A man bound and helpless and at the mercy of a heartless sadistic man.
Bondage art by Sean.
Originally posted 2013-12-26 05:31:59.
I know nothing of PMI other than his images. Whether is black Masters are supposed to be superior in an intrinsic sense to their enslaved white males I don’t know. (That is a not uncommon element of interracial fetishes.)
Originally posted 2013-12-25 23:25:34.
The last of the interracisl M/s artwork that I’d accumulated.
Dominant black Master wrestling submissive white slave male.
Two more images by PMI.
White male feminization, transsexual slave.
Originally posted 2013-12-23 02:52:32.
Another one from the vaults. To have made this longer would’ve gone from self-exploration to erotica. Nothing wrong with the latter but I’m not up to the challenge of writing any.
(In this I a share small slice of some of the images that have haunted my fantasy life of late. Vanity, vanity: there are no new kinks under the sun. Nor am I a writer of erotica. Caveat lector.)
We’d spent some time in emails, instant messages and over coffee learning how compatible we might be as owner and slave.
I’d had some experience with sadists but felt I had needs that had never been met. Extreme needs. You were skeptical. Finally I convinced you of my sincerity.
You agreed to give me a taste of what I said I wanted. But only if I accepted your stipulations. My vacation was coming up. If I agreed that for three days I would – with my limits honored – become your unconditional slave then you’d offer me a chance to explore my dreams. At the beginning of the fourth day you’d give me the choice of freedom or continuing until I’d spent a full week within your power.
My need aroused you but you’d heard the same story before from men who could never live up to their pledges.
Hungrily I leapt at the chance.
Friday night after work instead of driving home I went to your house. You let me in and – in accordance with the script you sent me – I dropped to my knees and bent my head down. Then you handed me a trash bag, ordered me to strip and put my clothes within it.
You walked into anther room. I crawled behind you. Stopping you turned and sat. I remained on all fours waiting. Probably you sat silently in front of me for only a few minutes, though it seemed as if my arms would fail me before you spoke.
At last you told me to surrender or leave.
Then I recited the ceremony of surrender memorized from an email you sent me. Almost legalistically I promised my obedience and begged to give my mind and body to you.
You made a sound I couldn’t quite make out but I thought you were laughing quietly to yourself.
You ordered me to close my eyes and lift my head. I felt you pull a hood over me. When you told me I could open my eyes there was nothing but blackness. The hood had no slits for the eyes.
Rising at your command I followed as you led me by the hand. I almost fell as we walked down stair. Again I wondered if I heard a laugh.
Pushing me down you ordered me to kneel. I heard the metallic clanking of chain and felt a collar wrapped around my neck. A lock snapped in place.
Telling me to feel free to do whatever I wished you bid me goodnight.
Goodnight? It was still very early in the evening.
It had been early evening when I’d been chained by a collar. Being bid goodnight and left alone took me aback. Surely you – my new owner – would be back shortly.
As I sat there the world invisible on the other side of the hood I registered that the floor was covered with a thick carpet of straw. Feeling about I seemed to be in a small room but the walls were only a few feet high.
Wondering about my place of confinement kept me from becoming bored. Then, true to my hopes I heard footsteps. What if it were some stranger? Then I heard you reminding me that I’d promised to never speak without being invited.
Off came the hood and I found myself in what appeared to be a stall like you might keep a horse in. I started to look up but you lightly backhanded me and bent my head back down.
This you told me would be both my bedroom and toilet and that I would be expected to clean it every day. Then telling me you’d see me in the morning you left.
A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling shed harsh light all around. The room was so stark and unfinished that couldn’t tell if I was in a basement, garage or barn. The collar’s chain was attached to the back wall, just long enough to let me reach the opening of my stall.
Hurt, confused, strongly aroused I didn’t know what to do. For a time I made an attempt to curl up on the straw but it made me itch and didn’t really soften the floor.
Needing to piss I realized I had no choice and crawled to a rear corner. Relieved I leaned against a wall as far away as possible.
The light and discomfort made deep sleep impossible. I’d nod off only to wake up startled by hallucinations of punishment.
Trying to make peace with getting what I asked for there was nothing to do but wait for the night to pass.
Sustained sleep finally found me that first night, I awoke to the pressure of your boots on my crotch.
When you asked me if I were hungry my stomach began to growl and I admitted that I was. My food would have to be earned you said.
From a box you handed me an ankle cuff. Then cuffs for my other leg and my arms. Chains and locks followed linking my wrists and legs to each other and together. Unlocking the chain from my collar you bid me follow. I stood up. A swift kick sent me back to my knees.
On the other side of the door was a large, completely enclosed backyard. My prison was a garage.
Taking me to a corner you showed me a pile of rocks. My morning task was to pick each carrying them one at a time to another corner. You stretched out in a lawn chair in the shade of a tree. My labor was your entertainment.
As I began to tote the rocks pity for myself was my main emotion. Last night was boring. This was worse than boring. But I’d agreed to it. My natural passivity and not a little fear kept me from rebelling. Quietly I carried rocks.
After a time, weary and hungry, I started to stumble. Coming to where I was you told me to drop down and follow. We went back in the garage. Back in my stall you relocked my collar to the chain.
From a cabinet you took out a bag. Putting your hand in you scooped out something then told me to open my mouth and eat. It was soft cat food. After a moment’s shock I realized I was too hungry to care. I was grateful.
After several handfuls you closed the bag. I heard the sound of running water. You brought me a small bowl and told me to lap it up. It was the most delicious water I’d ever drunk.
Telling me to rest for my afternoon chores you left.
Thankful to have been fed and watered,weary I curled up on the floor and nodded off.
I awoke before your return. When you removed the chain from my collar I didn’t need to be told to crawl after you.
You had me returne to the rocks. Now was to tote to their original location. Tired from the morning this took longer.
Finished I crawled over to you and bowed my head. You ordered me back to my stall.
Back in the barn you gave me a shovel and bag to clean up the space I soiled.
Then handfed and watered me again. Deep hunger made me thankful to eat. And I was thankful for your attention.
Bring out a short chain you put it on my wrist cuffs running it behind my back. Then you locked my collar chain back in place.
Since it was even earlier than the prior day I was disheartened when you said you were finished with me for the day and left. Without you left all I’d have was myself.
With my arms behind my back I couldn’t find a comfortable position on the floor. Leaning against a wall I felt sorrier than ever for myself, wondering what madness had led me to agree to be treated this way.
If nothing else I could pass the time by masturbating. Then I realized I couldn’t touch my own penis. Now I knew why you’d locked my hands behind me. My inability to stroke myself aroused me leaving me even more avid to. Momentarily I thrilled to my loss of fredom. And was able to relax.
Tired from slave labor, from a bad night’s rest I nodded off. Sleep was fitful but each time I awoke I forced myself to fall back asleep.
The second day was identical to the first. Except my muscles were sore. Being fed and watered were the high points of my day.
Locked in place I rehearsed telling you on the fourth day to return my freedom. I must’ve been crazy. Some would be surprised that I didn’t beg or demand release. You’d made it very clear that I’d be held to the letter of our contract. And made to regret any plea to cancel it. And my natural passivity took hold of me.
On the third morning I woke very early. Uncomfortable and restless I waited for you. Even carrying rocks for no reason was better than sitting doing nothing. Your presence was all I had to look forward to.
On the third morning you gave me food and water immediately. Eating from young fingers had become to feel natural. You left for a bit.
Returning I saw a cane and a stool in your hand. Sitting on the stool you told me to get up on my knees and look in your eyes.
As you told me that I had adapted well to being worked. You stroked my head. Acknowledgement and contact made me even more grateful than the food.
Carrying rocks you told me was a lesson. That as a slave my goal in life was fulfilling your desires even if they served no purpose.
You told me that you could tell how appreciative I was to eat from your hands. I was learning, you said, that if I wished to serve you then I must accept total dependence.
Leaving me alone was to teach me that the greatest punishment I might know was to be forgotten and ignored.
This was all so true that my Goosebumps slalomed up and down every part of my body.
Holding the whip in front of me you told me that today I would learn about pain. Pain you would inflict only for the joy of watching me suffer. It would be a long day and I would come to know many devices and toys.
If when I awoke tomorrow with welts, bruises and cuts I still wished to remain then there might be a permanent place for me in your life.
When my inner movie house shows this feature it has many variations. A small cage instead of a stall or one of those chain link pet confinement areas and I’m kept outside.
Naturally it is all embellished with hesitations and failures that require correction.
But I didn’t want to tax my circumscribed powers anymore than I already did. And wanted to keep the sequence away from typical male slave written S&M porn (nothing wrong with that, but there’s a host of it out there).
(It was split into sections because I was chatting with Alexandra while typing it up and the divisions made it easier for me.)
To focus on the training was my goal.
Learning to accept orders that have no point other than to be obeyed.
Coming to feel grateful for even the food and water allowed.
Using loneliness to make the owner’s mere presence fulfilling in itself.
A spare scenario of emotional conditioning.
One trusting reader asked me how long ago all of the above had happened.
Originally posted 2013-12-22 12:09:56.
A profile that captures perfectly one of the most common fantasies of absolute, unadulterated M/s relationships:
In my opinion a Master is completed by his slave/pup – a successful Master is a Master who shapes his slave into reflecting his personality and brings out the features of the slave that enhances these. An owner who has the ability to be everything for his slave, who can take over the slave’s free will and make him totally submit to the slave life, that a true slave ultimately seeks: being fully owned and stripped of free will as well as not having to make any choices in his personal life.
Imagine having to be everything for someone. Only a egomaniac – or a hopelessly naïve person – could imagine achieving that status.
Hence a successful Master has embraced and acknowledged his superiority and wants to share his life with an inferior person. Such a Master will know his desired direction and means to get where he wants to go with his life. With him, in this process, make sure the slave works in the same direction, and pursues the same goals as his Master.
It is always important to remember: superiority is granted by the Department of Poetic Licenses, which are invalid in real space-time.
A slave is not a slave if not owned by a master! A successful slave is – in my opinion – a man who has willingly given up his freedom and free will, to a person who is his superior. A successful slave will go through fire and ice for his Master. He is fully obedient as he knows the Master will know best. The success in itself is not as much the submission, but the full acceptance and embracement of the mentality of the submissive within. The slave should be ready to totally submit on all levels, and give up every aspect of free will and let his Master be in charge of him with no exceptions!
Will the Master also plow through fire and ice for the slave? How is this different from any over-the-top relationship? This is what husbands and wives have been promising one another for ages. Sometimes they even do it.
A successful slave has eliminated every concept of self and embraced his Master and his Masters will totally.
Not being a Buddhist the idea of eliminating sense of self sounds disturbing. This kind of psychologically untenable expectation is just a disaster waiting to happen.
A successful Master slave relation is a relation where the Master respects the choice of the slave, and gives his slave meaning with the pursuit of becoming his object. Where the slave respects and obeys the master, and where the Master becomes more and more incorporated into the slave until the slave is no longer an individual, but has become an extension of his owner. A symbiosis, where both parts achieve the completion of what is ultimately the natural state of mind: the unification of two individual life’s into a higher state of life.
No longer an individual. Just a little slave robot with no personality. I’ve always been irked by all this higher state species of chatter. It just means the writer’s penis gets hard when he thinks of all this. And erections – like being drunk or stoned – often make men feel they are having or picturing experiences special profundity.
I don’t think the Master who wrote this is a bad person. A bit silly. And perhaps hoping for a relationship where any reason for insecurity, possibility of failure has been eliminated.
Not that I don’t understand the appeal – on both sides. But only fools forget that interpersonal entanglements are complicated, subject to capricious acts of god, health and so many other things.
Originally posted 2013-12-09 11:09:42.
I am always looking for Femdom and BDSM artwork from my image sites.