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Cyber sub
Domme Morrigan

In today’s age of technology so many aspects of our lives are dealt with in cyber space.  I do all of my banking online.  I pay my bills online.  I even have a relationship online.

It didn’t start that way.  It started as a bit of fun between myself and an adorable little sissy boy that I met at a local club.  We used to meet every other week and have a play date.  He really could take just about anything I dealt out.  But life is about change and he moved away for a better work opportunity.  I actually missed him.  He missed out times together as well because barely a month after he moved away he was knocking on the door of my computer and begging me to do something I hadn’t considered before, continue our relationship online.  I told him I would think about it, and then I made him wait for my answer.  I had to show him who was in charge, didn’t I?  Plus I always do my research before I try something new.

I like to call him my little boy, even though he’s almost the same age as I am.  It gets him excited.  I know this because our dates are conducted by webcam.  I make him show me exactly how much he enjoys all of the delicious things I make him do for my pleasure, and as odd as it sounds, I do take a great deal of pleasure in our interactions.

I think my favorite was when I had him flog himself.  I got that idea from a movie I watched.  It’s called self-flagellation and…well, let’s just say that my little boy wasn’t the only one who got excited.

For this particular session I had him strip completely naked.  Sometimes I have him wear a harness or a cute little frilly outfit I’ve sent him.  But not for this, for this I wanted to see nothing but his pale bare flesh.  He set up his camera and he started out facing me.  I counted, and with each number he swung the flogger up and over his shoulder so that the falls curled and flicked along his back.  I loved the expressions on his face as he began.  He hissed and his eyes closed and then he let out a sigh.  After a while though, the sighs became tiny little whimpers.  That’s when I had him turn around.

The red marks that had begun to form on his back were things of beauty.  They crisscrossed over his shoulders and half way down his back, but I wanted there to be more.  I had him start to swing the flogger around his sides, first one and then switching hands to do the other.  This time I could see as the falls hit his skin and watch as they left a white stripe that soon turned red.

I kept him going until he began to rise up on his tip-toes with each strike and his tiny whimpers became louder cries of pain…or were they from pleasure.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell with my little boy.  When I stopped him he stood panting, his breath coming in hitches, but he didn’t turn until I had my fill of looking at the work of art he had created just for me.

His excitement was obvious when he finally was allowed to face the camera.  On some nights I rewarded him by watching as he relieved his need, but not that night.  That night I just wanted to turn off the camera and savor the memory of red welts on his pale skin. ( Meet Locals into Alternative Fetish Life and Hookup )

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Massage by an Attentive sub
Domme Morrigan

She led me away from the public area and to a room with a low padded table, soft lighting and a wonderful scent I couldn’t quite place.  Sometimes my life, both public and private, can really cause me some stress.  Contrary to what many believe most dominants don’t take their stresses out on some poor but willing subbie.  In fact, it’s not a good idea at all.  When you’re responsible for someone else’s well being you need to be calm and fairly stress free.  So at a recent kink event I really wasn’t in the mood to play.  I’d had a long, hard week.

I found myself n the company of a quiet, older submissive who I had often seen at these gatherings but hadn’t made the effort to get to know.  I’m not sure why, but for some reason she seemed quite content to sit near me and be of service.  She brought me a cold drink and she placed a stool beneath my feet.  My interaction with most of my submissive playmates is usually fairly intense and active.  It was nice to have someone simply be there.  We didn’t even speak much, we just sat and watched others play.

After a while, with downcast eyes and a soft voice, she asked if I would permit her to try and ease the tenseness she could see in my body.  I didn’t answer right away and she sat silent and still while I considered her offer.  I knew she was unattached and that I wouldn’t be stepping on another dominant’s toes by accepting.  While relaxation was not my normal goal at these group meetings that night nothing sounded better.

The room was warm and when she asked permission to remove my clothing I simply gave a nod.  Her hands were quick and she neatly laid my clothes on a nearby chair, careful that nothing touched the floor or lay so that it would crease and wrinkle.  I climbed onto the table and lay face down, closing my eyes and taking several deep breaths.

Warm hands covered in scented oil moved slowly over my back, letting me become accustomed to her touch.  After a few blissful moments of simple touch her hands began to press into my muscles more and more firmly.  I couldn’t help but release a moan, partly from relief and partly from pain.  I hadn’t realized just how tense and knotted my muscles had become.

I’m not sure how long this massage continued, I only know that there was no part of my body left untouched.  From the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet she worked her magic until I had become little more than a puddle of limp happy flesh.

There may be some who would see this as a wasted evening.  Where were the whips and chains and the cries of submissives in pain?  But in my world it isn’t always about that.  Sometimes there is satisfaction to be found without all of the trappings of pain and pleasure.  My new friend had a need that night to serve, and she fulfilled a need I hadn’t realized I had; the need to be cared for. ( Meet Locals into Alternative Fetish Life and Hookup )

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Being Knotty – The Art of Tying Knots
Domme Morrigan

When I first began my journey along this alternative life path a wise Dom once told me not to do something to someone that I wouldn’t be willing to have done to me.  At first I thought he must be trying to trick me into something.  I knew that I didn’t have a submissive bone in my body, why would I want to give up my control for any reason?

The more I thought about it, though, the more it made sense.  How can I know just how to wield a flogger on someone if I don’t know how a flogger feels on my own skin?  For that matter, what better way to learn something new than to have it demonstrated on myself first?

Since then I’ve been on the receiving end of many things, but one in particular will always stick with me as the one thing that could bring out that tiny little bit of submissiveness I didn’t know I had in me.

I’d never gotten fancy when binding one of my playmates.  I either used a set of leather shackles or handcuffs.  I didn’t really know my way around a hank of rope, and I wasn’t too proud to admit it.  So when I was invited to a demonstration of rope bondage techniques I was eager to go.  I like learning new things.

The demonstration was given by a couple who didn’t just teach technique, they made their own ropes from various materials.  Using his wife as a model, he showed several different styles of binding and tying and wrapping and with each one I felt drawn to know more.  When the demonstrations were over they asked for volunteers for a full body bondage session.  I don’t think anyone was more surprised to see my hand shoot up in the air than I was myself. Before I knew it I was stripped down to my panties in front of people who had always seen me in nothing less than a dominant role and this couple began weaving their magic on my body.

The rope they used was soft, yet it had a bite to it.  She held my arms behind my back while he wound the rope around and between, pulling it taut but not too tight.  As my arms were bound from wrist to elbow behind my back my shoulders were naturally drawn back and my breasts thrust out high.  Here was where their hands led the ropes next.  Round one and then the other, up around my neck and down again.

Somewhere along the way I stopped paying attention to how and where they tied their knots.  My body began to grow warm and the less I was able to move the more oddly free I felt.  When they had me bound in an intricate design like a fine piece of macramé artwork, they laid me down on the floor and covered my eyes with a blindfold.

I heard movement, felt the closeness of others as they leaned over me to see how the knots sank into my flesh.  They touched the knots, touched my skin and ran their fingertips over the rope; and even though none of their touches were sexual I found myself becoming aroused.  They talked as if I wasn’t even there, I wasn’t real, I was simply a piece of artwork to be admired.  Somehow, in not having anything expected of me other than to lie still and display the riggers work I had found out something freeing about myself.

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The Pretty Little Princess
Domme Morrigan

Once upon a time…I was playing with this pretty little princess.

She belonged to a good friend who kept her on a tight leash.  For some reason though, she had recently started getting a little out of hand, with him and with other submissives in our circle.  It wasn’t the first time she had pushed to see just what she could get away with.  Sometimes she seemed to enjoy the treatment her bratty attitude earned her.  Her Master gave her just enough rope to really tie herself up in some nasty knots and then he decided to put her back in her place.  As part of her punishment he had asked me to remind her of her position, a position she had chosen.

When she arrived at my house wearing frills and lace she looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.  She was dainty and very, very prissy.  She was pristine.  My first instruction, as I led her into my back yard, was to get her down on the ground. I wanted to make her crawl and get those pretty little knees and hands dirty.  On this night, however, she looked me straight in the eyes and said no.

Now please understand, in my world no is not a safe word.  It is an answer to a question, not the response a submissive gives when ordered to do something.  It’s always best to make sure though.  I knew her safe word and I asked her if she was invoking it and calling the whole session off.  It made no difference to me one way or another.  I was doing a favor for a friend.  If she couldn’t go through with it then she would be sent back home to her Master and the two of them would hash it out between themselves.

This little princess stood in my freshly watered yard, with her chin held high and stared at me defiantly…for all of thirty seconds.  Then her bottom lip trembled, she bowed her head and lowered her gaze to the ground.  I almost didn’t catch it when she repeated the word no.  So I asked her again if she wanted to use her safe word and stop.  I am sure she was crying when she said no just a bit louder and after a slight hesitation added my title.  It was good to get that cleared up.  I gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead and stroked her carefully styled hair…and then I pushed her down onto the muddy ground.

I made her crawl randomly around the yard, occasionally using my foot to send her sprawling across the grass and mud.  By the time I was ready to take her inside she was a wet, dirty, bedraggled mess.  She looked nothing like the pampered princess that had arrived on my doorstep before.  I left her lying in the mud with instructions to count to 200 and then get completely undressed before coming in through the back door of my garage.

When she crawled through the door a couple of minutes later she froze.  Gathered in my garage were a small group of people.  People she knew.  Her Master had invited a few other submissives to witness, submissives that his princess had started looking down on and speaking cruelly to.  Several buckets of water were lined up along one wall and each of the submissives had been given a large plastic cup to fill from them.  As they repeated the nasty things that had been said to them by the little mud puppy huddled on my garage floor they doused her with cold water.

Over and over they threw cold water on her until her humiliation reduced her to a shivering and sobbing creature who begged softly for their forgiveness. ( Meet Locals into Alternative Fetish Life and Hookup )

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Toy Shopping for the Dungeon
FemDom Mistress Morrigan

I woke the other morning with a serious need; I needed a new toy for the dungeon.  Not just any toy either.  To satisfy my needs I had to contact “The Toy Master.”  In my social circle there are many who have some talent at making toys for their own use, but then there are some who were born with a gift.  The Toy Master is such a one.  His sex toys are so in demand that you have to call ahead and make an appointment to view his wares.

I like to pride myself on keeping a tight rein on my emotions, but on the day I was to visit the Toy Master’s shop I was so excited I could barely contain myself.  I pulled into the driveway of a house that looked like any other house on the street and I was greeted by a man who could have been anyone’s grandfather.  We chatted as he led me around the back.  I admired his flourishing vegetable garden and he picked an apple for me from one of several fruit trees.

At the door to a normal looking metal sided work shop he turned to me and something about him changed. A wicked twinkle came into his eyes and he seemed to stand taller and straighter. Here, at last, was the Toy Master. He bowed me gallantly through the door and as it closed behind us I took a deep breath.

There were so many scents; leather, rubber, something sharp that might have been heated metal. My eyes widened as I looked around at the different items on display. Here was anything my dark little heart could dream of. There were floggers and whips, canes and crops, chains and ropes and harnesses.  I really was as happy as a child in a toy store. There was so much to look at I almost forgot that I’d had a specific toy in mind when I came here.

I heard him chuckle as I sighed and turned toward a wall covered in floggers of all sizes, shapes and materials.  I was tempted by one that he told me was made with real horse hair, but I knew that could wait. Today it was leather I wanted, leather that I needed.  The scent of it, the feel of it; it fed something inside me.  I held a few in my hands and trailed the flails through my fingers, none seemed to fit.  With a smile he brought out a box from a cabinet and opened it like it contained a treasure…and it did.

I lifted the flogger from the velvet lining and caressed the red and black leather that were woven around the handle, felt the deceptive softness of the flails.  It fit my hand as if it had been made just for me.  With a few twists of my wrist I caught a rhythm and smiled at the swishing sound it made as it parted the air.  I was so lost in the wonder of it that I didn’t even notice when the Toy Master removed his shirt, or when he walked to the other side of the room and stood before a large X-frame.

When he spoke his voice was soft, but it broke through whatever spell I had fallen under. His question was simple, did I want to try it out? Such a question. There was really only one answer.

Oh the sound of leather on flesh, the way the skin grew hotter and redder with each strike.

When I left that afternoon my need for a new toy had been satisfied and I think I had satisfied a need for the Toy Master as well.

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First date with a male sub (part 3)
FemDom Mistress Morrigan

In the car I am careful not to distract him as he drives, but I can’t help wanting to play a little. I just love the sound my fingernails make when they scratch over denim. I also love how it makes him shiver. It may not seem like it, but it’s all part of teaching him. I have told him to keep his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road…and not to make a sound. There’s something I like more than my nails on denim; my nails on skin.

At first I just drag them lightly, a slow sweeping stroke from left pec to right abdomen. Let him take a breath and do it again, each time with just a little more pressure. I can feel his muscles clench under my hand and I know that the harder I scratch the more he likes it. By the time we reach our destination his breath is coming in short, sharp gasps and there are raised red welts across his chest. I can feel the need pulsing through him and I revel in knowing there will be no relief for him tonight. Not unless I say.

He parks the car and runs around to open my door for me like a well mannered gentleman. As I step out I reach up to slip a plain leather collar around his neck and attach a leash of metal links to it. This isn’t anything special, it’s just a play collar. It just shows that for tonight he’s mine. It lets anyone else whose eye he might catch know that if they want to play with him, they have to go through me. But not tonight. Tonight I don’t plan on sharing.

There are already several people at tonight’s party; friends and acquaintances and even a couple of former playthings. They watch my new toy with eager eyes, taking note of the red marks on his flesh. It was at a party like this that we first met and he asked for an introduction. He knew he needed someone to take him to the next level, to help him move from just this side of vanilla to having some real experience. There’s only so far you can go on your own.

I tug hard on his chain and he comes to heel at my side, first kneeling and then leaning forward onto all fours. These heels I’m wearing make my feet tired; I need a comfy place to sit. His back does the trick nicely. I sit and chat with a couple of my friends, and all the while he is still as the chair he serves as. He really is a good boy. I stroke the back of his head to show him I’m pleased with him.

There are always interesting things to watch at a party like this. Sometimes it’s just people playing, other times it’s a demonstration of technique or a certain implement of pain and pleasure. Tonight we haven’t come to play. Tonight is simply an outing to see how he behaves in public, how well he takes my direction. So far he’s done very well, so well in fact that I think I will reward him.

Not like that, you naughty people, it takes a lot more than one well behaved evening to deserve a night in my bed. He may never reach that level, but he has earned his own release, and he’ll have to achieve it with his jeans still fastened. I smile to myself as I think of him driving to his own home later wearing the evidence of his first lesson in giving up control.

Next time, and there will be a next time, we’ll see how he performs with others watching. ( Meet Locals into Alternative Fetish Life and Hookup )

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