I cannot tell you how delighted I was when I read this story. It was Sunday morning, and I had my coffee in hand when I opened my emails. Moments later I was almost in tears with an idiot-smile on my face as I read this absolutely wonderful happy-making tale *delighted sigh*.
Author: Master Joy’s boy
I saw your call for sharing happy and healthy stories. Thank you for all the work that goes into making your site happen.
The realization hit me I can either continue lurking or stop being lazy (Ferns, you think you are lazy… I’m very competitive when it comes to being lazy!) and contribute by holding myself and the relationship I’m in as an example instead of a hidden treasure. So, here goes…
I had a healthy and very happy childhood, with 2 wonderful parents who were together from high school until one died in their mid-80’s. I’m well adjusted and by most any measure have a successful career, continue to be a successful parent, and have a very successful marriage. Important note: I did not say perfect. Like everyone, we have challenges. We each wake up in the night – more often than we care to think about – anxious about work, about kids, about the future. I believe anyone who says they don’t have anxieties is either in deep denial or heavily medicated.
When I was dating, I could sense I was attracted to women with strong personalities, not wall flowers. Not that there’s anything wrong with wall flowers, I just realized gravitated to what I sensed as strong and commanding women. I just didn’t know to use the words dominant or submissive.
I met my love, my life, my Master in college 32 years ago. She is friendly, out going and approachable. Our first interactions started simply as friends, part of a larger group of people who spent time together in the common link of school. Her friendliness made it relatively easy for me to get up the nerve to ask her for a date. Looking back today, I realize it was the first intimate relationship step I would take to offer myself up to her as Her boy. To put a little bow on the entire picture, she was the first person with whom I had ever had intercourse. She had some experience. I was clueless. Given our relationship dynamics, that is so fitting, so right.
Our D/s relationship evolved, slowly. We didn’t know what we were doing. We simply did what felt right and encouraged each other. Encouraging each other to is at the core of our relationship. It’s encouragement to follow who we are, to be each other’s primary cheerleader, and to long for each other’s happiness. It’s also a sense of knowing we each have to pull our weight, to work hard at our relationship and live up to our responsibilities.
We started by playing with ropes in bed (both a bit clueless on what and how). Then came books like the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty series. Next came a visit, then lots of visits, to a BDSM house that prides themselves on training of masters and slaves. First, it was just the 2 of us visiting the house, learning about protocols (she’s really into protocols) and D/s awareness. We attended BDSM seminars to learn a range of topics – some engaging, some boring.
Through encouragement of the people who ran the house, we started attending parties. The best part of attending the parties and the seminars was three-fold. One was the social dynamic of being able to interact in a formalized high(er) protocol dynamic with other people who generally understood what was going on. A second was the pride we both took in our relationship dynamic and being able to be social about it with other people – to share the happiness. A third was learning and evolving from conversations and interactions with others who understood the D/s dynamic – some of it good, some not.
We learned a huge huge huge (my non-writer way to emphasize the point) amount through all of those adventures. She insisted on being called Master, not because she’s butch. She not. She’s very feminine. She wanted to be called Master because she thought Mistress was too closely associated with some guy who was having a fling on the side.
Along the way, we had kids, nurture them into young adults, dealt with the challenge of raising kids, or aging parents, and of the many challenges that come with daily living. Along the way, we also had disagreements and frustrations with one another. It’s important to stress, even when our D/s relationship might have been at it’s weakest – it ebbs and flows – we’ve always been civil to one another. We’ve always valued one another more than anything in the world and remind each other of that – frequently. And, through that we’ve known that we complete each other in a complex number of ways. We are not equals.
She is Master. I am her slave. What we are is one.
The brief history of time I just described has happened over 32 years. In the past 10-15 years we’ve done a deeper dive into our D/s relationship. What’s been remarkable is that as the D/s relationship has strengthened, we’ve found greater harmony, fewer disagreements, and an even stronger connection When decisions need to be made (what days goes by that does not require decisions?), the training has taught us both to discuss it, for her to weigh the merits and for me to understand her decision is her belief in what is best, right, and final. That approach has helped to eliminate a great deal of anxiety for us both.
Each day starts with me whispering my purpose to her – to serve her pleasure. It’s about 29 words long. Each night ends with my whispering the same purpose to her. After stating my purpose, I kneel and wait for her simple instructions – to join her, to get her something, or whatever. It’s a wonderfully harmoniousness way to live. I feel fortunate to have found a true master to whom I can offer up my slave soul, a master who has accepted that offering and encourages me embrace my purpose fully and completely.
Hoping you found this a worthwhile read,
Master Joy’s boy
This post is part of an ongoing project to share happy, positive femdom relationship stories. If you have a story and are willing to share it, please email it to me (ferns AT domme-chronicles DOT com).
There is something between us.
He felt it early on, some pull towards me, ghosts of our D/s relationship tugging at something in him.
You still have a hold over me. How? Why?
I hate it.
Is there something about submitting to a person that can never be undone?
He has never submitted to anyone else, so it makes sense that as he has unravelled past hurts and the idea of submission comes tentatively floating back, it would be tied to me. I’m his link to that part of himself. His only one. All of the intense emotions, the impossible intimacy of play, the angst of a boy in love, the vulnerability of his submission, they are all linked to me. I was his first. And his last.
It might be different if he had gone on to have multiple relationships where he was the submissive partner after me. Perhaps it might have diluted those feelings. I don’t know if it really works like that.
We have been emailing and chatting, old things, new things, feeling out possibilities.
I feel the pull of him also. It is difficult to tell how much is some kind of D/s muscle-memory and how much is the here and now. I see glimpses of the young submissive he was, now in the body of a mature man. I see him peeking out now and then, shy and curious, and have to fight myself not to crouch down and entice him into the light. To nudge at him to see what’s there.
I don’t though. I am cautious with him for reasons that are not mine to share.
I am impressed by the man he has become, not least because he is capable of unflinching honesty about himself, and he shares that with me openly. Fearless.
He mentioned that he was pondering sitting at someone’s feet, watching TV, collar on. I asked him how that felt to him. He said in his mind, those feet never belonged to anyone but me, that the thought made him feel calm, peaceful, empowered, strong. This melts everything in me.
We have had some long and frank discussions about where we are and what is going on between us.
He cannot imagine submitting to anyone else, ever, not even now. This is an honour I don’t take lightly, it makes my head spin, I am made messy by it. And of course when he called me ‘Ma’am’, I felt my brain scramble with the shocking power of it.
I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to push him up against a wall by his throat, to growl at him to kneel, to grab a fistful of his hair. But more subtly, I wonder if a gentle hand on his cheek would make him soften and lean in, if he would melt if he was petted, if a nod at an empty water glass would have him smiling happily and moving to fill it. I am curious what we might be like now.
There is something there.
I made him an offer. “Here’s the deal with our mutual curiosity: If you ever make your way up here on your world trip, now-me will meet now-you for a drink and we will see how it feels to let the ghosts go.”
“Deal,” he said.
So we will see.
I’ve written about the things I screwed up in my relationship with my First and touched on how I didn’t feel loved.
One of the things that I learnt from that relationship is that submissive behaviours can obscure traits that I would have seen a mile off in a vanilla man, but didn’t yet have the experience to see in a submissive. If you overlay ‘submission’ on a relationship, it can be harder to pinpoint where a feeling of disquiet is coming from (the same is true of dominants of course) because the agreed D/s behaviours can hide what’s underneath.
I thought he was selfish, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I thought that when he was really doing everything I asked of him. It was a vague and nebulous discomfort, the feeling that he weighed everything in terms of ‘what’s in it for me’ as if he thought I was always trying to ‘get one over’ on him (in hindsight, this makes more sense given the betrayal-that-wasn’t: I imagine a distrustful hurt boy trying to protect himself from falling apart).
By the time we got together, I’d fallen in love twice in my life, and I had been the target of love more times than that. I knew what it felt like to be loved and I struggled with the fact that what we had, what he claimed, didn’t feel like love to me. But nailing down ‘why’ was near impossible.
And one day, something happened that exemplified and clarified it for me.
I wrote about it here when I described still having my First’s sweatshirt. But I wrote it as a little piece of nostalgia without explaining its significance.
My sweatshirt, too big, an unattractive colour really, is one that I grabbed out of my first submissive’s ‘give away’ bag when we were clearing out clothes to take to good will. He probably had it for quite a while before I took it. I plucked it out of the box by the front door.
“I’ll have that,” I said, putting it on.
He looked at me in it.
“It looks good,” he said.
I laughed, twirled.
“It looks *really* good,” he said again.
I nodded. “Ahh hmmm…”
He looked at me sheepishly.
“Can I have it back?”
I looked at him, raised an eyebrow.
“What?!” I figured he was joking.
“It looks so good on you, I want it back.” He had the grace to look embarrassed.
“You have *got* to be kidding me! You were going to throw this out!”
“Yeah, I know… but it looks so good on you… Now I want it back… please Ma’am?”
*laugh* “Fuck off.”
It seems a small thing, but that was the moment that illustrated and brought home to me why I didn’t feel loved.
My experience of vanilla men was that they would literally give me the shirt off their back if I asked for it. I knew that if I was to go into their wardrobe and pick out their absolute favourite shirt, they would gladly offer it up to me if they thought it would make me happy. Because they loved me. And they would go above and beyond to show that in a million different ways.
And here I was with a man who claimed to love me, a *submissive* man whose goal was to please me, and he couldn’t even bear to give me a shirt that essentially came out of his garbage. OUT OF HIS GARBAGE!
It was a defining moment for me. Perhaps even a relief that I could see tangible evidence of what I had felt in nebulous, indefinable ways, but couldn’t put my finger on.
And to be clear: it’s not that he didn’t love me in his own way, it’s that to me that’s not what love looks like, and having something concrete to hang that feeling on was a blessed relief.
I love that sweatshirt, more perhaps *because* of the way it came into my hands. I bring it out every winter: slipping into something old and worn that holds my history has a lovely comfortable familiarity to it.
It’s been a long time: I’ve grown, I’ve learnt things, I’ve changed. He has too. But the hints of familiarity are there with him also. We are working on getting to know the new people we’ve become, and our history is a lovely bond, even if we shake our heads at past-us, even if we didn’t navigate all that as well as we might have.
I got a lovely question in my inbox yesterday:
I’ve been loving your blog for a long time now but I’ve been wondering… will there be more “Happy Femdom”-Stories to come? I really enjoyed reading those.
All the Best!
Thank you so much for this wonderful question, anonymous asker (and I’m really glad you are loving my blog!).
I really enjoyed reading the happy femdom stories also, and your question is a great prompt for me to ask for more.
I started asking people to share their happy femdom stories way back in August 2011 because I wanted readers to see that they exist, to know that people find love and happiness, that it’s possible. And sharing happy stories is just a wonderfully positive thing. But I haven’t done a call out for stories for a long long time.
So here it is:
If you are in a happy femdom relationship and are willing to share your story, please send it to me at ferns AT domme-chronicles DOT com.
Any stories are fine, but if you want some guidance, the kinds of things I would love to hear about are:
- how you met
- how your relationship developed
- what you love about them/the relationship
- why it works for you
- how it makes you feel
Don’t make it hard work, short and sweet is perfectly fine. I really just want to share some happiness.
I know you are out there… don’t be shy!
I sometimes shy away from publishing posts that are quite personal. I read and re-read them and tweak and re-tweak them, but in truth what I am doing is stalling while I psyche myself into it. Strange that it should still feel difficult sometimes, even after so long.
So thank you to those who submit questions on my Ask page. You give me an excuse to gently sidestep.
Hello again, Ferns! And thanks for answering! XD
Since my last question there has been some changes: my “bro” (let’s just call him that) broke up with his girlfriend, apparently because they never truly liked each other. I never get to sit down and talk to her about “that”.
I love him, in a way, and I can’t help wanting us to be more intimate. I mean, he’s single now!! But after reading your post about your first, I realise that perhaps I’m not ready to be that intimate with him. To bare my deepest desires to him sounds romantic and all, but it takes a lot of courage as well.
I… I guess I’ll wait and see. I just hope I won’t end up waiting too long and missing the beat.
*sigh* Hugs from
Hello again Maria!
Thank you for coming back with an update.
I’m sorry I scared you with my stories about my First. But here’s the thing: at some point you will want to take that step and possibly you will fuck it up and definitely you will make mistakes, but when you look back on your life, imagine the regret of not giving it a go when you had the chance. I was much more cautious about your last scenario because it was much more complex.
Now you only have you and him and what sounds like a tight bond (even if it’s platonic at the moment), so it’s a lot less fraught. And you are 100% right: it’s scary and it takes courage to open up to someone, but sometimes you just have to jump and trust that even if it doesn’t work out, you will be okay. And you will have learnt things. And you will have been brave. No small things.
*laugh* I sound like I’m trying to convince you: I’m really not. Only you know what you can handle, what it’s worth, what the cost of failure is.
Best of luck to you both.
Have you ever considered adding a widget that shows your local time to the sidebar?
Too Lazy to Do Math
Hello Too Lazy to Do Math,
I like this question very much because it makes me wonder WHY. How is it relevant to anything?? I mean, it’s not like this is a real time synchronous medium… *laugh*. Baffling.
And no, I haven’t ever considered that. And won’t. Math is good for you!
Also Google. You’re welcome!
I just finished your story of your First’s piercing. On the second needle he asked you not to do it. You did anyway. Were none of the words he used designated safe words? In your relationships do you allow safe words or do you believe only the dome decides when enough is enough? Thank you for considering my question.
This is a great and right question. I’m surprised no-one asked this in the comments.
He had a safe word, yes, and no, he didn’t use it.
That was the first time I trusted him to use it if he needed to. Prior to that, I had always stopped whatever we were doing at the very first sign of resistance, and I would often see the disappointment in his eyes when I did that. Prior to that moment, I didn’t have the confidence in myself to judge it correctly and I didn’t have the confidence in him to safe word if he needed to. So pushing into that zone where I trusted both of us to navigate it for the first time was huge for me.
Hi Ferns, something you wrote in your most recent post left me wondering if you’re likely to ever write something on different styles of bdsm relationships? Everything you write is super informative so… I’d just really love to know your thoughts, basically, if you ever want to share them :)
Thank you so much for the lovely compliment *smile*. Now I’m wondering what I wrote that prompted this question… hmmm…
My only experience is with the kind of BDSM relationship I prefer (where my submissive is my monogamous romantic partner), so I’m unlikely to talk much about other kinds. I do have opinions about them (because I have opinions about most things!), so am happy to pontificate when I’m asked a question: if you are interested in something in particular, please do feel free to throw it my way.
Hi, me again – I sent a question asking if you’d ever consider writing about different types of bdsm relationship. I mean it would be amazing if you did, but I’ve realised what I would have been hoping to see in print (because I couldn’t put my finger on it) and it’s that – I guess in contrast to you – although I’m more on the dominant side of the spectrum I get a definite kick doing things for other people…it seems it’s usually expected to be the sub doing things for the dom.. so, I’m just wondering if you know whether the reverse is more common than I think, and whether there’s a succinct/recognised way of expressing it? Thankyou :) :)
Hello you again *smile*,
I’m so glad you came back AND DID EXACTLY WHAT I ASKED YOU TO DO BEFORE I EVEN POSTED THE THING ASKING YOU TO DO THAT (I was writing this Q&A as the questions came in, and I only *just* answered your previous question this morning)! Serendipity!!
And gosh yes! Care-taking by dominants is really common. I suspect it’s MORE common in M/f dynamics than F/m, but I think I can keep my theories about gender norms to myself in this instance.
I think some kind of mix is MOST common with the spectrum running from ‘pure’ service orientated (the D/s dynamic revolves specifically around what the submissive does for the dominant) to mommy/daddy dynamic at the other end (the focus for the dominant is on nurturing and looking after the submissive in all ways).
A mommy/daddy dynamic doesn’t necessarily mean age play either, to be clear. I mean, it might, but for many who identify with it, it’s more that they are the one who ‘looks after’ their submissive in many of the ways that a parent might look after a child (guiding and nurturing them, ensuring they look after themselves, cooking for them, planning activities, organising their stuff, indulging them when it feels right etc).
I’m not sure there is a good term for it if mommy/daddy doesn’t quite fit what you mean, though. I’d be tempted to use the term ‘care-taking’, but I just made that up, so nobody will know what it means *smile*.
But yeah, if you get a kick out of doing things for other people, and I can totally see why you experience that as dominance, then I don’t think you are an outlier at all. I’d say it’s pretty common.
Want to ask me something? Pop on over to my Ask Me page and do it: even if I’m slow, I WILL get back to you! It’s completely anonymous, even to me, so it’s all secret squirrel business…
My First: Are you sure the wine and yourself haven’t made each other’s acquaintance tonight?
First: Yes Ma’am
First: That’s the first thing you’ve instructed me to do since we moved apart
Me: I was thinking VERY IMPORTANT THINGS! Stop short circuiting me!
First: Sorry Ma’am
Seriously, I can’t put a coherent thought together now. Holy fuck.
Apparently some things retain their power.
I was whispering in his ear, so close, touching every part of him.
The image was crystal clear in my head, I spilled it into him.
A white room, clean, featureless, stark.
He is the only thing that spoils its perfect sterility.
He is tied down in the middle over a white block. The block is also white, waist-height, sharp edges.
He is face down, his body laid out, helpless. He is in pain, sharp edges digging into him, his muscles straining. He is silent with it. His wrists almost reach the ground, his arms stretched. If he could make a sound, it would be a soft sobbing, but he doesn’t make a sound. He is silent. His body trembles slightly. He is scared.
I give a signal and a door opens. A man in white enters the room. Then another. Then the next. A line of them.
They are featureless, they are not looking at him, they are looking at me. They wait.
I describe the room, his predicament, the featureless men to him, make him stroke his cock for me, he looks up at me, his face signals distress, his cock rock hard.
“You know what’s coming don’t you?”
“Yes Ma’am.” His voice is small, he is made helpless by this.
Back in the room, I nod. My boy is there to be taken and used.
The first faceless man steps up and changes from featureless automaton into violent needy desperation. He doesn’t hesitate, his cock already hard, he grunts as he shoves himself into my boy’s arse in one violent stroke.
My boy moans.
“You’re just a pretty hole to be used. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Having them lining up to take your arse?”
He nods, his face a mask of concentration, his hand on his cock speeding up.
It hurts, this violent fucking. Hard, merciless. The faceless man doesn’t care, his only focus is on shoving himself into that arse until he comes. He grabs my boy around his neck to pull him back onto his cock with more force, the veins in my boy’s neck bulge as he gasps for air. His body is rocked against the sharpness of the block, his bound wrists pulling harder, the cock in his arse pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in relentlessly.
The man roars when he comes, his hips slamming against my boy’s arse, the impact against the sharp edges and violent thrust into his arse makes my boy open his mouth in a silent scream.
I signal the second man in line. He positions himself quickly, shoves his cock into my boy’s open mouth and down his throat with a groan. I hear the gagging choking sound my boy makes and signal the third man. He physically shoves the first out of the way, grunts loudly as he shoves his cock into my boy’s wet hole.
My lips against his ear, whispering the relentless assault, his laboured breathless moans float into the room, he whimpers.
I line up the next faceless man.