Submissive Tears

My tears are not a sign of weakness. They a the manifestation of release. When you take me, I will resist. I will fight for control because that is the nature of our society and culture. You must be strong for me. I need this from you. I need you to be persistent, not cruel, to convince me with determination rather than force that what you will take from me, what you demand of me, what you do to me and expect of me is not from your own selfishness, but for the good of both of us. I will not want this, initially. Slowly, firmly, convince me. Do not be afraid or hesitant in your requirements and always talk to me with patience and love. Tell me what you expect, what you will do, then do it.

You told me today you would use my ass. I don't want this. You smiled and told me to prepare an enema. You expected me to be cleaned. That I would administer a minimum of three enemas today. I complained and refused at first. Again you smiled, pulled me over your lap and spanked me until I cried, my tears signalling my release of control over to you. Then you kissed me and sent me on my way.

I obeyed. Once. The humiliation was horrific, but I followed your words. An hour later, you told me to repeat the process. I complained again and you simply raised your eyebrows. I sighed and stomped my foot, assuring you I had no need of a second application. This time, you bent me over a chair and pulled off your belt. After five stripes of the leather I again had tears streaming down my face. I am not afraid of you at all. I know if I tell you to stop you will. But I don't do this. Instead, I turn and kiss you then do as you want me to. You are right to require this. As I eliminate, I feel cleaner, more open, more relaxed.

I go about my daily chores and sure enough, an hour later, you again order me to complete my third and final cleansing. I know better than to argue this time and meekly follow your instructions. When I finish, you hold me, kiss my head and tell me how happy I've made you. My soul floats on this praise, but more, I am proud of myself and feel more of a woman than I have all week. I am strong enough to accept your control. Strong enough to give you my power and you are strong enough to accept it and use it with kindness and wisdom.

You order me to strip and I do so. You bend me over the came chair which you used to belt my bottom. I feel my face flush as you pry apart my butt cheeks and I feel something cold enter my very clean anus. I feel a burn and cry out. You soothe me with your voice and tell me that because I resisted not once, but twice, I would have to endure the burning of ginger in my anus while you again reminded me that I belonged to you. This time, it's a switch. A flexible, thin branch you have trimmed and smooth. I beg you and tell you I have learned my lesson, but you tell me that I have not. You can see the tension still in my body, you can hear the resistance in my tone and you are right.

I grasp the arms of the chair and hear the first swish of the switch. I cry out both from the burn of the ginger and the fire of the switch. I loose count of how may times you switch my bottom. I no longer shout, but my face is wet with tears and my body is loose. My mind has floated to a lovely plain of existence and my cunt is sweet with honey.

At some point, you have removed the fig because I no longer feel the internal burn. Then, I feel a cold slickness pushed into my anus. The tip of your cock presses in and I sigh. The pressure is intense and I feel I will split in two. You enter slowly but steadily. Then, you fuck my ass. hard. You use it as you would my cunt, which you ignore. You grasp my breasts and squeeze my nipples. I feel the heat of your orgasm fill my bowels and I cry even more. I have please you. I have given you control and I have served you as you wanted. You lean against my back and kiss me, telling me what a good woman I have been. I feel you slide out of me and I begin to stand but you stop me with a hand on my lower back.

You are not quite finished with my ass. You want me to remember my place for the rest of the day and so you push a large, metal egg into my ass. This will keep your cum inside of me. It is large enough to be uncomfortable but not so large as to hurt. My bottom is burning from the switch still and my asshole filled. You help me to stand, but I drop to my knees before you. I look up, tacitly asking permission. You smile and nod and I take your cock into my mouth. I suck and kiss and lick you clean, attending to your balls and thighs as well. Only when I see to you do I stand.

You tell me to shower then and to put on my house dress - a simple cotton frock. This is all I will be allowed to wear.

My tears are not a sign of weakness, they are the manifestation of my womanhood, my strength and my gift to my Lord.

Weekly Spanking

If it didn't hurt, it wouldn't make a statement.
If it didn't hurt, you wouldn't respect it.
If it didn't hurt, you wouldn't need it.
If it didn't hurt, you wouldn't come to me.
If it didn't hurt, you'd soon forget your place and mine.
If it didn't hurt, you (or I) wouldn't cry.

But now, see the beauty in the red,
the beauty in the gift,
the beauty in the acceptance.

Every time you smell the leather,
Every time you hear it snap,
Every time you see the dull sheen of the belt,
You remember.

My protection
My strength,
My love,
My belief in your beauty
My gratitude of your gift of submission.

Tell me Stop and I will do so
Tell me Yes and I will do so.

The choice is yours, always,
I bow to your needs,
but remember

If it didn't hurt, what would be the point?

Candlelight Train

Due to some odd electrical issue, or perhaps because of a whim of His desires, The train is without electricity tonight. He instructed me to light a candelabra and any other candles to illuminate our quarters. Naturally, I do as He wishes. We eat our dinner, served to us by Maddie, a personal attendant of sorts to My Lord. I am, naturally, completely nude and Maddie's presence causes me to keep my eyes lowered. Despite the hours I spend naked, I am still uncomfortable with my own body in front other anyone other than My Lord. Once we finish dining, My Lord motions to me and I kneel before him, unzipping his trousers and begin to worship his cock. I love doing this and despite hearing Maddie bustling about, clearing the table, I am focused only on My Lord. He wraps his hand in my hair and I look up at him. He has his eyes closed. Both his stomach and his cock happy and content. I feel his hips lift and I swallow his length, working my throat to keep from gagging. He pushed my head down hard, my lips meet his base and I feel the hot cream hit the back of my throat as he grants me his Pleasure.

Once I have cleaned him, I sit back on my heels, head bowed and wait for his next instructions. He offers me a hand and helps me to stand. He indicates that I am to lie on the now cleaned table. Once I am positioned, he secures my hands and ankles with soft ropes, looping them beneath the oaken boards. I can wiggle a bit, but am basically immobilized. Maddie comes then and places four pillar candles on my torso. She lights each one. Every breath I take causes them to move up and and down so I must control my breathing. My Lord kisses me and tells me to be a good girl while he enjoys his scotch.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass. I have no idea how long, but I watch the rise and fall of the candles and their flickering flames. The wax has melted to the point where it slowly dribbles down the sides of the candles and pools on my skin. I  hear my Lord tell Maddie to proceed. She lifts one candle and slowly, slowly drips the hot wax onto my skin. The heat scorches, but I control my instinct to twist away, conscious of the remaining three candles. Then, she positions the candle in her hand over by breast and the hot wax runs onto my nipple and down the side of my breast. I bite my lip and turn my head to the side, but remain still. She applies this treatment to the other nipple. Soon, my body is glazed with cooling wax.

She replaces the candle onto my torso. My Lord stands over me, inspecting the designs. He nods to her and she leaves. I hear the door softly click closed.

"Now, my dear, I am going to love your wet pussy with my mouth. You will remain still, for to wiggle about will cause the candles to tumble. You will learn control."

And so I did.

Train Training with Guests

We are on another trip. This time, however, we are also entertaining, which means I must act as hostess to His guests. The man is a long time friend named Bill Fillmore and is companion is Sarah Willy. I will refer to them as Mr. Fillmore and Miss Willy at all time. In addition to our own private train car, my Lord also has several pubic cars on this train. The parlour, dining, and four guest suites divided between two additional cars - a total of five cars on our small train. Milord has employed two maids, one cook, two footmen who serve as valet and waiters.

I offer our guests glasses of wine and wiggle a bit when I sit on the sturdy wooden chair which is to be my perch whenever I am not standing. Milord gives me a warning glance and I blush. This situation is my fault entirely. Before dressing, I voiced concern that the butt plug He had chosen for me to wear might slip during the evening, causing me embarrassment. He paused and agreed. Then, he called for Brad, the valet who usually assists us dress, to come and afix my corset, being sure to tie the laces quite tightly. I opened my mouth to object, but quickly closed it. Brad's presence always humiliated me, especially when my bottom was a bright red from my recent spanking. Nonetheless, milord loved to watch my face blush as Brad dressed me. Once tightly laced, milord motioned for Brad to stand back. I was then told to bend and worship His cock. I could not decide if my face or ass were redder in that moment, but I did not hesitate to do as I was told. Hesitation would only earn me another paddling. As I administered to Milord, I felt a cold steel ball enter my anus. along my tailbone, I also felt cold steel.

A hook. Milord had inserted an anal hook into my bottom. He pulled my hair back firmly and I whimpered. Then, I felt something being tied to my laces. A few moments later, Milord filled my mouth with his seed and I swallowed. He helped me stand and showed me, in the mirror, that the anal hook was own firmly attached to my corset laces - no chance of slippage. I was distinctly uncomfortable between the tightness of the corset, the size of the metal ball in my anus, my freshly spanked bottom and now, the immovable hook attached to my corset.

Milord lifted my chin, looked into my eyes and said, "We will have no squirming, whining or other indication of distress tonight shall we?"
"No, Sir."
"Are you not grateful that I took your concerns to heart, my dear?"
"Yes, I am, Sir. Thank you."

He kissed me gently, patted my bottom and allowed Brad to place the dress over my head and zip it up.


I sipped my own wine and felt a light heat creep up my face. Every move I made, every breath I took caused the hook to react. Milord must have seen this and lifted his glass slightly in my direction, a smirk on his face. Yes, he knew exactly what I was feeling. I smiled back at him, grateful indeed for his attention then turned back to listen as Miss Willy complimented me on my shoes. I hoped that the couple would retire soon, so that I could again focus entirely upon Milord.

Training on the Train

He is quite wealthy, but that is not why I love him. He is elegant, but that is not it either. He is beautiful, but that does not matter. What matters? His love and care for me. His interest in every detail of my life. His intelligence. His firmness. His kindness.

He is the owner and CEO of a private rail car company, catering to the old money. We do, therefore, travel by train. He has told me that he wishes me to accompany him on all of his trips - both business and pleasure. When we are on the train, however, I belong to him. Totally. His private car is decorated beautifully, in a lovely 1950's style but with all modern conveniences carefully concealed. He has decorated everything. He has chosen the furniture, the art, the linens, even my clothing. In keeping with the style, I will  dress in a vintage manner when entertaining his clients. Demure, sweet and always modest. However, in our private car, I will not dress unless specifically instructed to do so. Sometimes he will wish me to wear heels, sometimes a corset, sometimes only pearls. Mostly, though, he prefers me to be nude. He will use my body as he will. I will speak when spoke to only. I will be his humble and loving servant and he my loving and dominant master. I have agreed to all of this, but now I must prove to him that I truly want this.

This trip will be a short one - only three days. This will be a trial run, if you will, to see if this arrangement truly suits us both. I walk into the car and marvel at its beauty. I turn and smile at him. He crosses his arms and gives me a pointed look. A hot blush creeps up my face. My first act was to have been removing my clothing, but already I have made a mistake. I have sighed and run my hand over the furnishings first. I drop my eyes and rush into the bedroom section, removing my dress, bra, panties, stockings and shoes. I neatly fold them and put them away just as he instructed me. They are to be out of the way - out of sight. I come back into the parlour and stand before him. Now, he smiles at me, lifts my chin and kisses me, running his hands up and down my sides, my back, my arms. he deepens the kiss and grasps my nipples. Then he squeezes. I give a little yelp and start to pull away but stop myself. I hear him chuckle a bit and know he has not missed this tiny lapse. I also know he is please I corrected myself. He squeezes harder and I whimper at the pain, but feel my will bend to his, dripping out of my body and forming the honey which coats my pussy and thighs. I begin to tremble and he slowly pulls his mouth away. Keeping hold of my tender nipples, he leads me to the table and tells me to place my hands flat. He adjusts my position to his liking and then tells me to prepare myself for my first correction. I take a deep breath and steady myself. Still, I can't stop myself from crying out with the first sharp strike of the leather slapper. Four slaps - two on each cheek - and I'm already crying. Nonetheless, I am grateful, a feeling which shocks me. Without thinking, turn, drop to the floor and hug his legs, thanking him for his correction. I feel loved, safe, wanted.


Three days later, he holds out his hand and helps me down the steps of our car. He must help me, not only because he is a gentleman, but because I can barely walk on my own. My bottom is red and welted. my thigh muscles strained and shaky, my pussy swollen and tender, my anus still filled with a rather large plug. I wobble a bit on my black pumps and he steadies me. I look up at his soft eyes and smile. I can't wait for the next trip.