The Chronicle of a Newly Minted Master


It has been four years since ZG and I started our first explorations of the power dynamic. Up to then I had no idea that people voluntarily gave up control to others in these types of games and relationship. ZG was reading trashy romance novels where the heroines were strong, brash young things just waiting to be put in their proper places by stronger men. We were on vacation, just the two of us for the first time in years, and in the morning I was feeling horny. She was not and after a little back and forth about who this always seemed to be the case she turned to me and said, “You are in control. You don’t have to stop just because I don’t like it.” It was a revelation for her. She was able to give up control and be used as someone else desired. It took me much longer.


When we were young…

That first encounter told me I could use her but at the time I did not understand what was meant by the word “use”. I felt as if it meant that I could roll over onto her in the morning and fuck until I came then I was to  pull out and grab a shower. I thought what I was being offered was nothing more than a warm hole on occasion without the need for foreplay. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of having a fuck toy at your beck and call was alluring even before I knew what that truly meant. I was simply not aware of what that could really entail. What she was really offering me was the ability to use her in any way I wanted. I could fuck her mouth, cunt, ass. I could fold her in half or try and fit both my hands in her ass. I could put my dick so far down her throat she passed out. I could fuck her with bottles or dildos. It meant things I did not even know were things (suturing and genitorture) and things I could not even imagine liking (rape and watersports). What I was being offered was a new way of looking at the very foundation of relationships. What I did not know then was that what ZG was offering me was a way of gaining control of my life that I had thought was not possible.

I am an observational learner. I have to see something happen to understand it. I could not pick up a book on being a dominant or master and read about the ins and outs of power exchange. I had to see the interaction, watch people control and be controlled. I had to try and fail and try again and fail again until I was comfortable. I started with simple D/s and tried to define it as something that happened in the bedroom only. ZG and I were an egalitarian couple and I was afraid that even though she said she wanted it, I was going to end of fucking things up by pushing this too hard. D/s was not enough for us and we struggled to build this new dynamic on the constantly shifting sands of uncertainty. She did not know what she wanted. I did not know what I wanted and more importantly neither of us knew what we wanted.

It has been four years now and I am starting to understand what I want more. I can see what is available in the way of relationships and control. When you have someone who gives of herself so completely, the way they dress, the way they act, the way they sleep and eat, you begin to feel like you have a place in her life. I like having that place. It makes me secure to exert control to that level. A submissive is willing to give of themselves to a point. There is always an implied veto where they can say no to a command if they feel it is too unreasonable and it will not destroy the relationship. A slave does not make that distinction. They give themselves so completely. There is no thought to saying no. This is comforting because it means you can focus on making decisions not figuring out how to make the decision stick. It also means that you have to choose your path with a level of intent and meaning you would not have to have if it were a D/s paradigm. That person who has given everything she is to you must be taken care of. she must be handled in a way that watches out for her because she is putting her faith in you in a way that is pure. It is a lot of pressure but it is also an amazingly liberating way of living.


So things change, people change, interest rates…

I do not have the relationship I wanted with ZG. We talk about it now and again and both agree it was a pipe dream to think we could have it. We were not the same people when we met. We did not know what was out there, what we wanted, who we were. It is sad to see things change when you can still remember the good times. It seems so easy to think back and see how you got where you are and feel that maybe, just maybe you can retrace your steps and try again. You can’t. Time is a path we walk down backwards. You cannot go back. You cannot know what you have learned. You can only hope you learn from the past and work to be a better person from what you learned. I hope that I know myself better now. I hope I understand what I need better and the things I did before that let my past relationship slip through my fingers. It saddens me to lose something that meant so much but I will not let that get in the way of me making things better for me and mine.


PS – I have been thinking about the idea of ownership because of this but will leave that for another post.


Letting My Imagination Go

One of the side effects of my new-found free time is that I am insanely horny during the middle of the day. Mariela was home with me last week and we ran errands for a couple of hours during the middle of the day. She was shocked at how completely my mind had been taken over by thoughts of sex and perverted acts. Everything I saw, every woman that we passed was inspiration for some dark and sexually sick flight of fancy.

My days are actually quite full. The kids are home at 2 from school and have fallen in love with the community pool. The house is perpetually in need of straightening and the clothes of five people do not wash themselves. I love it, I feel needed, I feel like I am doing something that is productive and is tangible but the stress of going from 6 in the morning to 8 at night has started to wear me down. I need a release.

It has been part of my mid-term plan to add a few playdates into the mix of my week. I have the free time, the girls are at work so it is not taking away from them, and the boys are at school. An added bonus is that my neighbors are out of the house so the screaming is less likely to end in me trying to explain to the police that she wanted me to stick a knife in her ass and piss in her mouth. Timing is an issue though. I need to make sure that I get my work done before I play because otherwise I easily degenerate from the lord of the manor to the deadbeat gigolo. And this is where my overactive imagination gets me into trouble. If I do not do something to deal with these thoughts then I become obsessed. I need an outlet for them, some halfway house for my dark passenger that will keep it in check without killing it.

Writing has always been a good outlet but I have tried to keep this blog to only the real world things that are happening. I know that most of the people who read this do not want to see the horrible images I see. They like the stories of me as a person dealing with day to day shit. What I need is a way to vent without scarring you my loyal reader.

What is that you say? You want to hear those stories? You want to know what I see? What?!? Some of you even want to help me act them out? Well then, how can I refuse? 😉

The middle ground for this is a tagging system that I am going to start using. It is simple and to the point:

  • [Title] – Real life blog entry.
  • [Scenario: Title] – A scene that I am either planning to do, want to do or already have done. This will be crazy but legal, safe looking for volunteers.
  • [Fantasy: Title] – Welcome to the dark world of my imagination. These are the sickest unrealistic flights of fancy. Not for the faint of heart. If you read it is at your own risk. If you find yourself so turned on by what you read that you can’t keep you hand out of your pants and want to make the jump for fantasy to reality, let me know and we can see what kind of scenario can be made.

So there it is, a basic warning that some of what I am going to start adding to this blog may be more than you can handle. Am I being arrogant? Am I under estimating what you are hoping that I say? No, I am making sure that you are fully informed because frankly people, my head is a sick and dark place and while I need to get it out, not everyone that reads this is ready to face the void.

Hopefully this will lead to more stories, more posts and more readers that are titillated into reading something a little more kinky than they would have.

Making lunches and changing lightbulbs

I have always had an image of a dominant man based on my father living in my head. He is tough and smart, creative and sarcastic. He is the kind of guy that avoids a fight at all cost but when cornered is not afraid to cheat because in a real fight, there is no such thing as cheating. He works with his hands and he fights for what is fair. He is a lot of things but most of all he is a provider. He is the guy who brings home the money in callused hands with tired eyes. He is doing most of the heavy lifting behind the scenes, behind closed doors he is being tougher, meaner, more intense knowing that he has an obligation to support his family. I have always wanted to be this guy; I have always wanted to be like my dad. The thing is that in many of the physical ways I am not like my dad and frankly, never will be. So how do I become this man, this dominant father figure if I do not have the strength or skill set that he possesses?

It was long before I was fired that I knew that making the money was not going to be my thing. ZG is the bread winner, she almost always has been.While it was never a bone of contention between us, it was a challenge to setting up the D/S dynamic. Well, in my head it was a challenge at least. We were both working which mean that we were both bringing in money but she was bringing in more which I wanted to find some other way to be in control. My instinct (which I later was to discover was right) was to take care of the house. The problem is that my brain was still infected by this poison of mediocrity that insists that house keeping is woman’s work and that woman’s work is not dominant. Ah, the conundrum…

The thing is that the more I thought about it, the more irritated I was by this thought. Why was it that I could not do what I am good at and be in control? Why do I have to be a mechanic or a day trader or a pilot or Chuck fucking Yeager to be dominant? Dominance is not about the what but about the mindset. If you are waiting for someone else to make the decision then you are submitting. If you take the moment (whatever that moment may be) and act as you see fit, then you are dominating the situation. This is not a home that I am keeping for someone else, this is a kingdom that I am ruling over. I am not making lunches, I am feeding my people; I am not changing light bulbs, I am making sure that the lights are on. A king does not make the money, his subjects do but he makes sure that it is spent right. He makes sure that they are warm and safe and that the treasury is not blown on wants before the needs are met.

This was all before I became a “man of leisure”. Now I have doubled down on this thought. Partially because I have had to  (this is all I have left to offer) but also because it this what I wanted from the beginning. This is what I do best. It is my castle, my kingdom over which I rule. It is really the mental state that you are in rather than the actions that gives you control or not. I am more confident and in control now in these little acts than I ever was being the boss of forty people. I am doing what I want and that is a confidence creating thing.

Being a Good Dom Means…Waking Up on Time.

I woke up nearly an hour late this morning. This is no small feat when you consider the fact that ZG, M and I all have alarms on our phones set to go off at different intervals with different tones. It was another late night that started out with the intention of going to bed around midnight but as the saying goes, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” It was after three when I finally pulled ZG from her corner of the couch and told her we had to get to bed. In the morning I crawled over her AND Mariela to shut off the chorus of alarms.It set my whole morning off. I did not get the boys on the bus which meant I had to drive them to school which meant that I was not able to make lunch for ZG and M. In general the morning was a fail. It is the butterfly effect; one small thing can ripple into the future causing havoc along the way. It is the way reality work through a series of chain reactions. If I am going to be able to my job and keep this house running smoothly then I am going to need keep focused on the small victories and defeats. It is incremental that life is won or lost. Day by day we figure out if we are closer to happiness or farther away. Getting to bed on time, making sure the clothes are washed, the garbage is taken out; making sure that the house is straightened up on a daily basis. None of these tasks take more than a few minutes but each of them plays an integral role in the overall success.

The same goes for writing. I have to get something written everyday. It does not have to be much, it does not have to be profound, speak to the soul, talk about kink. It simply has to be words on the page. Every day that I write is a day that is closer to a day where writing is normative. I want to get back into a habit of writing. I will get back into a habit of writing. It will just take time and patience. It will take follow through and most of all it will take getting up on time.

A Sadist’s Tango

Two thoughts have been wandering about in my head as of late; one is about how I reconcile the person I am while playing with the person I am when I am not, and the other is how much my desire to hurt and dominate have grown now that I have allowed myself to feel this way. The former is connected to the D/s power exchange, but specifically in how it pertains to non-scene reality. The latter is about power itself, about being in control and taking what I want with a sense of satisfaction in that victory. This growing desire to hurt and my conflicting desire to not lose track of my socially acceptable self in this rising tide dance around each other. I wonder if there is a way to keep them in balance where they can coexist peaceably, or if someday one or the other will win out.

I am addicted to the look of terror. Eyes lit up with fear, involuntary spasms brought about by the deepest parts of the reptilian brain stem pushing for fight or flight, screams that rise without conscious awareness, these are the moments in a scene that I find the most attractive. Seeing a sub lose control of herself while I remain calm and collected is so alluring. The power exchange and the feeling of control is like a drug, creating actions that would be unacceptable in any other context. It is not just the physical games either, domination through verbal and psychological humiliation is verging on a fetish for me. Don’t get me wrong, I am very comfortable with these thoughts when I am in scene but after the scene is over and I am coming down I start to wonder about what I want and whether it is seeping into my daily life. I do not want to be an asshole all the time. I like that people like me, and for the most part I think I am a nice person, but there are times when the nice guy loses out in my thoughts to the asshole. While I am still being the nice guy, I’m finding that I have a harder and harder time actually wanting to be the nice guy.

Why? I want to be compassionate, I want to give a shit. I want to help people and feel for them but frankly I find it hard to put up with what I see as bullshit. At work, I am less likely to accept the sob story from guy who is chronically late. When negotiating a scene I am thinking of what I will get out of the scene, not just what I can bring to it and afterwards I am more prone to cut my losses if I was not turned on or got off. I used to let it go. I would let the new guy at work off with a warning when he told me about how his car broke down again or how it was his brother that was in the gang, not him. I would allow the sub to get too attached and avoid the discomfort of telling her that it wasn’t working. Now I just cut it off. It is as if I don’t have time for the crap, for the drama. Maybe that is true, but that does not mean I have to be an asshole about it.

The real problem is that I kind of like being the asshole. I like being mean, but I know that this is the fastest way to loneliness. If I am the asshole then no one is going to want to be around me. I like being around people, I like talking to people, hearing what they have to say and hearing their opinions, so the idea of isolating myself with my asshole-ish tendencies terrifies me.

So how do I do it? How do I explore the dark places that really turn me on without letting that darkness bleed into my everyday existence?


It has been nearly a year since ZG and I came out to ourselves and each other and started to live our lives more honestly. A large part of that honesty is living out our sexual desires far more explicitly than either of us ever thought possible. We have gone from never going out and never being social to going out every weekend and having a cadre of babysitters on call for the random weekday event that may call one or the other of us away to explore some new and exciting aspect of this new life and community. But as we grow into this life, the eagerness to experience the new has started to take a toll on our daily lives, so as our anniversary rolls around I think now is a good time to reflect and reevaluate.

Checking the mail

Literally the mail box at our house is overflowing. It used to be that ZG would check the mail daily, religiously and even though it was in the front of the house and we always enter and exit through the back, she would make a pilgrimage to the front door to see what bills, letters, catalogs and junk mail had been delivered. She would keep an eye on Christmas cards, birth announcements and party invitations to parties that we did not want to go to. She would collect catalogs full of clothes and home decorating ideas that did us no good. Now that she has stepped back, I have yet to find value in checking the mail. I have no need for these little messages and am discouraged from checking it knowing that what I am going to find is 99% garbage. When I do check the mail, the pile just moves inside and builds up on the counter where it creeps like a glacier eating up the workspace until bills and information sent home with the school are caught up and frozen like mammoths only to be discovered months later when I decide to unthaw the mess. By then the children referred to in birth announcements are walking and marriages have been annulled.

Do I know you?

I am friends with almost everyone I went to school with on Facebook. Every time I log in I see their newest pictures of their children, their trucks, their vacations and hear how they love kittens and need new tiles for the barn they are building on Farmville. I think what really surprised me was how long it took me to figure out that I had not liked most of the people I went to school with when I lived at home and nothing had changed to make me like them now. The only commonality we had was location, we were all stuck in the little town and forced to see each other everyday but as soon as I was old enough to leave town I did. I took off for somewhere that was not there. The amount of junk information that I was getting from people with whom I had nothing in common became too much and as soon as I found FetLife and realized that I could interact with a community based on a common interest, I let go of Facebook and that world. But that is where my family goes to find out about us. We live three states away and have such busy lives that often it is the only way my dad learns about those special events that make his being a grandfather special.

Man up, little man!

One of the most apparent changes to who I am and how I respond to the world has come through my children. When my oldest son was born I walked out of the hospital room to greet my in-laws who were waiting for news. My father in law met me with a look that said “now you know…” It was true, there is nothing that changes your understanding of life and the world like having a child, but like so many things in my life, I took this aspect and ran with it. I became a dad 100%, losing myself in the role. I should have seen it coming. My dad often talked about how hard it was for him to not just do everything for me and my brother. I was falling into the same trap, leading my children to rely on me for everything, which may have made me feel important but was cheating them of a chance to grow up. As I became aware of this new role as a Dom and leader, I started to think again about what I wanted to do. I was thinking about how to control and organize my own life. The new me did not have enough time to do all these things for the boys. They had to learn to take charge of their own lives. They are five and seven. Is that really an age where they should be taking care of themselves? Our over-protective society would say no, but I think that is just a case of America being over-populated with helicopter parents. The question, though, is how much distance is enough to instill independence and how much ends up scarring with abandonment?

Where is the center?

Where is the center?

My son’s birthday was this weekend and to celebrate we when to the suburbs to visit the in-laws. Since we have been out in the world (not to the in-laws btw) we have been spending less and less time with them. The boys spend the weekend with them about once a month, but where we used to go with them and I used to drink all their beer and ZG would argue with her mother, now we stay in the city and play. So this weekend was a bit of a time machine. We were sent back to the way things were before we had found ourselves and you know what? It wasn’t all bad. True there was plenty of crazy (ZG’s mom has installed a metal panic door to her bedroom and locked the computer to avoid people downloading porn) and the need to bend ZG over the workbench in the basement, fill her cunt with ping-pong balls and fuck her like a pinball machine is still very real, but some of the things that we had let fall by the wayside are good and have been missed. Quiet time, a chance to write, playing checkers with the boys and making drinks for family were all babies thrown out with the bath water. So, what do we do now? We go back and go through those piles of mail, we finish the costume for my oldest gremlin’s school show, we prepare the room for an awesome scene on Wednesday and make plans to meet potential play partners for drinks. You find balance, you find a center where you can stand comfortably that is true to who you are and who you want to be.

Why I Play (Part I)

There really is nothing like seeing your wife getting turned on by another man’s force-of-will to kick you hard in the stomach. There is the dry sick feeling in the back of your throat and the aches of sadness in your joints that ensure that every inch of you inside and out is affected.

It is an acquired taste, I will give you that, but one that you can learn to appreciate over time. Like blue cheese or liver, like a good vodka martini or scotch, some emotions have to be appreciated for what they are… and they are not happy.

So often the outside world confuses fetishism with transference. They think that because someone likes to be beat with a cane that they are turned on by the pain, that the only thing that anyone wants is pleasure and that what they associate with pain must be interpreted as pleasure by the kinkster. Pleasure and pain are put on polar ends of a spectrum line; they are seen as diametrically opposed when in truth they are not even on the same scale. Pain has its own levels and textures and feelings just as does pleasure. They can, and often do, overlap to varying degrees and the game for any kinkster is finding that perfect mixture of pleasure and pain for any specific situation.

I do not like pain. I don’t think there are many people that would say they do like pain. They like overcoming the pain, they like the marks the pain leaves. They like to feel something… anything that intensely. I like to dig out from underneath the pain. It is as if a house has been pulled down on top of me. I like to feel that I have survived the collapse and have been able to find a safe little hole in which I was able to ride out the sadness and heartache. Every time it happens, the pain is a little less, and there is less rubble to crawl out from underneath. Sometimes the collapse hits at just the right angle to leave a mark, a splintering beam sends shrapnel between your ribs. This will happen to even the most jaded heart causing renewed appreciation for pain.

So here we are setting up dates and meeting new friends and all the time growing a deeper appreciation for the more subtle nuances of emotions that are not pleasure. There is more to life than just pleasure. There is understanding and with every passing game, every new adventure we find ourselves growing into more complete people.  That is what is needed for a good relationship, complete people. The more I understand myself and all the different pieces that make up my vision of the world, the better suited I am to being with ZG. Likewise, the more she plays, the more she learns about herself, the more complete a person she becomes.