Steellover

In response to a thread on the forums, I've decided to share one of many "Weird" experiences I have had in my life. There is no BDSM or kink involved in this though, so I didn't think it was relevant.

About 20 or 25 years ago, when I was in my mid-20's partying era, I lived in this one bedroom apartment. It was a cozy space, with lots of storage: Big closets and so on.  It was located on the lower level of a split level house and was a separate suite. It had two rooms (or 4 counting the main closet and bathroom.): The kitchen/living room, the bedroom, a short adjoining hallway and the bathroom off the bedroom.

While I never encountered anything terrifying or outright "Evil" there, nonetheless, if someone had implied that the place was haunted, I would not necessarily disagree with them.  Most of the "Weird" stuff was subtle.  Occasionally I would hear an unexplainable noise.  A disembodied laugh, which I dismissed as someone from upstairs (though it would happen when the landlord upstairs wasn't actually home.)  Strange moans and an occasional screech.  I dunno, maybe a fox or coyote?  Though the moan was rather eerie.  There would occasinally be unexplained odors. Not unpleasant, but just out of place- cigar smoke (I don't smoke them) or perfume (Don't wear it.)  And things, shadows moving out of the corner of my eye. You'd think you see something, but turn around and nothing would be there.

Okay, none of that is really all that alarming.  However, at least one occasion, the bedroom light turned on and off by itself. That was a little weird.  And lying in bed one night, I felt someone brush my hand as it lay outside the covers.  THAT one gave me the willies.  Sure enough, there wasn't anyone else in the room, and it obviously wasn't a physical assault so, whatever it was it wasn't threatening, but still.

So, one night, I woke up to pee.  It was dark in the apartment, but I still had a clear view of the adjoining hallway and the living room.

There was a person in the living room!

THIS got my adrenaline pumping.  I couldn't see what they were wearing, but I could distinctly see a dark silhouette. As soon as he saw me, he quickly ducked down behind the couch, and I could distinctly see him move; like an intruder who was about to be caught but didn't wish to be seen.

"HEY! Hey YOU!  Tough guy! Come here!" I yelled, and reached over to turn on the light.

My heart was pounding, getting ready for what would likely be a physical confrontation with a burglar, who would almost certainly be tweaked out on drugs. At this time, thoughts like "Shadow Figure," "Ghost" or "Paranormal" were farthest from my mind.  There was a person in my apartment, and I had to deal with this- right here and now- because there was certainly not enough time for the cops to get here.

Except, there wasn't anyone there.

As soon as I turned the light on, I raced over to confront the intruder, but there was no intruder.  I glanced around the room; where the @#$^ did he go?  I looked under the couch.  I opened the door to the closet. Nobody there!  I then checked the front door and the windows; all of them locked from the inside. No sign of entry or tampering.  I even went back into the bedroom and searched under the bed, and in the bathroom, and the closets in the bedroom.  Was this some kind of freaky super-ninja?  What the heck was going on? 

Finally, with nothing else to do, I was resigned to the fact that, a) nobody had broken into the apartment after all, b) weird things occasionally happened in this apartment and this was probably one of them,  and c) there was nothing else to do but go back to sleep.  I mean, despite the creepiness of it all, I was tired, I had to work the next day, and whatever it was probably wasn't going to harm me (or he would already have done so.)  So I quickly chalked it up to "I'm gonna pretend that didn't just happen" and fell back asleep.

About eight months later I moved out of that apartment and into my first house.  Nothing odd happened in the new house despite it being a much older structure.  Except for one weird instance, a couple months after I had moved in, where there was this disembodied knocking at the back door- and when I looked out the door (which had a window) there was nobody standing there.  I did not open the door.

Anyway, I hadn't posted in a while, and in any case I feel kind of embarassed about the cringe erotic post from last time and I kinda wanted to share this, because, you know, Halloween and all.  I am not one of these ghost hunting paranormal thrill seekers by any means, in fact I prefer to AVOID that stuff.  But whatever was in that apartment, while very strange, most likely was not something evil or malevolent. I don't have enough knowledge of the spirit world to really know what it was.  So... that's all I got.

Vicariously I live, through Mistress's lover's eyes.

They stand, but I kneel, cuffed and naked before them both. 

I can see and smell the sweat of her hot, scantily clad body. And the riper smell of his.  His cock at full attention needs service, she says.

She orders me to fluff him.  I imagine my lips on his cock to be Her lips on mine.

"Enough for now," she says. 

They lay in bed together. 

I kneel at the foot of the bed as The Gods Make Love.

I live through him, longing to be in his place as he satisfies Her in ways I cannot.

I listen to her ecstatic cries of sexual release in sweet torment, living vicariously through Him.

It pleasures me to see Her sexually satisfied.  Her satisfaction, is my satisfaction as well.

And, I know well, a satisfied Mistress is a happy one.  

Cruelly, she orders me to finish him off.  I relish the taste of Her juices on his throbbing cock.

She orders me to take it deeper in. As deep as I can, down my throat as much as it will fit.  But in my mind, it is my cock, not his, in her mouth, not mine. Though of course his is so much larger and more magnificent.  The penis of a god, fit for a golden Goddess.  One such as Her.

His groans and gasps as he climaxes are like mine will be, when I am allowed to have mine, at last, one day, hopefully soon.

I taste his load as it fills my mouth and dutifully swallow it, relishing the sour taste.  She smiles and laughs. Oh how I love that smile, that laugh.

Cruelly, she makes me clean them both, with my tongue, and she mocks me as I do so.  But oh, how I relish the taste of Her hot and violated body, even as I gag on the taste of his. 

Because in my mind, I am living vicariously through him.

Then, somehow I cannot hide these thoughts from Her.  Mistress knows me too well, and even caged, I cannot hide my arousal.

Cuffed, standing naked and bent over at the wall, She administers punishment in front of us both.  Let me never again forget my place, she barks.  Her submissive.  Her companion, friend, soulmate, but never her lover.

That is His job.

I eagerly thank them both.  Him, for satisfying Her most primal of needs. And Her most of all, for allowing me the sweet and tormenting privilege of being in Her presence for it.

One day, I pray to be let out of this cage, and earn my own release.  And oh, how joyous that will be, when I remember the sounds and sight of Her in Her throes of pleasure, and live again, vicariously through him.

(Note that this is in response to a currently active topic on the forums. I'm actually probably going to regret posting this. I know it's "lock-tober," but as they say, never post when horny...)

This is not intended to be "Wank fodder" or even "can't wank because I'm locked" fodder.

For those of you in cock-lock down; all I can say is, hang in there, and kudos to you and to your relationship, because it is a precious and beautiful thing.

I am not currently in "Cock Lock Down," but if I were, it would have to be for the right partner.  One with whom I am intimately involved with on a deep, romantic basis, who would appreciate, deep down, the surrender I would be giving to her when I hand over the key to that cage.

I've seen many ads from "online mistresses" and such, offering chastity key holder services.  To me, this utterly defeats the whole idea.

One should never be so cheap as to surrender the control of their cock to just any random stranger.  ESPECIALLY one whom you are likely never to even meet face to face, let alone have any kind of emotional connection to.

When you really consider what you are doing when you hand over that key to your significant other, it becomes a powerful and wonderful thing.

When you turn over that key, you are telling your partner that you are exclusively theirs- and theirs alone.  That you belong to them, soul and body, only in a deeper and more literal way than any vanilla couple.

You are telling them that you trust them completely.

You are telling them that you are willing to make personal sacrifices for them.

It is a sign of deep, humbling, and beautiful submission.

It is empowering to your partner, and deeply gratifying to them that you are willing to give them this power.

It is an act of devotion.

Most of all, It is an act of LOVE.  

That is how it should be.  I would agree that it is not for everyone or for every couple.  But I would certainly never wear such a cage and then cheaply surrender the key to just anyone.  They would need to be someone deeply special to me.

If you nonetheless want to experience what it is like to wear a chastity cage and go without masturbation or arousal, then my advice would be to buy one and be your own key-holder for a while. Get used to what works, and what fits, try out different types of cages for comfort. I myself would want one that would work with an active lifestyle, for example.  Then when you find that someone and you are ready to hand over that key, you will already be fully prepared to do so.

So anyway that's all I have. See ya!

So this is a post, literally, about digging in the dirt.

Like, when you are a kid, playing with those yellow Tonka trucks, or, like us, digging on the hillside behind the yard hoping to uncover some kind of buried treasure.  

Only, this time, there is an actual possibility of finding it.

So, we drove for about three hours up into the mountains.  Leaving the highway north of Mountain Home, heading on back into the hills. Eventually the pavement gave way to dirt, and the roads got progressively worse and worse, until the one we were on was little more than a steep, rugged and nasty goat path of a road.  Turned off the wooded ridge, descended down another "Road"  to a pond, then bushwhacked our way around the edge of the pond- set up, and started digging.

Moving tons of dirt and finding nothing but junky rocks.  Cranked tunes, just two bro's up in the mountains digging in the dirt.  Hours went by, and I moved several cubic feet of dirt, and all I found was just ordinary rocks. It was nice being here up in the mountains, out in nature though. I still didn't want to go home empty handed though.  Eventually, it started getting on towards early evening.  It gets chilly up there in the mountains in these late September evenings, and I was figuring (correctly) it would be long after dark by the time we got out of the mountains at this point.  But just a couple more minutes, he said.  Oh...okay... but maybe I'll try over here by this spot. By this partially dug hole someone else left.  

I walked a few yards over, and took a couple pick swings into the dirt. Sifted through the fresh turned soil- much like I had done all afternoon. Then, in the dirt, I saw it.  That tell-tale shape. The frosted, glassy look, with perfectly straight edges.  I wiped it off with my shirt  and there it was- a gorgeous light brown crystal.  

Clothes soiled through and through, tired, having sifted through a ton of dirt, at the end of the day, I finally found my treasure.

Was it worth the work, sifting through the dirt to find?  Yes.  Much more meaningful, perhaps, than those crystals you can buy at the new age boutique shops, anyway.

There is probably a metaphor here, but I'll leave it to you to decipher.

Thanks for reading; that's all I got; see ya!

So I went up to the mountains on Sunday.  Took a 3 hour drive, to the mountains north of Sun Valley but south of Stanley and the Sawtooths.  I just wanted to get out, get after it, now that it's not as baking hot or smoggy as it had been over the past summer.  

It's about 8 and a half to nine miles round trip, and the elevation gain was roughly about 1800 feet, which is not a leisurly stroll through the woods but certainly nothing I hadn't done before.  Still kicked my butt though.  It was almost a masochistic feel- there are two different stretches where the path climbs nearly 600 feet in just over a quarter mile, up a rocky path strewn with loose scree. Your heart pounds out of your chest, you sweat- and by the time you are near the top, you are above 8000 feet, which is the point where I start feeling more lethargic and low-energy than usual. Going back down is just as challenging- you are flexing your knees, calves, and your feet to avoid slipping and tumbling down the trail.

The pain brings rewards of breathtaking scenery- a spectacular mountain lake near the treeline, in a rocky basin surrounded by crags and peaks. There are hundreds of such lakes, and hundreds of hikes you can take to them. Maybe some day I'll reach all of them.  Maybe this is why some people subject themselves to physical punishment- that which does not kill us makes us stronger, and the reward can be breathtaking.

On another note- this isn't an old fashioned fifth grade-style book report, because I'm really only gonna talk about one specific part of it.  The book is called "The Wise Man's Fear" written by Patrick Rothfuss,  and it's the second part of a three part trilogy, the third volume which is scheduled to come out roughly the same time as George R. Martin's "The Winds of Winter."  Which, in other words, means that it may or may not ever come out at all. Had I known that, I might not have started reading an unfinished work.  But anyway- rather than recap the entire plot (in which, basically, a young man travels around the world learning various skills in the hopes of ultimately avenging his family's death) I'll just talk about one specific section.

At one point, the hero travels to a society dedicated to martial arts training, so they can farm themselves out as mercenaries to various other lords and nobles, in return, this provides the backbone of their economy.  But the style of fighting is geared such that it focuses on speed, agility, grace, and self-restraint as opposed to brute strength.   As a result, well-trained female fighters in that society are regarded as even deadlier and more effective in combat than the males. Also, they have a unique perspective on sex and romance- sex is seen as casual intimacy between friends as opposed to long-term monogamy between partners.  Love and sex are two very different things to them.  I could learn to thrive in such a society- sounds almost like my ideal.  And, I love to see some women seriously kick some butt.  Too much "Conan of Melnibone' type shenanigans in fantasy fiction, nothing wrong with that of course; such works are classic for a reason, but it's a refreshing change from an old cliche.  But alas, it is a work of fiction...

Anyway, if you are looking for some reading, well actually, start with the first book which is called "The Name of the Wind."  "Wise Man's Fear" is the second book.  Maybe we'll even get lucky and he'll finish the third book before George Martin finishes his series.  So that's all I got. See ya.

Over the years, I've read many posts, blogs, etc. by male submissives who state that they are worthless, have a "pathetic cock" or whatever, and want nothing more than to submit; or to experience this or that kink, at the hands of a powerful god or goddess.

I can relate.  I know these feelings all too well.  I experience them myself, sometimes intensely. 

Except, we need to remember one thing.

We are NOT "worthless."  

We are more than the sum of our kinks, and a list of desires.  

Each one of us has something, perhaps many things, to offer in a relationship.  Even if you think you don't- you do.  It might take a while to discover what that is, and once you discover it, it might take more time to work on it and develop it, but it's there. 

And once you do, your submission will be far more meaningful to the special dom or domme you give yourself to. Your submission will be truely desired and thus, the chemistry, and yes, the kinks, will be that much more satisfying- mutually.

And finally, just like us submissives are more than the sum of our kinks, more than a list of desires, so, too are the ones we submit to far, far more than just a hollow means of fulfilling them.  We submit to a PERSON, with hopes, dreams, laughs, hobbies, interests, values, favorite books, secret fears, favorite dream vacation destinations, pet peeves, and favorite bands.

Just like us submissive men all have these things too.  If you think you don't- you actually do; you just need to discover these things and cultivate them.

In a way, I'm posting this partly in response to a recent blog on here. I don't remember who it was, and probably wouldn't mention their name even if I did remember, but I felt like I could also relate to them because, like them, the feelings of wanting to submit, to experience the power at the hands of a dream dominant, is indeed very powerful. Believe me, I know this too.  But if all you can share is how worthless and pathetic you are and how badly you want to submit, then that isn't enough.  Maybe be your own dream dominant, whip and spank yourself into shape, and focus on the things that make YOU unique, and truely valuable rather than just pathetic.  

That's all I got for now, see ya.

Boot worship may be kinky, but it need not be cringe.  Because it is:

-Not only worshiping the ground She walks on, but literally worshiping the boots that contact the ground.

-Seeing Her strong, powerful and grounded, and basking in that power.

-A sign of the ultimate submission. I am but a low servant, and She is high above me.

-An admission of inferiority to someone superior and wonderful.

-Worshiping Her strength and beauty towering over me.

-The harsh taste of leather on my lips, with the delicious yearning to taste Her.

-The harsh feel of leather on my buttocks, inflicting punishment for the audacity of yearning to taste Her.

-A noble service.  Clean them, keep them shiny for Her.  

-Deliciously degrading and erotic.

-An expression of love and adoration by one who lovingly gives submission to his queen.

It is all these things and more.

When I am at her feet, the connection we feel is indescribably powerful.  And I have been seeking that feeling ever since.

.

There is a cliche that you "Can't Go Home Again."  Leaving home, go away to college, move two states away, find a job, start a new life. But then, coming home, returning to the old town I grew up in, always felt like re-charging, reconnecting, refreshing. Although with each passing year, the old home town as I remember it fades away more and more, and the new city become less and less recognizable to me.

In my mind, and in my dreams it's still the same.  I imagine bumping into old high school crushes, reconnecting with old high school buddies, and inadvertently crossing paths with bitter high school enemies.  Us old neighborhood kids are still thrashing around, riding our bikes, playing ball in the street, tromping through the hills and open spaces.  We lived in a middle class subdivision up in the hills above town with a lot natural of open spaces to hang out and play in.  Now it's no longer a middle class subdivision, as all the homes are priced at over two million apiece.  Nor are any other parts of this California town middle class- the average home price even in the "Working Class" parts of town is still over a million dollars. 

But in my mind and dreams, its still us middle class kids.  Dad grousing around, my brother in and out doing his thing, neighborhood kids occasionally dropping by, and, when we were older, the same kids hanging out at the mall, the bowling alley, and all of the other places teenager hang out. The old school, and everything else looks the same, and everything is preserved like in a diorama, forever unchanging.

But the world doesn't work that way, of course.  The high school has been rebuilt and remodeled. All of the neighborhood kids are gone; some of their own kids are now probably ready to graduate and go off to college. Same with all the old high school gang- buddies, old crushes and old enmities long since buried and forgotten.  I realize that since I have left, a whole generation of kids has been born, grown up, gone to high school then college, and moved on with their lives, just like me. Kids I never even knew. I cruise the streets, and ride my bike around town, and see nobody I know- they're all gone.  I walk through the neighborhood, and many houses have been rebuilt and remodeled, old 2000 square foot homes replaced by mini-mansions twice the size. Even most of the families, empty-nesting parents of the neighborhood kids I grew up with have moved.  Dad is gone now, passed away, and even my brother rarely drops by Mom's house when I visit there, as he has his own family to take care of.  The trees are grown up, screening away the view of the valley below where we used to run around.  

I just returned from such a vacation.  Came home feeling re-charged and refreshed, and even re-connected.  But reconnected only to a geographical space; the sense of place no longer my own.  You can only go home to a location, but to really, truly go home again, you would have to go backward in time as well.  And unless you have one of those magical blue telephone boxes, you just can't. 

Being recharged and refreshed also means being ready to embrace the present and the now, where things are far more interesting- and exciting. It's good to be home- here, where I live right now, as I finish typing this. Anyway, thanks for reading, see ya.

Okay, guess I better write something....

So, quite a while back, I joined an erotic fiction site.  I may not exactly be the next Shakespeare, but I do like creative writing, and always did.  In particular, I wanted the opportunity to explore some of my, well, darker and edgier erotic fantasies, and saw the opportunity to write about them as a cathartic experience. To live vicariously through the story and perhaps, to share the fantasy with other like-minded readers.

Then, several years ago, when I was still new to the site, I had an idea for a story.  It was entitled "Torment of the Bikini Goddess" and the overall theme was the story of a meeting, courtship and ultimately, the marriage of a femdom-led (dominant female/submissive male) couple.  Of course, the story contained plenty of kink, bondage, dominance and submission.  I won't go too into detail, but some of the scenes, particularly the opening scene where "They met" were, shall we say, pretty explicit. 

I was new to the site at the time, and posted it in a category called "Loving Wives," which generally featured stories of cheating wives and cuckolded husbands.  And the cuckold scenes in my story were pretty explicit as well, but the difference was, in my story the "Cuck" relished the humiliation factor of the dynamic, rather than being angered by it.  However, because I was new to the site, I did not realize that most of the readers of that particular story category tended to be very conservative in their sexual tastes.  They liked reading about the sex, but any story where, not only did the cheating wife escape any negative consequences but the man actually ENJOYED watching her with another man- well, that did not sit well with that crowd- at all. And as for the whips, paddles, and other stuff, well, their reaction was, "Man, if I were him, I'd have that psych B**** locked up!!" 

Needless to say, the public reaction to that story was not positive.  It was met with a mixture of outrage, disgust, shock, and outright anger by the readers, who were not afraid to express those reactions in the comments fields. I was deeply embarrassed, but most of all, it really made me question whether my kinks were even healthy, and I even contemplated seeking therapy to overcome my submissive kinky side.  I've posted in the past about "Bingeing and Purging" and feelings of guilt, and this was one of those incidents that led me to at least try and disavow my kinky side- for a while anyway.

But I also realized something else important.  You have to know your audience.  For example, you would not book Cannibal Corpse or Deicide to play at your Christian Family Music Worship Potluck.  My posting that story was the literary equivalent of doing just that.  Just like, if you booked multi-platinum recording artist Taylor Swift to play at your Wisconsin Death Metal Fest, she'd probably get booed- assuming the audience could even stay awake through her performance (ha ha ha ha ha)  When I posted that story, I did not know my audience...and it was clearly the wrong audience for that story. 

Here on this site, people are, by and large, far more kink-friendly.  But even here I have learned, that it's still subjective.  I've noticed that sometimes when I post "kink" content in this blog and in the forums, a lot of people aren't that into it.  Not everyone has the same kinks, and some of mine probably would make even "kink friendly" people uncomfortable, particularly dominant males and submissive females (and yes, even some certain dominant females too.)  For my part, the very idea of urethral sounding makes me squeamish, however- if that is your kink, then certainly I will not judge.  

So anyway, that's all I got.  Don't bother to look for that story by the way, I had the site admin take it down shortly afterward.  But I have since posted others on that site, some of them in a specific section dedicated solely to BDSM and kink, and these actually have had much more favorable reactions.  Much like on this blog, I have also written several non-erotic stories there, just because, well, I like having an outlet to express my creative ideas.  Anyway, thanks for reading, see ya.

So many times I've wondered... I find a woman I like.  Even, perhaps, have a hopeless romantic crush on.  I try to do everything right, everything my dad taught me about the proper way to court someone, to be respectful, a gentleman, and all that.

So I do... only to see some jacked-up truck driving, motorcycle tweaker caveman type jerk on up to her...and it works.  Sweeps her off her feet, leaving hopeless romantic guy dejected and lonely.  So, meathead jacked up truck driving meth-snorting biker dude wins her heart by seemingly being exactly the WRONG type of guy, doing everything I had thought was exactly WRONG to win a woman's heart.  

Frustrated, I pondered this... Then one day, I got it.

What am I attracted to?  

Women in leather boots, short leather skirts, cuffs, and paddles.  Goth types and punkers.  

Bad girls, basically.

Girls that can look at a man and with a snap of her fingers, order him to kneel in front of her.  Women who will slap, spank, tease and torment a man ,and he will not only love it but worship her for it.  

So to those women who only love bad boys, now I understand.  Perhaps I even apologize.  We may not be right for each other, but maybe we are not so different.

I just hope to find a bad girl who can love and accept that maybe It's okay that I'm not a bad boy.  Maybe I don't want a big truck or need a Harley.   She can even make me her cuck, her slave, her partner, and her toy, and of course, if She wants, she can have her bad boys on the side- because as her companion, submissive and lover, I would still want to see Her satisfied.