Posts Tagged ‘collar’

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants — and the Editor’s Choice which this week is “Belonging” — my piece about the connection of BDSM and love that I have to Purrrrvert. Thanks, Editor — we’re both very touched that you saw fit to choose this piece, as it is perhaps the most personal piece I’ve ever submitted to Sugasm.

Want in Sugasm #170? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Clothespin Communion
“Surrender to the sensation.”

Remembering the Pain
“And it really was that bad.”

Short And Sweet
“Why don’t you turn over”

Sugasm Editor
Fetish Fridays: Financial Submission

Editor’s Choice

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Evey Can Haz?
The Ghost of Sex Toys Past (Part One of Three)
“Boy, Girl, or In-between?” Princess Frida’s Fabulous Talk, and My Thoughts
“Work” Confession #297

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Busty beauty Jenny McClain
Flash Spanking Videos
Leighton Meester Sex Tape
Thrashed on their bared buttocks
Waiting for Tonight

Sex Humor
Fat Sex and Why It’s Good

BDSM & Fetish
Don’t Have Mercy on Me, Baby
Formalities, and, on second thought, greetings
The Going Away Present
He gave them pain like balm, and they begged him for it
High School Bully Part 3
Home Alone?
Mollena Williams added to 100 Divas
A Night In Bondage
Under instruction
The war of the sexes

Sex Poetry
At the movies….

News, Reviews & Interviews
The Independent lists “the ten best sex toys.” I fly into a rage.
Take Me Out to the Sapphic Sex Romp
Vibratex Pandora
The Wily Old Crocodile: An Interview with Eosuchus

Sex Advice
Anal Sex for Beginners
New At Sex Is Magazine: Foods That Enhance Your Sex Drive
Q&A with Dr.Ruthie – Asking for Better Sex
Starting At The Bottom: An Intro to Anal Play, Part 2

Erotic Writing & Experiences
Amber gives me a blowjob..in person!
From Behind
Its Morning…(The Last Time)
Just fucking.
A Matter of Taste
May i feel said he
New Man at the Lesbos Palace
The Problem with Thongs
The Raise
Randy: the new big cock
Stranger Fuck & Plough
Whore, Adulteress, Sinner
You can leave your hat on

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My dom does not call me bitch, nor slut nor cunt, nor whore.

The collar that I put on when I’m with him — or more accurately, that he puts on me — is part of the beauty of our connection. I am not his bitch — I am his.

When he holds the leash, it is indeed a sense of “belonging”, but it works in both directions.

I belong to him as much as he belongs to me — the leash is that which binds us.

Yes, we each have our own role to play in this equation, and yes, our roles are clearly defined — my role is completely different to his.

But the equality and weight of the two parts to be played are exactly the same — which is what makes the “us” of what we have work so well.

The collar and leash are merely one part of the circle that we form. The circle also consists of our hands, and our hearts — no beginning, no end, simple and complete.

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“You may eat the cookie, but you may not use your hands.”

That dastardly cat. He baits me with chocolate chunky cookies that would tempt the Archangel Gabriel (Garcia Marquez?) and he know — he knows! — I will be powerless to resist. However, I have a secret weapon — my all-encompassing ability to eat, despite prevailing circumstances.

Delicately i take the cookie from his proffered hand, with the edges of my lips and teeth… and then open my mouth (not even that wide) and take the whole thing into my mouth.

Wow, that’s the first time I’ve written that on these pages, and not been describing fellatio. Heh.

Purrrrvert cracks up, as do I, and we laugh our asses off.

There i am, nakedly draped over the back of an armchair, wrists cuffed and caribbena’d together, and he is dancing around me, eating cookies, and allowing me sips of Coke Zero here and there, spanking me occasionally with a newly mended flogger, and swatting at my ass with a fish-slice. In addition to the passionate lovemaking, the sub-space inducing flogging and beating (oh, evil kitchen-utensil-pervertibles) and the eight or nine orgasms that I have already experienced, (the cooling wet spot on the bed being hard evidence of this), we have also found time to have fun.

It’s what indicates that the “essence” of what we do, is so much more than fucking. We like spending time together. We’ve had most of the afternoon together, and the evening stretches ahead of us like a long empty road, yet to be traveled.

I don’t think I have ever been so happy. I cherish the feeling like velvet against my heart. He completes me. My own journey is still in its infant stages, but it progresses with alacrity, and I already know that as a person I am healthier and more together than I have ever been before, in all my 39-plus-one-mumble-mumble years of existence.

I say as much to him later. Several hours have passed, and we have repaired to the best local Japanese joint to indulge in a sushi-fest.

We’re sitting at an intimate little corner table, the waitress having seen the way he looks at me, and given me a conspiratorial grin, before leading us to what appears to be the most romantic nook in the restaurant. I couldn’t care less, to be honest. Wherever I am with him, the rest of the world fades into oblivion.

We’re discussing the notion of collaring, and commitment. Conceptually, I mean. I wanted to understand, from BDSM context, how significant a collar is — both to the collared and the collarer.

He laughs, and spreads his hands wide. “Collaring is, as with pretty much anything in BDSM, dependent upon the individual for the amount of significance behind it. There are those who take it very seriously, and perceive it much as one would perceive a marriage. There are also those who can talk to someone for five minutes and be “collared and owned” within a week. Different strokes for different folks.”

I know this man, and without asking, I know that he takes collaring very seriously, and say as much.

“Yes, you’re quite right. I do. It’s a very serious symbol of commitment, and I respect it as such.”

I nod sagely. Genuinely sagely, before you snicker.

He continues.

“However, you know my feelings about outward symbolism. I don’t need it. When I commit, I commit with everything I have, without any need to display it publicly.”

I look him straight in the eye, and feel my heart beat faster — that’s the effect he has on me.

“Me too. For me, the commitment, and the love, and the everything are all part of the same package.”

He smiles, and takes my hand, stroking it softly.

“I know that your feelings about outward symbols are similar to mine. If that ever changes, you only need to let me know.”

I am overwhelmed by emotion, and feeling. While deep down I knew of his assured and complete commitment and devotion to me, hearing this affirmation does not fail to move me, visibly and emotionally.

He reaches out to hold my hand, and my eyes fill with unexpected tears of joy.

And no, it wasn’t the wasabi.

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Tomorrow I see him. I’m already wet with anticipation.

He bought a new toy for me.

My first ever personal collar.

I could just purr.

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Update: Listed as Editor’s Choice on Sugasm 154. Thank you, RV!

I woke up feeling as though I’d gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson.

I hadn’t, of course — a quick check to see if i was still in possession of both my ears proved that. I had, however, woken up after an evening of serving my fabulous Dom, and I literally felt as though my legs had been hung backwards on my hips. I ached — oh how I ached.

I do not complain, I merely remark.

However, this was all secondary. What was bothering me was a bout of extemporaneous weeping that had suddenly come upon me as my Dom was fucking me and using me the previous evening.

I’m not a crier, and certainly not a spontaneous one. This is not to say i don’t ever cry — I do, usually when moved by emotional situations — but in those instances it’s understandable, and more to the point, contextual.

Only on rare occasions have i ever burst into uncontrolled fits of tears, and i remember pretty much all of them from throughout my life. They all seem to be associated with medical situations, in a bizarre twist of circumstance. The first was when my GP, a crusty old buffer with a gruff manner and unpleasant breath, examined my rectum when i had persistently recurrent stomach pains as a young teenager. My mother was present at the time, and it was not abuse or misconduct in any way — but i remember being extremely shaken and upset.

The last time i recall such a tearful outburst happening, was a couple of years ago when i had what I would term as partly cosmetic surgery around the area of my left eye.

And then there was last night.

He’d fastened a soft leather collar around my neck to which was attached a long leather leash. (But of course! What use is a collar without a leash, you might well ask — and I wouldn’t know how to answer you.) At first, I’d been on my knees in front of him, worshipping his cock, balls and that sensitive area at the top of his thighs that he loves me to lick and nip at — I love to give him pleasure that way — and his sighs of bliss were gratifyingly welcome.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet, as is his wont, and ordered me onto the bed, on all fours, facing the wall. He arranged himself behind me, and pulled me down, slowly but surely, onto his cock.

“Gyrate yourself, gently, up and down, back and forth. Squeeze my cock inside you. Can you feel how hard you make me?”

I did as i was bid, enjoying the sensations coursing though my body. As you would expect, I adore my Dom, and consider him a god among men, especially in bed. But I’m serious about this — it’s not just mindless sub-babble. No one fucks like him. No one. And god knows, I’ve had a few. But I digress. Bad Sapphire.

As i moved myself, impaled on his cock, he pulled at the leash, softly at first, and then jerked it hard. I felt the soft leather tighten around my throat for a moment, and then to my amazement, i found myself bursting into tears.

Originally, I’d not wanted to have any kind of breath play involved when we met. The idea of wearing a hard collar terrified me. The feel of even the slightest pressure on my throat sends me into a blind panic — and it’s almost completely irrational, and I don’t know from where it springs.

Then we’d looked at his bag of evil sadistic sex toys, and i’d seen that the collar was soft and pliable leather, with no evil-looking studs, and he’d tried it on me, and I’d been fine. Mentally and physically, fine.

When i cried, i had no idea why I was crying. Of course, he stopped everything and bade me crawl back up to lie next to him, where he held me as I sobbed and heaved, and stroked my hair soothingly.

“What on earth is this? You weren’t short of breath and you didn’t use the safe-word. Are you OK? Why are you crying?”

But he said it with such care, and so soothingly that i cried even harder.

“I d-d-don’t k-k-k-know…” I stuttered through a veil of tears.

“Were you in pain? Did you feel you were choking?”


“OK, calm down now, there, there. Come kiss me, Sapphire-the-Fucktoy.”

He held me until i calmed down, and then sent me back to the end of the bed, and the end of his cock.

I am still at a loss to explain what happened. Not through lack of trying — god knows, I’ve been racking my brain ever since. So far, no scenario suggested seems right:

I can’t recall a suppressed memory. (Yes, i can see the irony in the statement.)  i just think that memory fragments would have begun to float back to me by now if there were any, and they haven’t.

Is it an irrational fear of choking?

Maybe i on one level long to be owned, and on another level hate and abhor the idea, causing me to encounter an incredibly complex inner clash of emotions, resulting in a bout of spontaneous weeping?

Either way, it seems to have opened floodgates, no pun intended. I’m not constantly tearful, but every so often i feel overwhelmed and well up. Then I take a deep breath and compose myself, and I’m fine.


Either way, I’m eternally grateful to him for the tender way in which he dealt with me when i cried. He was warm, compassionate and caring — and I realised once again how lucky I am to know this man, much more to have him as my Dom.

Even if he did make me cry.

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