Sunday, February 9, 2014


In the Beginning

There was no dominance. There was no submission. We had no idea we held the seeds of a D/s relationship within us. Renee did like to put her own twist in our vanilla life occasionally. Now and then she would don something skimpy (or nothing at all), put an Aretha Franklin record on the old Victrola, and dance for me. Watching her body move as she danced stirred something inside me and always led to hot, but vanilla sex. The closest I came to a dominating act was to press her against the wall, digging my hands into her hair and completely controlling her head when I kissed her. I thought that was as dominant as a 21st century gentleman was permitted to be.

I had read 50 Shades of Grey when it came out and thought it was interesting and somewhat titillating. I discussed the book with Renee, and she said she too found it interesting and somewhat titillating, and that was as far as that went. For a while.

When I held her against the wall and kissed her and caressed her body, her moans seemed to encourage more. I knew I wanted more. It wasn’t a burning need; I wasn’t a born Dom straining to burst forth. It was more like a curiosity of what it would be like to play the role of a Christian Grey for a night. I hesitated because I was worried about what she would think of me. Would she think I was sick, a pervert - or a dominant man who had finally come to take from his woman what was his? Would I frighten her, or arouse her? At the time it seemed risky and a huge step to take.

One evening I threw caution to the wind and gave my nascent Dom his rein. It took a lot of courage and at least one Martini. She was wearing something skimpy and dancing. I sat at the bar with my drink and ordered her to bend over the table. She did - and I detected a little grin on her face. I stood beside her and held her head down with my left hand and caressed her bottom with my right.
I rather gingerly slapped her bottom.
This,” I said, “is mine.”
I spanked her some more, it was nothing compared to the spankings she gets now, but it seemed so risqué at the time. I was alert for her reaction to every blow. She didn’t object, and I became bolder.
“Spread your legs!” (How many times have I commanded that since that night?)
I moved my hand between her legs and probed inside her.
This. Is mine.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
I moved a finger to her ass and pushed inside.
This. Is mine.”
Again, a whispered, “Yes.”
I sat back at the bar and told her to come to me. My girl, who had been all grins and giggles early in the evening was very somber now.
“Give me your tits,” I commanded.
I pulled some ice out of my drink while she exposed her breasts to me.
“Give me the right one.” And I reached for the one on MY right. My gruff, commanding demeanor suffered a little in the comic confusion while we straightened out which titty I was going to play with.

I recall a little thrill from hearing the sharp suck of air through her teeth as I applied the ice to her nipple. I was to become addicted to that sound, whether it comes from the sting of a flogger or - well, we’ll talk about the rest later. I played with her nipples a minute or two before leading her to the bedroom for some good old vanilla fucking.

Renee’s encouraging reception of my Dominance during that event (I guess it would be called a small “scene” in D/s parlance) gave me the courage to continue, if somewhat gingerly. Spanking became almost routine, but I wasn’t fully comfortable with it. I had been taught from an early age how to treat women. There was nothing in my upbringing that said this spanking, this dominance, this ownership was acceptable, but it seemed to be more than acceptable to Renee; she desired it. It was not easy to put what I had been taught about women aside and learn how to relate to THIS woman.

I went to the supermarket (yes, the supermarket) to buy toys for us – a silicone baster, plastic fork, spatula, and from the kid’s department some water based crayons to write on her with. Timid, yes, but it was a step forward and we had a memorable party one Sunday afternoon with our new toys and the markers, a bowl of fruit, and a bottle of champagne. It seemed so decadent.

She was patient and encouraged anything I wished to experiment with, and my confidence increased. Within a few months I would commandingly put her on her knees and order her to service me orally. I was routinely tying her to the bed, doing all manner of things to her body before I spanked and fucked her.

My dominant behavior escalated with every new activity. Renee was receptive to everything I could imagine and even dropped hints of things she had in mind. We progressed in baby steps, always pushing to do something new, spank harder, to find a different toy. We found toys and activities that we liked and wanted more of and things that were not to our taste. I probably threw away as many toys as I bought in those first few months.

The concept of punishing my sub was and is difficult for me. Blogs and DS/SM erotica are rife with Doms punishing their subs. I didn’t see any reason why I should punish this grown woman whom I loved dearly. When I spank her, flog her, tie her up, and savagely fuck her I do it only out of love and the joy of sharing this life with her. (Try saying that out loud.) I only punish her for infractions of the rules relating to the D/s part of our lives.  Sometimes she neglects to kneel for me in the morning, or fails to wear the lingerie that I’ve told her to wear. My natural inclination is to forgive, but she wants and needs to be kept in line. Punishment is always quick and decisive and once it is over all is forgiven. That has been a huge revelation for me, and I have considered bringing punishment into our daily lives for that reason. With quick and resolute punishment there are no lingering resentments left smoldering in the background for days. Disagreements, disappointments, or bad behavior is dealt with immediately and conclusively and you move on.
Our D/s existence does spill over to our every day life, but it doesn’t dominate it and we try not to make it obvious to those around us. Daily life – that’s the subject for another post.

How did D/s start for you, dear reader? Were you all-in from the beginning, or did you enter the lifestyle with caution? We would love to hear your stories.

He took me in hand.
Renee here. 
How do you know there is a longing for something...something you can't put a name to....deep within your being? My entire adult life had felt, sexually, like a never ending question mark. It wasn't like I didn't love sex, there was just a deeper need, a deeper lust, a yearning that vanilla just didn't begin to touch. But at 50++, the vanilla sexual relationship with Captain came closer to answering that need than I had ever been. He genuinely accepts, loves me and my body for who and what it is. That fact was a first in a lifetime experience in itself.
We both read 50 Shades and caught a mild case of the "what ifs."
The moments that change you forever happen in the blink of an eye sometimes. Captain leaning me over the table and the first slap of his hand on my exposed bottom was one of those moments for me. It was like I had finally landed in the right airport after flying in circles for years. He is correct that there was a bit of a smile on my face upon being given the order to bend over the table. What that bit of a smile hid was a woman who was about to step willingly onto the next page. I had no idea what "the next page" would look or feel like but I was ready. Captain alludes to his thoughts of hesitation and wondering what I would think. In my eyes, I never saw that hesitation, I only saw myself let by the hand of the only man I have ever truly trusted and I knew I was safe.
The mood changed immediately to one of his dominance and my submission. "This is mine," pronounced for the first time distinctly rings in my ear to this day. It is my most treasured of memories. The ice on my nipples for the first time can be felt simply by closing my eyes, the feeling of his hand as he walked before me...leading the way to the bedroom returns to me whenever he takes my hand. He can lead me anywhere, take from me whatever he chooses in whatever manner that pleases him. That night and those first steps were the road ahead, a road we chose to go on together.
As our journey has continued, he has became a very loving yet very strong Dom that commands with a firm hand. My infractions are met with much needed discipline but lessons I must learn, he is always fair and explains where I went off track. The D/s relationship between us has grown so organically, brings more fulfillment and joy as time passes.
Our sexual life has blossomed into a myriad of scenes, new experiences, new rituals... I can only speak for me, but being bound by his ropes and sent to my knees to service and worship him orally is so intense and exciting. His voice telling me to meet him in the playroom and telling what position I am to meet him in sends chills down my spine and sends my mind reeling. The first crack of a riding crop on my exposed behind throws my entire body into a state of pleasure that I don't really have words for.
This is our journey, the way we began.  As we grow in this road there will be new pleasures he will want to try, I will also give voice to things I want to try, there will be bumps in that road, there will be new heights of D/s to be reached.....we are at 50++ just beginning. I hope we live to be 100 and try everything, love it all, and leave this earth a ride that was.

So there began our journey, we would love to hear others’ stories,  each story is unique and precious, please share.  Thank you for letting us share ours with you.
Ever his.....renee

Sunday, February 2, 2014


The Captain's Requirements
As her Dom, I was free to require some changes in Renee’s habits as she transformed into “girl,” my sub.
First on the list was her underthings. As a rule she wore those bras with the styrofoam cups that hid any suggestion that she had breasts. Renee/girl has the most beautiful, perfect breasts and I would not stand for having them hidden away. I wanted to see her nipples reaching for me whenever I looked at her, so I forbade her to wear bras. 

Next to go were the sensible, industrial grade underpants. No longer would she cover her beautiful pussy with “underwear” from Tractor Supply. From now on she would wear “lingerie”  -- panties that were pretty and worthy of her body. And she would stop using the word “underwear.” The Captain’s girl wears bras and panties – lingerie, not underwear. Of these three requirements, eliminating the word “underwear” from her vocabulary has been the most challenging for her.

I enjoy the no-bra rule immensely. It is a perfect act of submission, constantly reminding her that I am in charge of these decisions now. She was initially uncomfortable displaying her femininity, but I demand it and she submits regardless of the discomfort. This effect has diminished somewhat as she has gotten more confident over the months. Whereas she used to hide her breasts behind rubber shields, she now seems proud of her body and almost dares men to admire her breasts in public.
The no-bra rule has evolved, however. When I learned that there were shelf bras and open tip bras I encouraged her to try them. They lift her breasts up, but the nipple is still free. I like them. I love the twinge of arousal I get from looking at girl when we are out at a restaurant or having drinks somewhere and see the hints of her perfect nipples, reminding me of the delights she holds for me. 

A few months ago girl requested permission to order a French bra, and I approved. The new bra was tastefully colorful, with lace and fancy, girly things. When she modeled it for me I immediately approved. Without padding the thin bra reveals a delightful hint of nipple under her tops, so I agreed that she could wear them on some occasions. This opened the floodgates and her dressing room is now awash in fancy bras and panties from France and Italy.
Another of my requirements was that she groom the kitty right down to the roots. She has a beautiful pussy and I don’t like it to be hidden by anything. Shaving every day is sometimes a challenge for her, but the results are worth it. I spend a lot of time down there, licking and kissing, so I want it smooth and clean at all times. At this point I can’t imagine seeing her with hair down there. She has tried several methods, but it seems a plain old multi-blade razor is the fallback tool. On special occasions I will to the shaving, to make sure the skin is smooth and there are no cuts.
A final 24/7/365 requirement is that she make herself available for my pleasure at all times. When she feels my hand on the front of her thigh she is supposed to spread her legs. When I reach for her breast she is supposed to remove any impediment so I can enjoy them.  This has been a difficult requirement for her. I don’t like punishing my girl, so she doesn’t experience much harsh treatment. But she has been spanked more for forgetting this rule than for anything else.

g here

Early in the process of training me to be his sub, my Captain  made a few inviolate requirements of me. The first concerned my choice of bras.  Captain mentions that this change was difficult….and it was at first because g believes she has very small breasts, not exactly flat but two bandaids sufficed for a bra until my children came along.  OK, that is a bit of an overstatement but not much.  When she stood in line to pick her body to wear for this life, g stepped in the leg line twice and missed the tittie line altogether.  However, rambling here, back to the bra issue.  Yes, guilty as charged on wearing the molded cup variety so it looked like something might be there.  My Captain’s first real DEMAND that they go happened in a restaurant.  There we were, just ordered drinks and looking over the menu and Captain quietly but in a voice that will not be denied says “you are to go to the restroom and remove your bra, just throw it away, then come back to the table.”  That voice means now, so off g went, breaking into a cold sweat about going braless.  To add to my discomfort, over the bra I was wearing only a camisole.  Looking back I laugh because g walked out of that restroom with arms crossed over her chest and managed to eat dinner with her arms pretty much the same way.  She was only technically in compliance but the bras were gone….banished into wherever molded cup bras go to live out their last days.

Next came the shelf bra that gave girl a whole new sense of appreciation of what a bra could potentially be!  First, this was beautifully made.  Second, there is something so sensual about the stimulation from the fabric of your clothes sliding over your nipples. I was feeling better about my body.  Captain loved them, girl loved them, life is good.

Then one day glorious day g discovered the world of French and Italian undergarments, no padding, very exquisitely sexy…..and actually fit!  Who Knew?  While g admits that until turning 53 she wasn’t a girly, girl but switch flipped somewhere in me that year and now g is the Imelda Marcos of fine women’s undergarments.  Our rituals include my morning kneel before Captain and asking to serve them that day.  He never fails to notice that the panties and bra and mentions that they are exactly what he expects from his sub.  It is a nice bonus that girl enjoys them also!  But there are still many days when the bra is not worn nor panties either, g has never been a real fan of panties anyway :)

Now let’s discuss the clean shaven kitty portion of the program.  Let the record show that girl, under no circumstances, should ever be trusted with sharp objects - especially in the vicinity of one of the Captain’s most prized possessions!  With that in mind, the search was on for something that would groom the kitty and not leave it cut to ribbons.  Waxing (g loves pain given by Captain, relishes it in fact….but ripping hair off of kitty, uh - no), I discovered I am allergic to hair removal creams made specifically for that portion of the body, tweezers (oh, yes, tweezers...when Captain says so be it….so be it, but alas this takes a verrryyy long time.)  Electrolysis is not off the table but haven’t gone there yet.  Last week my ever mindful Captain found a vibrating, three blade razor that works well and wonder upon cuts.  How would one put a bandaid on the kitty, anyway?  A question that has been pondered many times.

As with all things, the Captain has been spot on in his requirements.  g is happier with the skin she now lives in and loves that he loves my body the way it is.  
I do want to make one comment on Captain’s journal.  g doesn’t necessarily dare men to look at her breasts, it is more of an inevitability - she  is 6’2” or 6’3” in high heels. It is difficult to hide in a crowd.

Now to Captain’s final point, that when he touches g’s thigh she is to open them immediately, or when he wants to play with any other part of g’s body it is to be made available, like now (or yesterday if possible).  He is absolutely correct that getting this down to a science is taking some extensive training and has taken a toll on g’s backside.  Everyday is better though and g has even opened her legs when dead asleep….there may be hope yet.

Until next time….