About B.J., Personal Submission

The Silence Screams

It’s nights like tonight that make me wish I could control all of the variables in the world.

I can’t.

The silence of my house is screaming empty and lonely lies at me.

I would drive myself to distraction if only I hadn’t run out of gas.

Silence is golden until your alone then then silence is a raging river of insecurity and desperation.

Questions wash over me daring to turn my soul around in agonizing torment.

Disgust forms at the forefront of my mind as I allow the silence to take hold, unable or unwilling to fight.

The only thing to break the silence is cast a million miles away, out of reach and out of touch.

His soothing voice to calm my wretched soul is disconnected by continents.

The world stands between us as the silence beckons me to believe the lies.

Lonesome and alone are not the same thing, but try to tell that to the violent voices inside my empty home.

A ricochet of past lives nicks tender flesh and opens old wounds fresh again.

The silence deafens even the bravest who bare it, unforgiving and unrelenting.

I’ll turn up the volume and drown in the torrent of isolation. It can’t hurt me if I invite it in.

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About B.J., Fantasy

A Fantasy for Master

The small room expanded with possibilities as Kitten posed on the bed. This was one of the best parts of playing with Master. The anticipation.

Alone in the room she displayed herself in the way that pleased him most. Propped on the lush ebony blanket like a doll to be played with.

Her supple ass high in the air with her legs spread, displaying all that was his. She lowered her chest to the mattress so her back arched. She knew this highlighted the small of her back and used it to accentuate her curves.

The problem was always what to do with her arms. She could never decide where they should go, and could never remember if she had been told. Should they splay out in front of her, ready for binding? Or rest in the small of her back?

She chose to display her arms out in front, and rested her cheek on the soft blanket.

The hardest part about this waiting was not fidgeting. Staying in this perfectly poised position waiting for the moment the door opened was the key to this task. Keeping her mind in this moment, instead of the fantasy of what is to come, that was the true challenge.

Her body would perfectly comply with Master’s instruction. Pale and naked flesh contrasted by the black of the blanket. Her mind was the one that constantly fought the temptation to be her own.

When Master told her to go get ready for bed, he never meant sleeping. It always meant anticipation.

Sometime’s he would make her wait for what felt like hours, though it never was. Other times she had only a few moments to get situated before she heard the familiar click of the door opening.

Tonight the waiting game was a short one. When the door clicked open Kitten resisted every temptation to turn her head and look at her Master. This wasn’t what she was supposed to do. Though his eyes captivated her soul, he wasn’t interested in eye contact at the moment.

His footsteps were light against the wood floor meaning he wasn’t wearing any shoes. His body moved around the room, after the door was locked.

Butterflies filled Kitten’s stomach as she heard his treasure chest open. The trunk that sat at the edge of the room appeared to be just a regular foot locker. Inside though, were all of Master’s toys.

She bit her lip as he rifled through the trunk. Eyes fixed on the wall at the head of the bed. She was desperate to look at what he was bringing out to play with.

Kitten didn’t look.

Master let out a small chuckle. He always seemed to know what was going on inside her head. The inner war between curiosity and obedience.

“You look amazing like that.” His smooth voice filled the electric silence giving her chills.

“Thank you, Master.” A broad smile swept its way across her lips and lightened the knots building in her stomach.

“Mmhmm.” Master mumbled absent-mindedly as he searched through the trunk of toys.

Kitten was beginning to suspect he wasn’t actually looking for anything. It had been days since he came into the room. Was he just watching her wait? Testing the resolve of his pet in his favorite position.

She listened intently as he made his way from the treasure chest to the bed. She tried to stay as still as possible. To lean into her pose, but she faltered when he grabbed her wrist.

He wrapped the rope gently around her right wrist. Tightening it he began to bind her wrists together. Kitten inhaled sharply as the rope encased her wrists, preventing them from coming apart.

As the fear that accompanied the ropes started to take over Kitten slowed her breathing. When Master was done with her wrists she played with the tension. Pulling her wrists apart and enjoying their kiss.

“I’ve got something new for you tonight. Lift your head.”

Kitten complied, she took the opportunity to admire the beautiful craftsmanship that her Master always put into the binding. She couldn’t hide the smile that swept across her face. The red of the soft ropes faded from view when the blindfold was pulled down.

She could feel the weight of the bed shift as he climbed onto it. He straddled her body and leaned down. Shivers rolled down her body as his hot breath hit her exposed ear.

“Are you ready for something new?”

“Yes, Master.”

Without another word, he deftly got off of her. The bed shifted and he began to pull on her wrists. Her body followed her hands as they rose higher. Kitten felt a pause in the tugging and then his warm hands on her bare midriff.

Wordlessly he lifted her from the bed and set her feet on the cool floor. Chills ran up her body as her body tried to compensate for the cold on the bottoms of her feet. Her nipples responded to the cold as well, making her tits form perfect round bullseyes.

She felt the tugging on her wrists again and it forced her to the balls of her feet. When it felt like she could stretch no more the gentile pulling stopped.

Suddenly there was the familiar cold leather of her cuffs on her ankles. She felt the pull from her master to spread her legs as wide as she could. When he stopped pulling, Kitten had to rely heavily on the rope around her wrists to keep balance.

Her legs were locked in place and she could only imagine how she looked. Naked body stretched to its limit in the cool, dark night.

Her legs trembled and she swayed in place. Though there was no intention behind the movement Kitten quickly regretted it. A loud snap was followed by a familiar sting of Master’s riding crop on her ass. She groaned, half with pleasure and half disappointment in herself for moving.

“Stay still.”

Simple words but difficult instructions. She teetered in the balance between a swift correction and compliance.

There was another crack on her ass as the crop bit into her skin. Her body responded by moistening her lips between her thighs.

“Am I talking to myself?”

“No, Master.”

“Stay Still.”

“Yes, Master.”

Kitten concentrated on the balls of her feet, willing herself to still. Then she heard a familiar buzz of Master’s Hitachi and she knew she was about to be undone.

Master attached the vibrating wand to her leg with bondage tape. Positioning the generous head up against her clit. She couldn’t help but whimper.

“You know the rules Kitten. Don’t cum.”

The vibration on her clit forced her body to respond. Kitten only had enough control for one task. She couldn’t hold herself upright as the pressure on her slick cunt began to build. Her knees started to buckle under the impending orgasm.

Another slap with the riding crop temporarily set her upright. Unfortunately the pleasure of the impact didn’t help with her self-control. Master could sense it, he always knew when she was going to cum.

“Don’t do it Kitten.” He taunted as he pinched her taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Squeezing until his toy squealed and tried to get away.

Through gritted teeth she begged for release “Please…”

This only prompted another squeeze to her tender nipple. Her body instinctively leaned into the pain she craved.

“Master!” Kitten cried out as the waves of pleasure called to her. Threatening to take over her trembling pussy with crushing ecstasy.

“What’s that Kitten?”

Her Master toyed with her. He loved nothing more than to hear her beg. The torture of the constant vibration on her clit apparent on her flushed body, beads of sweat forming on her skin. Still, her body begging for release is not the same as her words.

“I can’t… Please, I don’t want to…” She bit her lip and let all of her weight rest on her wrists. Fighting against the inevitable, Kitten was determined not to cum without permission.

He watched her struggle in her binds, legs trying against the cuffs to move. Anything to get the vibration off her swollen flower. The tip of the wand slick with her excitement as it stayed perfectly in place, despite her body’s protest.

With a single word he liberated her body.

“Cum.” He growled in her ear.

Kitten’s whole body shuddered as she obeyed. Rolling tides of bliss shattered her body as she gave into her climax. Kitten rode the waves into deep and unyielding bliss.

The next thing she knew she opened her eyes on the bed. Arms undone, body quivering in his arms.

“Welcome back.” Master whispered in her ear.

“Was I gone long?”

About B.J., Long Distance BDSM, Personal Submission

Bedroom

My bedroom is a lonely island that serves as a reminder of His absence.

I hate going to bed.

These are tired days for me. The thought of going to bed makes me angsty. The isolation I feel when I lie in our bed alone is immense.

I can mostly ignore the fact that he isn’t here during the day. Withholding the fact that I count down the days till he comes home, it’s easy to pretend he isn’t gone. I spent most of my daytime hours alone in our home.

The chores flew by as I knew coming home to a clean home and nourishing dinner would make him happy. I didn’t particularly care what we ate, or when the last time I swept was. The fact that these acts weren’t about me, they were for him, made them worth doing.

Now the moments in the day creep to a halt. The chores seem mundane and never ending. And for the love of god will someone just deliver me supper. I don’t care. I am drowning in an apathetic sea of isolation.


Our place has always been the bedroom. When we were still in our adolescent lust, we would spend hours in bed talking and touching. As we matured, so did the discussions and touching grew into intense pleasure.

Now our bedroom is as barren as the Sahara. With only the most resilient creatures daring to pass through its realm.

This is how I feel each night. That I must endure the night. I must pass through this place to reach the morning. Not that mornings bring relief.

Could I sleep somewhere else?

I don’t know.

I’ve tried sleeping on the couch. It worked for a time, then stopped. Sleep is done on beds, I’m conventional that way.

I feel like I am stuck in Groundhog Day. Each night repeating the same scenario of dreading the lonesome agony. Each morning waking up sore, tired, and alone.


The mornings are just as empty as the nights. I have more distraction now that there are places to go and children to see off to school. But the hollowness doesn’t go by unnoticed.

These two times are the only times I truly got to be with my Master as his submissive. During the evenings as the house slumbers and in the pale hours that sit somewhere between night and day.

Now, there is nothing but empty space and endless time.

Mornings were full of excitement when he was home. I would wake up to his naked and eager body. Still asleep, yet always eager. My body aching to show him how much I wanted him. The reminder of our previous night still between my thighs.

I took pride in waking up before him to make sure that his day was ready. Coffee made, lunch prepared, pussy wet. These are the things you need to have a great day.

I would wake him up with anticipation as I never knew if my need would be satiated. Some mornings he would let me serve him with my mouth, before getting out of bed to face the day. Other times I was graced with the pleasure of his cock in my wanting cunt.

The morning just doesn’t feel the same when my first few moments aren’t spent focused on my Master. Cleaning his cock with my mouth just before he gets up is pure bliss.

When he is home, I stay in this euphoric state. Constantly jumping from endorphin high to endorphin high, orgasm to orgasm. It is easy to see why the space seems void of life and foreboding when he isn’t in it.


I have tried to fill my time with mastering my own pleasure. I have discovered that  I am nothing if not boring.

Personal play time isn’t a creative process for me. I just rather skip the show and get straight to the finale. I am greedy. Even in personal pursuits. I can’t delay gratification even if it means greater satisfaction.

It borders on pathetic. It defines predictability.

I don’t know, maybe I just needed to say it out loud. To get everything out on paper and read my own loathing. It is supposed to help. I am not sure that it does.

The bedroom is still empty.

 

I should be sleeping.

 

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Counting down

This separattion from my Master has been a trial for me. I experienced the most extreme sub drop during the first few months that seemed to be never ending. It was accompanied by a flare up of a chronic illness I battle. 

I really thought, in the beginning, I wouldn’t make it through. I was sad and desperate, as evident by the posts written during the first few months of this forced intercontinental separation. 

Then we were getting good, I had rules, and we we’re playing a bit. Then… I had family come and visit, which killed all ability for happy fun time. It killed a lot of things for me. Having people in your home for 8 weeks is too long. Even people you love. It’s too much.

I stopped blogging. I stopped sending photos to my Master. I hid within myself trying to find some solitude when surrounded by those that love me. Those that make me crazy. Those that simply don’t get it.

But… 

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. We are 110 days away. By the time January closes, it will be less than 90 days. These numbers have given me hope and anticipation and excitement that I have not felt in a long time. 

I am far too excited. It is still so far away, but it is close. I can feel the fresh air and see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

I need him.

I need him in ways that are frightening to say alloud. 

He is the soothing sirens song in a torrential ocean trying to kill me. 

He is my Master is every way. He knows how to use me, to send me soaring into oblivion, to calm me, to love me. 

There is less and less time between us every day. I can not wait to see him and kneel at his feet. 

My Master, come home to me. 

About B.J., Personal Submission

A Note on Trust

I’ve been wanting to ellaborate on the concept of trust. It is a strange game we play when we trust people. We give them our hearts and souls and hope that they don’t destroy them. 

For a long time, in my marriage before D/s, I didn’t know what trust was. Even though I had no concept of trust and being vulnerable, I thought I did. One of the biggest symptoms of this lack of trust was not taking my husband’s advice. 

Time and time again I would consult him on what to do with a mundane situation and he would give me advice. I wouldn’t do it for whatever reason unless it was validated by someone else. I would go home and tell him how so-and-so gave me the best advice, completely oblivious to the fact that he had given me the same advice previously. 

He would tell me “You don’t trust me.” And the words hurt, because I did trust him. As far as I knew. I trusted him implicitly. 

It wasn’t until recently, when reflecting on the new found trust I have for my Master and Husband that I realized I didn’t have a fucking clue what trust really meant. 

Now I understand how deep the concept goes. What trust means when you give someone your emotions and know that they will keep them safe. 

Previously, I never spoke about anything real, because there was no trust. I also never acknowledged that I had emotions. I refer to this as my frosty bitch phase. It wasn’t until I unlocked these silly things called feelings that I could really explore what trust is. 

If you have nothing of value then there isn’t any reason for trust. Emotions are the most valuable thing we have. They rule our lives. Turning off the frosty bitch and tapping into these emotions has enabled me to bring something of value to the table. Now I have something to give him, something to trust him with. 

There were lots of baby steps. A lot of the trust was built during play. Because I had given myself over to him and allowed him to push my body to the limit I had to bring trust to the table. 

He never let me down. 

He coveted my well-being more than I did on several occasions. There is nothing in the world like being untied after hours of sensation play and whisked off to cuddles and kisses and making love. Coming back to reality to see his eyes full of satisfaction and love let me know that the trust I had given him he had also placed in me. 

Now that he is gone for months and months, trusting him with my fragile and almost juvenile emotions has been work. 

I am not used to being sappy or sentimental. I am not used to the longing in my heart that grows in his absence. I am not used to talking about these things. But I am. 

The funniest thing has happened. I discovered that each time I trust him to keep my fragile emotions safe from harm; I end up being able to give him more things to hold. 

I wish I had been able to work through the junkyard that is my brain a long time ago. All of the amazing openness in our relationship now, makes me mourn for the years I spent thinking that I had this amazing open and trusting bond, when I really trusted no one. I didn’t even trust myself to handle my fragile emotions. I had cut them off. 

It makes me sad that I was in such a space where I didn’t truly understand what trust meant. I can never go back. But I can promise to keep giving him all of the fragile and delicate things. After all He keeps them so well. 

About B.J., BDSM Basics, Personal Submission

Being Submissive

I don’t know how this works for me the way it does. The whole submission element. It just fits a piece of my soul like a missing part of a hug saw. 

Having my Husband become my Master has been an adventure, to say the least. At first it was a solution to a problem. A space that had grown so large between the two of us that it seemed infinite. 

We were two ducks in separate ponds. Desperate to touch one another, yet daunted by that empty abyss that had grown to separate us. Both of us too insecure and baffled by our own ego to accept the truth of the situation. 

We both wanted the same thing. 

Eachother.

To want someone you’re married too but feel impotent to reach out and touch them is paralysis. I remember laying in bed next to a man I loved, screaming in my head for him to touch me. 

It was hell.

Rejection Eventually Haults Desire

We had reached a point in our life where years of rejection left my husband without the desire to even try. It wasn’t his fault. I couldn’t blame him. My mental illness had run loose in our marriage. Me too proud to admit it was even there. 

But I had changed, I had started medication and was actually a human again. Not only was I human but I was sexually alive. I wanted him more than I ever knew possible. And yet, there we were, years of habit ingrained into the space in bed between us. 

I Thought He Was Joking

When he proposed to me, this lifestyle, I thought he was joking, or trying to make fun of me somehow (yes the insecurity was that high). He wrote me the most beautifully worded letter and I accused him of taking it off the internet. 

There was no way he could really feel that deeply for me? Could he?

I accepted his offer, to become his submissive. Sexual desire was fulfilled to the point of elation. But something else changed.

As we played, or scened, or fucked, I put more and more trust in him. The trust started to bleed through into other portions of our life.

In the past when I was feeling insecure, I would hide it. I would withdraw and try to shut the noise out. But there was this trust, that wouldn’t go away. Now I trusted him with something far more fragile than my body. My emotions. 

This was the true submission. For me, my body is a fleeting element of my person. But my thoughts and emotional well-being are to be guarded above all else.  Now he was that guard. My Master. 

There isn’t a flippant thought that goes through my head now that I don’t express. When I chose to submit to my Husband and make him my Master it altered the very nature of our relationship. It changed me inside in ways that I never could have expected or understood. 

This is the real gift of submission. The trust that filters through the fabric of our relationship. The ability to break old habits and form healthy connections. The gifts that no one can tell you about until you experience them for yourself. 

About B.J., Long Distance BDSM, Personal Submission

Please Master…

There is something about the way He makes me beg to cum that makes the orgasms intense. Like Pompaii intense.

I have promised not to touch my kitty until he tells me to. Since that promise we have been able to have video chat twice. And both times he sent me to the very edges of sub space.

It must be that I am doing only as directed. Positioned so that he can see the best parts of me. Doing myself exactly how he demands. 

My body responds to His voice with wetness and wanting.  Glorious orgasms are also in store, but only if I beg for them. 

The first time He told me He wanted me to beg I was confused. I didn’t know what to say. There is an art to begging. The way I plead for my pleasure through His has become one of my favorite things. But I had to look up how to beg. I didn’t understand how it went beyond “please may I  cum, Master?”

Now if He tells me to ask, I will reply with a simple please. But when He tells me to beg, my mouth gets dirty and I become His whore. The things that come out of my mouth would make the devil blush.

I have to let Him know how much I want His pussy to throb around His dick. But since we are temporarily displaced, all of my begging is kind of…off. I’ve lost my whorish tongue. 

I can’t ask to cum on His cock, because it is a pink vibrator and not Him. I have reverted back to the “Please?” It makes me feel pathetic that this essential part of our dynamic I have, seemingly, forgotten how to do.

I am going over ways to beg for an orgasm that are focused on Him that don’t involve me talking about dripping down his cock or about how it will feel when he finally let’s me cum and my pussy clamps down on his cock in violent shuddering extacy. It’s hard. So for now I am stuck with “Please.”