A fag’s Berlin: New Action
This post is the final part of a 5 part series.    

The last night of Folsom EU, a few of SIR DCCashMaster's friends are going to a leather bar and He decides we’ll join them. My outfit is simple - boots, knee pads, a leather jock and bicep straps. I’m feeling very exposed and SIR lets me wear a t-shirt and sweatpants over the top for the walk down to the bar.

Before we leave, He lays out a lot of toys on the bed. He tells me that I am to pick two things from the collection, and He will use them on me tonight. Thankfully, He doesn’t rush me, and seems to enjoy watching me think through different scenarios and how this might play out.

There’s a gag that would lock my mouth open. I consider the idea, especially as I’ve been working on my gag reflex recently, but eventually decide against it. The nipple clamps are also tempting, but I’m not sure how long I’d be able to keep them on for before they started to really hurt.  

Eventually I settle on a leather paddle - The Enforcer SIR brought with him from Mr. S Leather - and a gag in the shape of a dog bone. I figure if I’m going to be beaten it might be good to have something to bite down on!

Separate from this selection, there’s a flogger hanging from SIR’s belt - a beautiful leather one with the soft side of each tail dyed a rich blue. I’ve always loved floggers, so I’m glad that’s coming with us no matter what, but sadly there probably won’t be enough room to use it in a bar.

We set off for the bar and meet up with some of SIR’s friends on the way. He tells them about how He told me to pick the toys and shows the gag to them by fixing it into my mouth. We walk most of the rest of the way to the bar with me unable to speak and quietly trying not to drool too much. When we reach the bar, SIR has me remove the gag, the t-shirt and the sweatpants outside, making sure I am seen in my skimpy outfit by a couple of passers by before we go in. Thankfully Berlin is full of guys in fetish gear during the festival, and the people who see me barely bat an eyelid, but it’s still a bit scary.

Inside, SIR sends me to the bar for drinks, handing me some of the money I brought with me, that He’s been looking after since I have no pockets. Obviously I’m buying tonight. When I get back, he motions to the floor and I kneel next to Him and put an arm around His leg while He chats. After a while His friends go to explore the darkroom, and He points me to a corner near the back of the bar, where another Dom that we spoke to at a different bar earlier in the day is sitting.

There’s some banked seating in this corner, and the Dom is sitting on top at the back, resplendent in a full leather uniform. SIR orders me onto my hands and knees on the mid level, which puts my face about level with the Dom’s boots. With SIR standing on the floor behind me, my arse is at about hip height for Him. Perfect for flogging.

SIR and the Dom allow me to work the Dom’s boots with my tongue. The Dom presses his leather gloved hand into the back of my head, making more of my tongue against the leather of His boots. He leans down and explains what He wants. I’m not to miss any part, I’m not to whine and when I’m not cleaning His boots I’m to maintain eye contact at all times.

Meanwhile, SIR is stroking my arse with His hands, letting me feel the leather of His gloves, and letting me get used to my position. He starts to spank me very lightly with His hands, warming me up. At one of the slightly harder smacks I grunt and lose eye contact with the Dom - I get a stern look and a “no whining, boy”. I apologise and resolve to try harder.

SIR steps up the spanking and my arse starts to sting. I can feel the heat building now and each smack is an effort to take and stay focused.

After a while, SIR switches to the Enforcer. The Dom helps me through the first few strokes. When I take them well, I get a “good boy”, and when I start to break He reminds me of my instructions. The waves of pain start to build. I’ve never been pushed this hard before, but I’m determined to make SIR proud. He’s given me a way to signal to Him if I need Him to stop, but I’m resolved not to use it unless I’m truly desperate.

The beating continues. It’s getting loud, and the Dom tells me we’re drawing a crowd. I can’t see them because I’m facing into the corner, and I’m focused on the Dom’s boot, or His dick through the leather trousers, whatever He rewards me with when I take a hard hit without complaint.

SIR leans over and tells me I’m a good fag, that everyone in the bar is watching me take this beating. He’s clearly turned on, and that just makes me more resolved to take my reward as well as I can.

The strokes get harder and faster. Each time SIR pushes me to the point of breaking before easing off and letting me get my focus back. He tells me that to handle this I need to concentrate on something that isn’t my arse, something other than the pain, or I won’t get through it. I’ve never concentrated so hard in my life. My breathing, the weight of my body pressing down through my hands and knees, the Man in front of me, the Man behind me, the boots I’m licking or the eyes I’m staring into.

I talk myself through each of these in turn, cycling through each of them in turn, struggling to keep my vision focused, my breathing steady. I’ve lost track of time. Occasionally SIR or the Dom remind me of the audience we’ve attracted, but for me the rest of the world has fallen away. I don’t know who’s watching and I don’t care. All that matters is SIR, this Dom and my endurance.

I have no idea how long my punishment goes on for. It feels like it must be over an hour but my perception of time, like my perception of pain, has been bent totally out of shape by the experience. There is rhythm to it all though - SIR is a musician and varies the beat of the strokes like a master percussionist, building crescendo after crescendo of crashing, stinging, hot pain.

SIR switches to a different implement, a leather paddle belonging to the Dom, which has two separate leather straps that slap together on impact, making an even louder noise and attracting ever more attention. I’m grunting and growling, focussed, intense, determined to keep myself under control, to take it, to make SIR proud. SIR switches again. This time it’s a riding crop, the sting is incredible, heightened by the soreness, the heat in my skin, and the endorphin rush that’s overtaken me.

Eventually, He draws things to a close, gradually bringing me slightly closer to earth, although it will be a couple of hours before I really come down. SIR holds me, tells me how proud He is of me and it means so much to hear that. I’ve worked so hard for Him, and it’s so fulfilling to know that He’s pleased with my performance.

He strokes my cheeks and I flinch. I can feel the welts rising already, my skin feels hot and angry. I touch it delicately, exploring this new sensation. I’ve never been anywhere near this deep into physical punishment before, and there’s no-one else I would have wanted to take me there. I’m grateful to SIR for helping me explore, for giving me new experiences and helping me to push my limits.

SIR is not the only one pleased with my performance - several other Men approach us over the next hour, to say “bravo”, to compliment SIR on knowing how to beat a boy properly, to compliment me on how well I took it. They are all surprised that this was the first time I’ve really been beaten properly. I can’t help but feel my chest swell with pride. I feel like I’m floating, I’ve never felt like this before and it’s incredible.

Looking back, the rest of our time in the bar is blurry - I was on such an endorphin high that I think my memory partially shut down. I remember getting to suck some dick and kneeling, but that’s about it. My memory clicks back into gear around the time SIR decided we should head home.

On leaving the bar, SIR decided that I wasn’t going to be allowed to wear my casual clothes over my outfit. He reasoned that at 4am the streets would be pretty quiet, but I still felt more exposed than ever before walking home in almost nothing other than a jockstrap, hands behind my back, my wrists held by my MASTER. When we reached the hotel, we walked past the receptionist. She barely blinked, but I think by the last day of the festival she was probably nearly unshockable.

We got into the elevator and pressed the button. SIR’s room was on the top floor. As soon as the doors closed, He bent me over, pushed me up against one side of the elevator, pulled out His dick and sank it into my hole. I suppressed my panic and tried to concentrate on the movement of the elevator, to tell when it was about to arrive. SIR pulled out and zipped up just in time, although thankfully the corridor outside was empty when the doors swang back.

Before going to the room, SIR took me on a detour up a flight of stairs. There was a door out onto a small concrete area on the roof. We propped the door open with a plant pot and stepped outside. The air was chilly by this point, as the sun hadn’t started to come up yet. Briefly, I had a fairly spectacular view over Berlin by night, before SIR span me round to face the wall, and kicked my feet apart. I braced against the cold concrete and arched my back as I felt him line up behind me.

By this point my hole was loose and ready. Even with his PA, SIR’s dick slid all the way home in one thrust, filling me and reminding me of my purpose. He pulled back nearly all the way out before thrusting forward again. His fuck built into a rut and He pounded my arse. I could still feel the heat from the beating earlier every time his hips slammed into me. I tensed and massaged His dick as much as I could, pushing back into His thrusts.

Eventually, His hands gripping my shoulders for maximum purchase, SIR finally came in me, breeding me deeply. I held still as He came slowly down from His orgasm, squeezing my hole gently around His cock, buried deep inside. After His breathing had returned to normal, he gently slid out and we made our way back inside and down to His room.

Once there, we showered together, SIR gently lathering my bruises and me reverently washing His body. After we were dry, we fell into bed. SIR held me and we talked about everything that had happened that weekend. SIR told me again how proud He was of me and I beamed knowing I had been a good boy for Him. Eventually, we were both falling resting, and I knew SIR would be leaving for His flight early in the morning, so we let exhaustion overtake us and drifted off.

The following morning, SIR took this photo before He left for the airport.

After He left, I busied myself trying to fit all the gear He had given me into the suitcases I had brought. I finally figured out that if I wore the knee high patrol boots, and the leather trousers, that would make enough space for everything else, so that was what I wore for the flight home. As I made my way to the airport later in the afternoon, I thought back over the weekend. It was an incredible weekend, and I’m enormously grateful to SIR for giving me such an amazing experience. And I didn’t stop thinking about for a long time after I got home. Not least because it took four or five days before I stopped being reminded of the last  night, every time I sat down.


Ruining a fag's orgasm - ideas needed
Hey all,


I've recently discovered the sadistic pleasure of ruining a fags orgasm. I'm an advocate of this as it's an effective way of teaching a lowly fag that it's pleasure matters for nothing, and it must learn to focus on what matters.


In an online setting it's relatively easy to do with an obedient fag. You simply get it excited, and then tell it to wait patiently for a while - whilst you go off and do something else. If you've developed a good connection with the fag it'll obediently wait, and then you simply return and tell it to stop pleasuring its selfishness.


In real-time I am a bit of a one-trick pony - so hoping fellow masters or imaginative fags can suggest some new ideas. My general approach is to stick a fag in the shower. Allow it to pleasure itself and when I suspect it's close to the point of no return and in sub headspace, whacking on the shower on full ice cold to bring it back to reality. Usually add in some pain, verbal, ws etc depending on what I think the fag will respond best to. I've done this with a few different fags.... but am thinking if I meet a fag and want to ruin their orgasm a second time, it's going to be too obvious to them what I'm going to do...


A huge part of the fun for me in BDSM encounters is building up trust with a fag, but having them in a constant state of being unsure as to what it going to happen next...... share your ideas below. I know you twisted fuckers won't be short of an idea or two....



A fag's Berlin: Lab

This post is part 4 of a 5 part series.   

We spend the following day at the street fair. We drink, meet people, chat. A few people take photos. Lots of guys stop SIR, DCCashMaster, to compliment Him on His tattoos. We look in a few of the shops around the fair. After scratching up my knees pretty badly serving SIR at Full Fetish in London, I buy myself a pair of knee pads. At the checkout SIR takes my credit card from my wallet and nonchalantly demands the PIN. I give Him the number and He makes the transaction using his BLUF membership discount. I can’t help but feel extremely submissive watching my MASTER use my card to buy me such an unmistakably faggy item.

Around 6pm we grab some food and then head back to the hotel to start getting ready for the evening. SIR helps me pick out my outfit - combat boots, socks, rubber jock, a rubber vest, and my new collar, of course. SIR looks great in His outfit - it’s brand new and custom made rubber from Regulation in London. Rubber football pants with yellow trim and a large codpiece, and a matching top.

We arrive at Lab about 40 minutes before it opens, but the queue is already long. After a while it starts to move forward slowly, and after about two hours we finally get in. The place is huge. The main bar is a large, high-ceilinged room adorned with steampunk and mysterious mad scientist style contraptions. In other rooms there are slings, benches, cages, dark areas, concrete bunkers, urinals, glory holes and a room with a grate floor and a chamber underneath full of thirsty, rubbered up piss pigs.

The atmosphere builds as the place starts to fill up. I mention to SIR that I’ve never been fucked in a sling, and He changes that straight away. Feeling his chunky 2 gauge PA slip into my hole definitely helps push me into subspace. His dick filling me up feels great as He swings me back and forward, and soon I’m hungry for more.

He marches me into a large room with some tables made of wood and steel. He tells me to lie down on one on my back with my arse hanging over the end. The legs of the table continue up past its top, so there’s somewhere to brace my boots to really expose my hole. SIR tells me to close my eyes. It dawns on me that He’s not going to let me see the Men who will fuck me tonight. I’m so turned on.

SIR stands beside me, one hand fingering my hole, the other pressed onto my face, covering my eyes. After a few minutes, the fingering stops and I feel His stance shift as He leans to speak to a Man. I lie back and try to relax, wondering if this Man will want to use me.

After a short while that feels much longer to me, I feel the Man move between my legs and start to line up His dick with my hole. As he pushes the head in, thankfully fairly slowly, SIR leans down and speaks directly into my ear - “keep your eyes closed, fag”. He lifts his hand off my face and quickly replaces it with the sweaty rubber codpiece from his pants. He presses that to my nostrils as the unknown Man picks up the pace and starts driving hard into my fag hole. I’m clinging to the sides of the table, trying to keep the right angle. Trying hard to make SIR proud of His little slut.

I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually the Man using my hole slows down and pulls out. I can hear Him exchange a few words with SIR, but I can’t make them out. SIR checks in with me and tells me what a good fag I’m being. He rewards me with a quick lick of his armpit, which has got pretty sweaty now that we’re inside the hot club. He reminds me that I’m not allowed to open my eyes, and goes back to rimming and fingering my hole.

The cycle repeats. I’m so lost in subspace, focused on being a good hole, that I start to lose count of the Men that use me. It’s not always easy to tell whether a guy has taken a break, or whether another Man has taken His place, although sometimes the dicks are different enough that it’s clear.  

One guy in particular has what feels like a really meaty, thick dick. He uses me for what feels like an hour. Every time I think He’s going to cum or need a break, He just slows down and long dicks me before building the pace back up. After four or five of these cycles, I’m starting to get delirious. My moaning is load, my hands are starting to hurt from how tight I’m gripping the table to hold myself in place.

While He’s using me, SIR leans over me, His mouth next to my ear. He starts working my nipples and telling me exactly what I am, what I’ve allowed Him to make me. “Slut” - the word drops into my brain and a wave of pleasure washes over me. “Whore” - He’s getting deeper in my mind and dropping me ever further into subspace. “Bitch” - SIR knows exactly what to say, what to do, to break down all my resistance. “Pussy” - I’ve never been more turned on, embracing my desires and surrendering to these Men, to this Man. “Faggot” - I’m grunting, broken down, opened up, exposed, humiliated, reduced to nothing more than a hole, an object, a fuck toy. I’ve never been dominated and owned, more deeply, more totally than in this moment.

I’m still not allowed to look, and I’ve kept my eyes shut tight the whole time, but I allow myself to reach and touch the Man’s hands as they grip my thighs. I feel the hair on the back of His hands, the veins and muscles on His forearms, and I fantasise about what He looks like and what I look like getting fucked on my back by a procession of anonymous Men.

When this Man finally finishes, He speaks briefly to SIR as I lie back in ecstasy, trying to catch my breath and get hold of my thoughts. All I catch from their conversation is that the Man is from Paris. It’s killing me that I won’t know who He is or be able to identify Him later, but I have my orders.

At this point SIR can tell I need a break. After the Man has moved away from us, and out of sight, SIR helps me up and holds me while I gradually reconnect with the space around me. I follow Him to the bar and we get a drink before moving to a relatively quiet corner and slowly recovering.

After that I’m on a high for the rest of the night. SIR lets me go and play on my own for a while, which is great fun, but eventually I find my way back to Him. He fucks me a few more times and eventually we’re both exhausted and we head back to the hotel.

Master Redneck

I am a redneck alpha. I am a big man of 250 lbs and 6’ tall. You do as you’re told and tribute to me. I will take my time to get to know the slaves that are worth it. I was born an alpha and master and I will die one as well. There is nothing you can do to change your status in life so make it easier with me as your master. I enjoy the control I get over you and your life. I love to be served with you at my feet. Just looking down on you slave. Take a load off your mind and let me deal with it.

Let the holidays begin
So Thanksgiving has come and gone.  And now I'm OK seeing Christmas decorations in the stores.  Before Thanksgiving, I just ignored them as much as I could.  Now they reflect the season.  After all, one holiday at a time, right?


This is also a time of year when emotions can be exaggerated.  With everything else going on, the way a cashfag approaches, or how a Cash Master responds, and everything in between- all can trigger larger than usual responses.


W/we all must strive to be cognizant of this, and dedicated to be O/our true selves.  Do everything possible to be open and honest with others and Ourselves on our foundational principles.  


Not every conversation is going to result in drains and tributes, but a commitment to clarity and honesty can only help E/everyone to come closer to goals, whatever those might be.


Messages welcome from those who would like to discuss further.

Slutty's Thanksgiving List

American Thanksgiving is a complicated holiday with a mixed history, but it can still be a good occasion for a fag to reflect and be thankful.  This Thanksgiving weekend, i'm thankful for the following:


For furniture - for being a footstool to one master and a chair to another, and for tributes that a master used to buy new furniture.


For chastity - for one master recommending one chastity cage, another master recommending another, and other men who have controlled my ability to cum with or without a lock on my fag dick.


For my ass - for my precious, precious ass, my sexual center, my gift to the world, my rounded cheeks and eager hole.  For all the amazing sensations, from a gentle caress of the cheek skin to a firm slap, from a finger poke to a cock slam, from the chill and goosebumps of being exposed to the warmth of friction and loads.


For tasks - for writing words of gratitude to a master, for domestic chores, for shopping and wearing particular clothing, for scheduled check-ins, for workout routines, for expectations fulfilled and duties completed.


For masculinity - for natural furry hair and the men who love to grab it, inhale it, and highlight the contrast between the male body and the faggot's being.  For the natural gifts of cock, balls, and testosterone, so that i might know first-hand how best to turn on other men.


For femininity - for the men who call me girl, dress me in panties or a bra, develop my tits, have me walk in heels, or use female pronouns and genitalia references.


For tributes - for cumulatively reaching five digits in tributes of cash this year. For knowing that some day the tributes will total six digits.  For all the better uses of all that cash in the hands and accounts of superior men.


For health and sanity - for still having good physical health after years of being a slut, and the soundness of mind to know how to survive and thrive in this scene.


For fellow fags - for those who reach out and support each other and share experiences, and those who make mistakes and remind the rest of us how to be our best selves.


For masters - for the men who make this all possible.  For their superiority, their godliness, their manliness, their inherent worth.  And for their humanity, their willingness to improve and grow too, their assistance in grooming and training both new fags and experienced ones. 

A fag’s Berlin: BLUF gathering
This post is part 3 of a 5 part series.  

Later on Friday we go back to the hotel to get ready for the evening. We’re going to BLUF social gathering and it’s going to be my first time in full leather. SIR, DCCashMaster, puts me in the tall Dehner boots, the North Bound pants, the newly repaired braided belt and matching Sam Browne, and the Expectations shirt. I feel amazing, I can’t stop checking myself out in the mirror. I had thought it would be years before I would have this much gear and I’m over the moon to see myself in the kind of outfit I’ve wanted for years and years.

We walk down to the bar where the social is happening. It’s easy to spot - there are probably around a hundred men mostly standing around outside the bar, all in full leather uniforms (or as SIR calls it, “High Cow”). It’s such a horny scene for me. SIR introduces me to some of His friends that He knows from the leather scene in the states. It makes me beam with pride every time He introduces me as His boy. Such a simple thing but still so exciting.

I spend the evening chatting, getting to know some of SIR’s friends and some men that we’re both meeting for the first time. SIR is relaxed and easy going. He tells me not to worry about some of the protocol He’s taught me, like always standing to His left, I think He wants me to relax and really enjoy the evening.

I’m still on drinks duty, so I’m dispatched to the bar a few times to get more beers. After a few of those SIR needs to piss. He excuses Himself from the group and leads me to the bathroom at the back of the bar. There he motions towards His feet and I kneel before Him, my knees on His boots. He unzips and I open wide, taking his pierced dick into my mouth. A few seconds later the stream begins and I swallow as fast as I can, desperate not to spill anything. SIR is kind and pauses a couple of times when I’m not quite keeping up.

SIR has had several beers by this point, so this goes on for quite a while, and I’m alternating between concentrating on swallowing and looking up to see Him above me, watching me take His piss.

Eventually the stream slows and stops. SIR motions for me to get up, spins me around, pulls my jeans down around my thighs, spits on my hole and slowly eases His dick in. I’m leaning over the toilet bowl, hands on the back wall, pushing my fag hole back on His dick and it feels amazing to be used like this. He doesn’t fuck me for long - I think this is more of a reward for me than to satisfy His need to fuck. Teasing me, He pulls out slowly and zips up. I pull my leather pants back up and He leads me back outside.

Later, when the social is winding down, SIR takes me back to the main street of Folsom and we go into Prinzknecht. We get a couple more drinks and find a spot in the corner at the front, next to some floor to ceiling windows. We meet an Italian guy, also in leather and get chatting to him. SIR decides to show me off, and has me unzip my jeans and gives me a glass to piss in. The bar is quite crowded, so I’m not that visible, but I still feel very conspicuous when I’m down and He tells me to drink it. I chug it slowly, my stomach is getting full by this point and it’s work to drink it down. When I’ve finished SIR turns me towards the window and starts slapping my exposed balls. It’s not long before we have a small audience outside, watching me grimace and tense as He starts to squeeze and punish my balls. It’s so humiliating being watched by strangers through the glass, but it’s so horny at the same time.

The experience gets SIR horny too and He leads me downstairs to the darkroom. He wastes no time, pushing me against a wall, pulling my leather pants down again and making his dick into my fag hole. After fucking me in that position for about ten minutes, he moves me into the middle of the room and fucks me over a table. Another boy is getting fucked over the other end of the table and we make eye contact as we feel our Men’s dicks thrust into our respective holes. I moan and push back, squeezing SIR’s dick, concentrating on His pleasure and He thrusts harder.

Once SIR is done fucking me, He leads me back upstairs. We say goodnight to the Italian and go back to the hotel. SIR has me help Him undress. Even kneeling in front of Him to help take His boots off is a turn-on by now. Once undressed, we shower and He washes my body. It’s very intimate, and I feel a bit like a well cared for toy being cleaned and put away after use. We dry off and fall resting in His bed. It’s been a great night, but there’s more to come the next day.

A Recruit's First Morning
     You realize you may have made a mistake when you signed up for this Training camp. You woke up, at four am before the crack of dawn; roused from rest in a group hall with ten other prospective recruits by a drill master wearing nothing but military boots, a hat, and an iron wrought cage that belted to his waist and appeared to be welded shut. He was six foot four easily and had the voice to match. He called you faggot maggot yesterday when he introduced himself and today he was in no better a mood. He called for all of you to get down on the floor and start doing push-ups. You weren't in bad shape persea, but it was clear that you were about to embark on the most arduous six weeks of your life! 

      After warm ups, the drill master called to an aide in a smaller plastic cage who opened a long box and handed each of you your newest piece of equipment. A buttplug. Fat in the middle but sized for you based on your medical results. You were also given a bottle of lube and were told ',"This lube will last a good recruit a full week!:but only if you remove your plug at designated times and places as designated by a superior! If you run out, there will be no more .but you Will wear your plug! And we will know if they're out for more than five minutes at a time from the heat sensors inside . " 

      Each of the recruits was paired up to assist in the first insertion , but it was clear that you were expected to be able to accomplish this on your own very soon. Your partner whispered for you to take it easy on the lube as you dripped it onto his hole and pushed his black object in. Then, you turned around and lay on your cot. Feeling oddly more exposed than ever, even in a room of naked men. Your partner pushed the dildo at the entrance of your ass, spreading it slowly, slowly enough that you actually didn't think it was hurting, until it reached the base, and he shoved just enough to sting. An accident surely, but it was gone as soon as it came and you were on your feet again, feeling oddly full, even with such a small plug. 

      As soon as you finished, a hard *SMACK* dropped itself onto your butt cheeks, causing you to squeak in surprise! The drill master was barking in your face .the last one to be plugged. "Get in Line there Faggot Maggot! Last one Plugged Leads the Morning Run!"

     You moved quickly to the door with a hasty salute and apology, rattled by the rage in the eyes of your superior . Once outside he lined each of you up, and held aloft a remote device  and spoke. 

      "This remote! This remote is connected to every single buttplug in this camp! Right now, you are the only recruits awake, as you are the only ones not yet brought to a high enough level of training! If you do not meet my expectations during the day, at any point I choose! I will turn it on. Not only will your fellow recruits be punished by your lack of basic capability, but so will the sissies in the USO barrack, but so will the motor pool, the interrogation trainees, the cooking staff, and (most importantly, ) The BULLS ! Who you had dearly better hope forgot to put on their nite nite plugs. But I doubt it! So .Four Miles before Breakfast! Hup Hup!!" 

      He shouted the last part and turned it into a rebel yell, slapping your rear to get you started and you bucked forward, nearly falling before breaking into a run. But... Four miles! And breakfast was in an hour according to your first day intro... You could sense the fear behind you in the other recruits, and ran as fast as you could, hoping you could be buoyed to enough adrenaline to complete the. Drill masters first demand. .. but you doubted it. 

A Fantasy of Mine
Picture if you will... A splendid beachside resort. White sand, blue skies, and a warm sun beating down on it all at midday . I lay on a comfortable lounge chair just a little ways from the water, and surrounding me, are my vassals. Men who find themselves to be enthralled by me despite their strength and prowess ; Men of considerable Musculature and physique. Each of them bearing a cafe around their girthy cocks; for despite their considerable length, they are still my toys to train, and torture.  Plugs in each of their firm posteriors vibrate at random intervals to test their resolve. All of them only bearing their  devices and a bright blue jockstrap as uniform to my service.

    One stands above me at my shoulder, bearing a feathery fan; another stands further back at a small bar, prepared to make whatever drink suits my mood. A third, stands with a tray prepared to bring said drink to me, and a fourth and fifth come from the resort to massage sun tan oil into my smooth skin. I myself am dressed in white linen pants and white unbuttoned shirt at first, but when they arrive, I allow them to undress me to full nudity and take to their task. Protecting my body from the elements, even as it is exposed directly. Once they are finished, I will lay in he sun til I am finished tanning. If I am satisfied with their performance, I may even let them cum from their plugs by the end of the day... 

Right or Wrong
Over on Twitter there's a fairly robust - as much as anything *can be robust on Twitter - discussion about FinDom and various Cash Masters or cash slaves.  The common theme is how Master X or slave y is "ruining" FinDom by T/their actions.


Now, I personally agree with certain approaches and have My principles about what's right or wrong in how *I will conduct Myself in this mileu.  But at the end of the day, *how FinDom is practiced is completely, 100% between a Master and His slave.  


This has been made very clear to Me with a new slave I've "met" here on OF.  he's setting new standards for submission, courtesy, and - most importantly - communication.  he's as diligent as any property I've ever known in learning My ways of doing things.  I won't name him here because I didn't discuss this blog posting before writing, but he's given Me an example of what a "good" cashslave should be.  


Well done, slave!

Master of the day
Slave of the day