Going Pro

It is a lot harder to find a good BDSM partner and master than one might think.

There are plenty of people out there. Guys that think they want to dominate. Even women that want it. I learned a long, long time ago there is a difference from some guy just being mean and domineering and someone being dominant and using bondage and discipline as part of daily life.

I don't want to get into a situation where I just get slapped around and punched. Been there, done that.

I also don't want to get hooked up with a guy who treats me as a "little" or some sort of pet on a leash. I don't mind leashes and collars. But I am not a girl that needs to run around wearing cute kitten ears and wearing a butt plug tail.

And of course there are standards in terms of looks, success, location, age, fitness, and the like.

When it all comes together, it is not easy to find someone that matches me. It's why Jason was so perfect (do I sound like a parrot here?).

So... yeah. I've done a few things in the meantime. First, I've been re-establishing things with Jason. The divorce is going through and we are working out a fair split (he didn't have to give me anything according to the prenup). Second, I have played with a guy I know about an hour drive away who is very active with a number of people as a master. Third, I've re-engaged with an outfit that I actually did some BDSM porn for a long time ago.

Self bondage has been an option of last resort, and is good to keep me going. I can do some rather complex stuff at home now with straps, rope, locks and keys, timers, etc.

Lastly, I've been with Erin. She has done her best to support me, but she's a mistress and it isn't always easy for her to treat me like a girlfriend and let me cry on her shoulder. So, we've tried some submissive stuff.

She's a great mistress and I am totally bi, and this arrangement has worked. Erin knows how to dominate me, restrain me, humiliate me, make me service her, and just in general make me into a blubbering submissive slave in total subspace.

The only problem is that Erin is married and devoted to her husband/slave. I can be nothing but temporary unless I am willing to fit in with them as a threesome. That would probably mean my being submissive to Jim as well. I could deal with that. But in general, Erin doesn't actually have that much time for me.

Interestingly, the best experience of all of these options has been the porn outfit. They are pros. They know how to tie a knot, how to suspend a body, how to invoke a lot of pain without doing permanent damage. All in a rather humiliating way with cameras and riggers hanging around watching me drool and suffer. And those doms really don't care much about the girls; they are there to do a job-- and you are too, and you better just hang there and take it and cry while it is happening, or you don't get paid.

The pros will also do things no one else can because they have the equipment and space and experience.

I was a little worried they wouldn't cast me / hire me, because I am a lot older than when I did it before. I am into my 30s and most of the girls are in their early 20s. Turns out I guess I still have the body and the looks; that combined with the fact I am willing to do some intense stuff... they said OK after I sent photos and filled out the questionnaire about what I was willing to do. Which was a lot.

So this outfit I did some stuff for, they are not local. I had to fly out there for sessions. Did you know these guys don't usually work on weekends? I had to actually take time off from work to fly all the way across the country and spend a day filming.

I won't go into a long detail of everything they did to me (I know, I know, some people are asking why noootttt????). So much of it is standard stuff. Hogtie, ring gag. Dildo-on-a-pole shoved up my cunt. Then into my mouth. Then back to my cunt. Then my mouth. Then chain me to a whipping post and whip the fuck out of my ass.

The one thing that we did was something I have always fantasized about. Crucifixion. I know, it is a weird fantasy, but ever since I got into heavy bondage I had always viewed crucifixion as the ultimate. Bound, exposed, hanging, humiliated, in endurance bondage that just slowly gets more and more painful, but there is absolutely nothing you can do. It's the ultimate of what I want and need out of bondage.

I had the opportunity and was crucified many years ago, but the action was limited and I was looking for something a bit more intense or realistic. I mean, crucifixion is just hanging by your arms, really, and I had done that any number of times. But actually doing the whole suffering on the cross outside thing-- it was something I wanted to explore and I asked them if they had ever done it.

Of course they had, but were always willing to give it a try again. HA.

So after the first filming when they decided I was actually a pain slut, which I am, they decided to go ahead with an investment in a crucifixion.

It was scheduled for a few weeks after my first day with them (which left me with bruises and sore tits for a week... hey, I asked for it).

So the filming was done in North Carolina, out in the woods. It was gorgeous in the forest. They were using the house of a friend that backed up to some land (I didn't ask if they owned the land, I bet they didn't).

Crucifixions actually can be kind of boring for the observer. They are a form of endurance bondage, which can be great fun (or misery) for the participants, but observers can get bored. So they filmed some action before hand. I stripped down and they hung be from the ceiling and whipped my ass and fucked my cunt with a dildo. The flogger they used hurt like hell, but nothing I hadn't taken before. The dildo left me feeling stretched and sore, but they at least used a condom that was lubed on it.

The process of being tied to the cross was a little surprising for me. They threw me on the ground and put the cross on my back. They then grabbed my arms and pulled them backwards over the crossbeam that was laying on my shoulders, and did a really good job of tying my wrists together and to the crossbeam. So I wasn't going to be crucified with my arms outstretched, which is what I assumed.

Any change in expectations like that can make one very nervous about the unknown. That nervousness is exactly what gets me off, because it pushes my helplessness in my face. They could literally kill me at that point and there would be nothing I could do about it.

They used a whip on my back and legs to get me moving. It stung and was a pretty good motivator. I stood up, lifting the damned heavy cross I was now tied to and began dragging it. They had two cameras filming me, and they must have captured every agonizing step I took.

Yeah, I was completely naked. It was in the hills of NC and in the early fall; the temperatures were cool and without clothes I was cold. And the hills of NC are not made for just walking on with bare feet.

This was much closer to the miserable submission to crucifixion I had in mind than my previous experiences.

They kept whipping me as I walked along, picking my way as best I could across the rough land. I had no idea how far or where I was going, but at least the exertion of pulling that heavy cross was keeping me warmer.

I stumbled at least once on the way, landing flat on my stomach with that wood monstrosity on my back. The sadist in control of this was just pleased as punch when I did that, it gave him an excuse to whip me harder, which in term motivated me to get up and keep walking.

It wasn't that far. Maybe five or ten minutes walk (dragging a heavy wooden cross), but it seemed like we were deep in the woods. They could hang my body out there and let me die and no one would ever know. They finally told me to stop and I collapsed onto the ground with the heavy wood thing pushing me down. I couldn't keep it up any longer. It felt good to rest.

There was a hole in the ground near by. Not a big one, but deep. I lay on the ground, arms tied to the cross, unable to really move anywhere and waited.

The sadist grabbed my feet and tied my ankles together, then looped the rope around the cross. Another very secure tie, and my knees were bent (in true crux victim form).

They stopped filming because it took the whole crew to lift me and the cross up and get it into the hole. By then I was tied up securely and couldn't help anyone with anything. I was attached to that damn cross and had no choice but to simply get lifted and moved into place.

This was the point where it started hurting. My arms going over the cross piece were driven into the wood, and the corners of the wood were digging into my flesh. I complained, moaned, cried a bit, told them it hurt. They didn't really care much, it was supposed to hurt.

They rolled the cross over so I was facing the sky then dragged it so the bottom was next to the hole. Then they lifted me up into the air and I slid down, my back dragging on the wood and getting a nice boatload of splinters as I went. I screamed and swore. They ignored me.

"Fuckkk.... fuck fuck fuck... goddammit the cross has splinters!" I yelled as my body slid down and sank into place.

Then as the cross hit the bottom of the hole and my body weight settled on my arms, "OOOhhhh godddaammmit, my aaarrmmmsss... fuck fuck fuck..." The corners of the beam dug into both arms in two places where they went over.

"Push up on your feet," said the sadist.

I did. Hmm. My feet / ankles were tied to the upright of the cross and when I pushed down it raised my body slightly and put less pressure on my arms. That helped, a lot. Except my knees were bent and I couldn't push up far enough to straighten them. Try it-- try squatting with your knees bent at a 90 degree angle and see how long you can hold it. You can, for a while, but after a while your legs tire and just give out.

My legs gave out after about a minute and I sagged down and my arms dug into the crossbeam again and I swore and it hurt and dammmmmmmmnnnnnn.... this was what being crucified was really like. Being hung up naked and exposed and trying to find a comfortable, pain-free position that simply doesn't exist.

And my legs, of course, because of the way they were tied, were spread wide exposing my cunt to the camera , which focused in nice and tight at times. When I was lifting up on my legs, which was as much as I could, I was shaking and I could tell my cunt lips were visibly wobbling.

I imagined thousands of men surrounding me, watching me suffer, hanging on that damned cross. It made the whole experience more humiliating and more exciting at the same time. It was as if I was being crucified in public someplace, a spectacle for the public to come and gawk at.

And masturbate to, as well.

I think I was up on the cross about an hour, total. Not that long, really, but it was plenty for me to be getting desperate. I was in increasing pain in my back from hanging, and my legs and hips were aching and cramping from trying to lift myself.

One of the things about being tied up and on display is that you can't do little things for yourself that you normally do. Like brush the hair out of your eyes. Or wipe sweat away when it trickles down from your forehead into your eyes. Or wave away bugs. Bees and other creatures. At one point I swore ants were crawling up my leg and into my cunt.

I didn't talk much on the cross. There was no gag, so I could have had conversations but frankly, the camera man and still camera guy and sadist-rigger just didn't seem sympathetic people to talk to while I was suffering up there in the middle of the woods.

In spite of being tied only at my arms and ankles, there was really very little movement available to me. It was almost exclusively up and down maybe a foot or so. My hips could swing from side to side, which I did do a few times.

It was weird. At one point they stopped filming and the three guys just had a cigarette break. They stood in front of me a few feet and talked about their girlfriends and taxes and whether they were going to get laid that weekend. All while I was hanging a few feet away from them, in real pain.

I mean, really. I was hanging there in agony. They were supposed to be filming me, there was no reason to leave me up there, hanging, unless they were taking pictures; but these guys were just enjoying themselves while I was suffering up there on the cross. It really struck home then, that was what it was like being crucified. Just hanging there, suffering, and dying, while others talking about what they were having for dinner.

The sadist came over and diddled my clit for a while and they started filming again, then finally released me. They had to get a step ladder to get to me, they didn't want to dig up the cross-- too much work I guess. They cut me down and I lay on the ground for a while, unable to move. My legs and arms had simply given out.

I cried on the ground; I hadn't cried at all while up on the cross. I guess the relief and final sense of freedom just released the shit in my brain from being hung up there for more than an hour. The rigger gave me water and put a robe around me, and we went back to the house.

The next day, on the way home on the airplane I felt the strained muscles and seriously bruised arms and wondered why I am this sick. The experience fucking hurt. Reading over my description here it is clinical, almost detached. In reality I was sweating, shaking, scared, aroused, wet between my legs, aching, drooling, and in some serious fucking pain at times. Yet it had been a fantastic experience.

I dreamed of the crucifixion for days afterward. Sometimes nightmares, sometimes sex dreams. I masturbated to memories of it.

The bruises faded, the abrasions from the ropes went away in a few days.

It was the next week when I realized that the crucifixion had actually increased my need for bondage and pain. I used to be satisfied with being handcuffed while some guy fucked me. That seemed so... vanilla to me now.

Begging

I moved out of the hotel. I didn't go for an apartment, but a condo. An apartment would be easier to move in and out of but I found a wonderful three bedroom condo with a partial view of a lake and fell in love with the place.

Moving in was rather quick and easy, as I have virtually nothing except for my clothes and personal items. The furniture was entirely provided by a rental place and went in a few days before I moved. One bedroom upstairs has been left mostly empty, though it has a single bed in it. It's a spacious room, ready for items which I may be able to acquire or retrieve.

The only real thing it is missing is a play partner. Estelle was great for a couple of days, but ... I need something. Someone.

The lawyers are handling the divorce. I hope they don't suck everything out of it.

The issue is... I have never had anyone that knew me, cared for me, gave me what I need and desire, like Jason. Some have come close, and to tell the truth there have been one or two girls that came close. But ultimately, there is a reason why I linked myself to Jason.

So after getting established in my condo, I went to see Jason.

I called first, made sure he would be there. He agreed to see me.

You must understand that while I am submissive, it isn't always that easy of a thing for me. Submission is something that grew out of a kink I developed as a very young teen-- being tied up and manipulated, even hurt, as part of sex. A submissive nature is necessarily part of that, but it isn't like I started out submissive and then let people tie me up because I was submitting to them. There's a subtle difference.

Yes, I am submissive, but I don't simply get off on kneeling and barking like a dog or whatever it is my master wants. No. I need to submit as part of a process of losing control, losing physical control of myself. I don't know how better to describe it.

So going to Jason was difficult for me. Describing what happened is a bit difficult. In fact, once I had moved into the condo and lived in it for a couple of days, I was spiraling into depression once again, and needed to do something, anything. I had to take action.

I went to my house, the one I used to live in, and stood at the front door. I removed my clothes, put on a collar and chain. You do have to realize the door is partially exposed to the street. Neighbors across the street know of my somewhat unusual relationship (we've actually played with them a few times). But I was still exposed to casual passers-by. It didn't matter to me.

I rang the doorbell, then knelt in a traditional submissive's pose, my back to the street, head bowed.

Jason answered the door quickly.

"Siobhan. What are you doing?"

"I'm here to beg, Jason. I... I need you. Somehow. Anyhow. Just... Take me."

Jason looked down at me, clearly concerned, clearly upset. I couldn't see what was going on in his mind. I was scared he would just push me back and close the door on me.

Finally he said, "Well, we can't do this in the street. Come in."

I stood and went in calmly, bringing my folded clothes with me.

"Siobhan, we can't undo what happened. You are no longer my slave."

"I know, Jason. But that doesn't mean I don't want and need you. You know me better than anyone in this world, and you know how I need what we had. I am not prepared to give up on that."

Jason sat in a chair with an exhausted sigh. I knelt before him in a submissive posture, trying hard to keep tears from flowing. He could not know how my weakness was emerging right then.

"What we had was predicated on your complete submission and trust in me. It was designed specifically to prevent topping from below, something you wanted to make sure did not happen. When you invoked the Safe Word, you broke that. You topped from below, you took control. You can't have it both ways, baby girl. The rules were yours as much as they were mine."

"I know, Jason. It was a mistake. I am sorry. My body craves you, and more importantly, my mind craves you."

I lay down before him, in a prone slave worship position.

I think Jason may have been crying at that point. He was extremely upset, I know. "Siobhan, don't do this. It isn't like this is fixable. What we had is simply broken. We can't crazy glue it together."

"Yes sir. I know this sir. I was just hoping... we could build something new. Maybe something different."

My face was plastered straight down on the carpet. He could have done anything to me at that moment and I would have accepted it willingly. He could have put a noose around my neck and strangled me to death. He could have invited in the entire block of men living in the neighborhood and passed me around. I was trying desperately to get this across to him.

The conversation went on like that for a while, with me talking with my face on the floor, and he sitting in his chair. At one point he leaned forward in his chair and played with my hair lovingly, and that's when I could stop it, I began sobbing, my tears wetting the carpet below me. But I held my slave worship position.

In the end, Jason did not take me back as slave, but did relent and see that perhaps we could continue our relationship in some way. Perhaps not man and wife, not as owned slave and owner, but ... something.

It was a long emotional discussion. The divorce would move forward. We'd split assets (which he didn't have to, according to the prenup most of it was his). We were both free to pursue other interests and people.

But we would also see how we could continue our relationship. He'd think of taking me back with some appropriate level of punishment (which made me shudder... it isn't going to be pretty, let me tell you).

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in the penny punishment. For those that don't know how this works, I stand naked with my feet about two feet from the wall. I then lean in so my forehead touches. A penny is slipped in between my forehead and the wall, and I have to keep it there. Hands are kept behind my back, handcuffed if I am lucky. It's an endurance test, and if held long enough can be real torture. After several hours I was shaking.

When time was up Jason came in and caught the penny when I moved. I couldn't lean back, my body was cramping in ways that made straightening up difficult. Instead I just sort of sank to my knees and then to my side, laying on the floor.

Jason told me to get dressed and go home. I did, quietly. When I was dressed I moved to him and he took me in his arms and we kissed. When the kiss broke, I simply said, "thank you, Jason."

Jason gave me another goodbye peck and I left, heading out the door and back to my new condo.

Once back in the condo I unpacked several boxes that had arrived; mostly new bondage and punishment gear. I got undressed and tried out a few items, enjoying the feeling of leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles, of the smooth curve of a butt plug, and the clink of handcuffs.

When it came down to it though, I used none of that stuff. Instead I got a simple hair brush from the bathroom, bent over the bed and began hitting my bare ass with it. As hard as I could. Spanking yourself is never as good or painful as when someone else does it, but I spanked myself for a good twenty minutes, grunting and heaving and panting all alone in my condo.

I went to bed, legs and back aching from the penny punishment, and my ass burning from the self-punishment. Once again I reassured myself that life would go on. Jason was not out of my life, though things had changed. I would find other partners, and explore new things. Life was all right.