muse gets particularly mouthy and rambunctious, that’s Nixie. When she’s bouncing all over the place in an out of control fashion, that’s Nixie.

What the ever loving fuck did I get myself into?

I asked to meet her and she nervously agreed. The next time I went to Orlando we all retreated into their bedroom and muse laid on the floor and closed her eyes while Osha started speaking to the girl. Like Ronin, Nixie has a different voice. Her face changes slightly. She is a part of Muse that most people don’t realize exists. And at that point in time, she was scared of me and referred to me as The Snake Lady.

We sat and talked with Nixie for a while and I was honestly fascinated. After the conversation muse was somber as the guilt and shame had set in from revealing that side of herself to me because it wasn’t something she readily shared and she was afraid I’d leave her. I assured her I was approaching things with an open mind but as I had no exposure to or experience with this I would need a minute to wrap my head around it. I wasn’t bolting like I would have previously. It definitely wasn’t something I’d be interested in playing with on a daily as my kids are grown and these days I’m more of a “Get off my porch!” type, but I’d be willing to make space for Nixie upon occasion and whomever else may surface.

Since then she’s popped in here and there, and like everything else we do I find I’ve enjoyed her presence as long as it’s in a limited capacity and have even bought her a couple of cute tops and frilly panties to show her that I accept her as well. As a side note approximately thirty years ago I was walking down St. Marks Place in Greenwich Village and had walked a half a block or so ahead of my boyfriend at the time. As I was walking past a table set up on the sidewalk one of the two women sitting there asked me “Who’s Michael?” I stopped in my tracks. Not Mike. Not Mikey. Michael. I looked around and my boyfriend was nowhere to be found. I sat down for a reading and she told me I’d have three children. Lately I can’t help but be reminded of that medium and what she told me so long ago. I have grown twin boys and I chuckle to myself because now I have a little girl named Nixie. And she’s six feet tall. And she’s WAY girlier with her pink and interest in Hello Kitty than I ever was. Somehow I don’t think this is exactly what the medium had in mind.

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This weekend she came in after being gone for ten weeks, and we played extremely hard. She wanted/needed to be pushed way past her comfort level to the point of being able to release the tension/anger/fear/helplessness/rage that had been building since we’d last seen each other.

I shackled her to my bed with the vintage shackles I’d acquired since the last time she was in. I’d cuffed her ankles and tied them through two iron rings I had bolted into my door frame. I went after her with multiple implements and at times straddled her body and punished her with deep, bruising bites and whispery kisses as she cried out in agony.

She fought until she was in a blind rage and somehow ripped one of the iron rings off of the wall. Luckily I’m fully aware of her capabilities and she was still attached by one ring and the shackles attached behind her head. While her eyes were rapidly scanning the room I knew she couldn’t “see” anything as she mumbled to herself while desperately trying to pull free. I wrapped myself around her and held on tightly, talking to her and telling her I was with her and she was safe. It was over. She’d done well and I was very, very proud.

Once I was sure she was no longer a danger to herself or to me I released the shackles and she collapsed from exhaustion. We’d been at it for over an hour and a half and it had been a long time. She had nothing left to give and it was time to rest. Just this past week I’d had a binky customized for her with the words “Daddy’s Girl” on it, and she popped it into her mouth and laid on my shoulder and immediately fell into a deep sleep. She’s been calling me Daddy for quite some time and I must admit: I find it freaking adorable.

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It’s amazing to me that after all of these years of having a pretty solid idea of what I can and cannot accept in a relationship that the lines have become so blurry, and I honestly wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s nice to know that I’m still capable of learning and loving and accepting even when I’ve been scared or reluctant. After hiding such a significant part of herself for many years, the girl has one less person she has to hide from. Shame is a powerful, crippling emotion and I’m happy to be able to work through this with her and find a way where we can all coexist harmoniously.

It’s certainly been a wild ride, but a very diverse and entertaining one, indeed.

Thank goodness my girl child hasn’t asked for a pony.

The Sirens Call: Opening Pandora’s Box in The Land of Broken Toys. Originally published 02/06/18

I hardly think everyone into BDSM has had abusive situations in their background, but I’ll freely admit I did in mine. My sperm donor was, and is, a sexist, racist, misogynistic narcissist who to this day seems to think his 5 – 6 – or 7 ex-wives were wrong, but somehow he wasn’t. My mother’s second husband freely pinched my nipples and was on top of me at the age of twelve wearing nothing but his tighty-whities and a hardon and couldn’t understand why I kicked him in the stomach as hard as I could, no longer wanting to “play”. I was molested by his brother at a very young age at my step grandmothers house and was confused because I was terrified but it wasn’t entirely unpleasurable.

Continue reading “The Sirens Call: Opening Pandora’s Box in The Land of Broken Toys. Originally published 02/06/18”

I’ve Danced With the Devil, and She was Beguiling – originally published 2/3/18

If you end up following this blog it you’ll discover that we are all quite multifaceted. It doesn’t take long to recognize that out of the three of us; the one that we never really have a total handle on, is our muse. She is the one who is always stirring things up, pulling pranks and generally keeping things lively. Not that we can’t handle her – we do a pretty good job of that, but it truly does take a village at times and we seem to have found a very good balance. She can be a handful and quite exasperating at times but she is also one of the most creative, genuine and loving souls I’ve ever met and though I’ve warned her I’ll nail her nut sack to my dining room chair if she ever dumps a bucket of cold water on me while in the shower; I can appreciate the effort behind a good practical joke.

That being said, I was warned long before we ever spent any time together that there was an aspect of her personality I needed to be aware of before we agreed to play. Within muse there is what I can only describe as an alter, named Ronin. (Noun: In Japan, under the feudal system, a samurai who had renounced his clan or who had been discharged or ostracized and had become a wanderer without a lord; an outcast; an outlaw.) Luckily I took the warning seriously as though I had never dealt with anything such as this I didn’t want to put either of us in any harm’s way. I had a dear friend come over and install ten eyebolts in the doorframe between my master bedroom and bathroom door and purchased a number of locks which were unfortunately, individually keyed.

I stripped her down and she was cuffed. Wrists, waist, thighs and ankles in my doorway. Chains and tiny locks. A hood over her head exposing nothing to me except her nostrils and mouth. When I had her in position I couldn’t help but admire my handiwork; this magnificent, powerful creature waiting to feel my lashes. I remember looking at her that night and admiring her standing there with her beautiful perky breasts and her boy parts exposed. We were friends, yes…on a casual level. But to trust me to this extent was something that people generally don’t do. I’d not played in a very long time and was honestly nervous about doing so. I didn’t want to disappoint her.

The lashes fell. Time and time again, muse collapsed. When muse collapsed, Ronin appeared. I had met Ronin for a brief moment the night before and the encounter had stopped me in my tracks.

Ronin is the protector. When muse would collapse from the pain, Ronin stepped in. To be more descriptive; when muse’s knees would buckle; suddenly a figure would appear in the doorway that would replace muse. He would extend fully, expand his full width, and he would wait for the next blow.

At this point, muse was gone. I was dancing with Ronin.

We did this for some time. Muse would collapse, Ronin would step in. I would scramble back and forth between her legs to check on her as she was tethered to my doorway. At some point I looked at muse and it was Ronin grinning back at me.

Keep in mind – muse is hooded, I can only see her mouth and nostrils. Ronin is like a bull. Nostrils flaring; mouth in a joker-ish grin. She is holding the key to one of my locks between her fingers and is waving it at me. I was shaken. And pissed. “That’s funny to you?” I ask as I take the key from her. I lay it on my bathroom sink, out of reach. And then I do something I’ve never done to another human being before. I ball my fist up, and sink it as hard and as fast into her gut as I can. She folds over, coughing and choking. While waiting for her to recover I’m thinking we’ve already crossed a line. If she pukes I’m just gonna have to wipe it up and keep on going.

She recovers and leans forward into me, and with this deep and ominous voice I don’t recognize says “Fear doesn’t become you.”

So I sink my fist into her gut again.

The Final Rip. Disclosure: No Douchebags Were Harmed in the Writing of this Blog.

Since I can remember, I’ve had a go to phrase. “The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.”

Love is self explanatory. Hate is a bit more complicated because it sometimes takes a long time for someone to realize that in order to hate someone, they have to care about them. That in itself takes energy which means we’re invested. Indifference can be a beautiful state of being because it means that you’re no longer wasting your energy on something that either doesn’t benefit you, isn’t productive, is bad for you, doesn’t serve you, doesn’t want you, or you’ve simply outgrown.

A year and five months ago the person whom I’d loved for almost nine years stood in front of me with drunken, watery eyes and told me he was no longer in love with me. I asked him at the time why he was still putting lunch box love letters in my lunch every day and he told me it was fucking killing him to do so.

I lived with him for four months after that day and made offers on three homes until I was able to leave with only my clothes and a king sized mattress and moved into the house I bought entirely on my own. A house untainted by memories of the promises made, and broken.

When he first told me I panicked. I was 51 years old and had a good job but was homeless. Starting over again was frightening and overwhelming and I no longer knew who I was. At first I tried bargaining. I offered to go to counseling with him. And then I became angry.

I used every trick in the book to try to get him to respond to me. Nothing worked, thankfully. I had told him if I caught him screwing someone else before I was out of the house I’d cut off his favorite body part and feed it to him.

Years prior he had told me he loved me the first time by telling me to listen to the Garth Brooks song “Shameless”. Stupidly I had gotten a tattoo because I was so touched by the gesture and these days I can’t wait until it’s erased.

After my threat of castration coupled with the fact he knows I’m a sadist, I can’t say I was completely surprised when the custom forged ax I’d had made for him by an Irish blacksmith that last Christmas disappeared off the wall. Meanwhile while we were living in opposite ends of the house I was working my way through the Craigslist personals in a sad attempt to heal my broken heart. (What’s the quickest way to get over somebody? To get under somebody else har har.) Sadly, that only made things feel that much more pathetic and what’s up with all the twenty something’s that want to bang fifty year olds? I joked that I was offering a public service, their future wives and girlfriends would thank me.

During our conversation the night that we ended he had told me that he wanted a child and he wanted to get married, just not to me.

Fast forward to last night. Muse is coming home and I finally have my third bedroom set up as a guest room…and a dungeon. And we’re hosting Thanksgiving dinner.

Picture this. My very Christian 4’10 Mother, my eccentric stepfather who’s dying of stage 4 colon cancer, my 23 year old bisexual masochistic son and his redneck twin brother, my Trump voting brother and sister in law who have been together since he knocked her up at 15 (26 years ago), my lesbian former play partner AND my trans girlfriend are all gonna be here.

I needed a lock on that bedroom door. My family all knows about my lifestyle and it’s bad enough that they tease me about the “engine lift” in my art room, they don’t need to see the “dog box” in my guest room. I called my good friend Guy, a locksmith. He came over and during the course of catching up I’d mentioned it was weird how the ex had suddenly started basically throwing the dogs in the house when he came by to drop them off anymore.

“Yeah, I saw he got married a couple of weeks ago.”

Oh? I didn’t know. And strangely, it didn’t hurt. I actually found it funny that he was obviously scared to tell me.

Tonight he came by to pick the dogs up. We live less than a mile from each other and share custody of a Rottweiler, Sheldon and a Chihuahua/peke named Spike. When all of this initially happened he felt so guilty he wouldn’t have fought me on anything I wanted out of him, but he loves the boys as much as I do so we share time with them.

He knocked on the door. I made sure I was busy in the kitchen and yelled for him to come in. I told him their leashes were in the other room and distracted him with info about texts I’d received regarding Spikes upcoming appointment.

Then I told him congratulations. He stopped. Congratulations? Yep. “On, the thing”…he asks.

Your wedding. I say. Yes.

Yes, I know. Yes, I know about (her name) and I’ve known about her since before I left your house.

Actually that part was a little white lie. I figured the part out about her during a break in a threesome with one of my closest girlfriends and a guy we were banging shortly after moving into my place. Talk about cock blocking. Clit blocking?!?

Anywho. I told him tonight we weren’t friends. But I’m not angry, and we’re good coparents to the boys. Don’t make it weird.

My life is already weird enough.

And indifference feels fucking awesome.