Myzeray: The Farm

Another of my BDSM erotica musings. This one took me a week to write, and again, if I could make this happen in real life I would. Enjoy.

 A deserted farm. Lots of clear land with a large stand of trees blocking view from all prying eyes. You arrived blindfolded. Brought here in a vehicle that left after I got you out of it. You've been in cuffs since you got into the car. Your cuffs are chained to your waist and you have no wiggle room in them. Once inside the farmhouse your clothes are cut off of you. Your panties are stuffed into your mouth and your blindfold is removed briefly as the head harness goes on. You listen as I tell you that i've arranged to have this place for the weekend and you will be in severe role the whole while. You will rely on me for even the slightest things and you will be used for my pleasure from friday night to sunday afternoon.
 You are ordered to your knees. You hesitate, forgetting for an instant my strictures for you this weekend. A handful of your hair and a quick yank and you're down. You return to the present, now clear of head and ready to serve. Your day collar is replaced by your posture collar, the first escalation of restraint. You know this game. Every time you hesitate or step out of line, you are bound more strictly. The leash goes onto the ring of your collar. "Follow, pet." with these words I turn on my heel and begin walking. The leash goes momentarily taut and you are warned sternly not to allow it to happen again. You are expected to keep up with your Master as he walks. You hurry along on your knees, the hard boards of the flooring already beginning to hurt with each step. You are thankful I am keeping a relatively slow pace.
 You are led through a door and down a hallway to another door. The house is fairly cold, but as I open the door you are washed over with warmth. You feel the hardwood floor surrender your pained knees to soft carpet of some kind. You can't reach the floor to feel it nor would you dare, but it feels deep and soft. You can just hear the crackling of a fire, presumably a fireplace. You are brought to one end of the room and told to stand. Your knees protest but you comply, and are turned around and backed to a wall. Your handcuffs are undone and your wrists are fastened into manacles overhead. Your arms are apart and raised, almost 3 feet apart. Straps are placed around your thighs, just above the knee, and your feet are lifted off the ground and your legs are spread. There is a shuffling beneath you and you feel something being inserted into you... Then fastened to something rigid, holding it into you. It's longer and thicker than I am and requires considerable lubrication to fully push it in. Your blindfold is removed and your eyes adjust to the light.
 I stand before you, inspecting my work and your form. Beyond me you see a large mirror and begin to take it all in. Your hands are locked into shackles that are in turn attached to the antlers of a large stag mounted above you. The floor is covered in animal skins. This appears to be a hunter's den of sorts, with a delicious twist. I step aside and let you see the rest. You are suspended over a fucking machine and I hold the controls in my left hand. In my right I hold a pipe, the smell of cherry tobacco just slightly reaching your nostrils. There is, as you suspected, a fireplace with a moderate fire burning in it about fifteen feet way. There is a large armchair and a heavy looking round oak table beside it. There are restraints mounted on all four walls of the room, and large mirrors directly across from each set. Large bookcases also adorn the walls on either side of each pair of restraints. Stuffed animals, the spoils of hunts long over, punctuate the decor.
 I remove your head harness and take your panties out of your mouth, and walk over to the fireplace. I sit down in the armchair and light my pipe. As I exhale the first plume of the sweet smoke, I look at you and instruct you: "sing for me, pet. Sing to me a song to tell me how you love your Master. Do not let your voice waver or break, and you shall be rewarded with my permission." with that I start the machine and set the control down on the table beside me. Your mind races to find the right song... You quickly choose, and begin to sing. The machine pumps in and out of you while you try desperately to stay on key, remember lyrics, and make your way through the tune without faltering... When you are done, you teeter on the brink. You beg me with your eyes to let you, praying inwardly that I found your performance to be worthy. "you may, pet." 
 You comply, relieved to not be required to hold it back any longer. You let go, screaming out to me, leaving no doubt of the pleasure you feel. Your pussy drips now not with lubrication but with cum. Your body shudders as I turn on the vibrating feature of the machine and turn up the power. It begins thrusting faster and vibrating harder as the base of the dildo slams into you hard enough to shake your body. You writhe in the restraints, swaying in time to the machine. I command you to cum again and again until your mind is a blur... Finally I turn the machine off and remove the shaft. My pipe is done, and I load another and set it down. I cross the room and reach down between your legs to feel your soaked pussy. Your lips are dripping wet, and your eyes are glassy. My wet hand comes up to your cheek and crosses your mouth. You lick obediently, tasting your own juices on my fingers. I bring you down from the wall, releasing you from your shackles. You do not hesitate to drop to your knees and crawl behind me as I turn to walk back to the chair. As I sit I gesture to my crotch, visibly hard and bulging. You undo my fly and begin sucking, and I ease you down to a gentle suckle. It's clear I do not wish to finish. Not yet. You lick and nibble the shaft, taking it slowly into your mouth and rolling your tongue over and over it, circling the head. I leisurely smoke my second pipe and set it down. "it's time for dinner, pet."
 I replace your blindfold, and reattach yor leash. You are led on your knees, the hard boards of the farmhouse flooring once again bringing pain to your tender knees and the tops of your feet. You know that by the end of the weekend your knees will probably be black and blue from following your Master. The hallway seems to go on forever, though you are fairly sure it's no further than you were led before. We turn into another room, and you feel the edge of a low table meet your belly just at your ribs. "Up onto the table, pet," I instruct you with an almost cold, detached voice.
 You climb up onto the table and as you comply with your instructions you feel slot holes in the table with your fingers. You fumble at the edge as you find a neatly organized pile of straps, nearly knocking them off the table. Your forearms and wrists are secured flat to the table, your elbows supporting your weight. Next come your ankles and calves. You are securely strapped to the table, your head and shoulders forward and down, with your ass up in the air. A hot plate, nearly too hot to bear, is set atop your luscious, round ass, balanced on the flat spot at the top of your pelvis. You hear a champagne bottle being uncorked and a glass being poured. Next comes a chair, as you hear me take my seat. I liesurely eat my meal, and as I do, the aroma of grilled beef tortures your nostrils, making your stomach growl. Finally the last bite is eaten, the glass emptied, and another pipe of cherry tobacco smoked. You hear stoneware sliding on the table in front of you and the smell of steak and potatoes and vegetables meets your nostrils anew. "Eat, pet. No dessert until your plate is clean."
 You are not unbound from the table and you know that you will not be. You inch your head downward to find the steak already cut up, the potatoes in small pieces as well as the vegetables. You are given champagne in a bowl... You eat hungrily, without hands or eyes to see your meal. It takes forever without these advantages you normally take for granted. Your face is messy and wet with champagne and potatoes and steak juices... You feel you may have disappointed your Master with such horrible table manners. You find out for certain as you are slapped across the mouth and wiped clean with a rough, angry hand. Unbinding you from the table, you are leashed once more and made to climb down to the floor. 
 You are led this time only a short distance. Your chest meets with a letal bar coming up from the floor. Your hands feel in front of you to find that the bar is only a couple feet high and has a "T" shaped configuration to it and you feel rings and mounting points all over it. Your wrists are bound solidly to the ends of the cross, and your collar is lashed tightly to the middle of the intersection. Your body is strapped to the vertical portion ofthe bar and your calves and ankles are strapped tightly to the floor. You are completely immobile. "Are you ready for your dessert, pet?" I ask. "Yes, Master," comes your obedient reply. You feel my already erect cock rubbing against your lips, but you are not allowed to take it into your mouth. "Beg for your dessert, slave."
 You begin to beg, kissing it and trying to reach it with your tongue. Each time you touch it, I take it away. "Please, Master... Please let me have my dessert, I've been a good slave... Please? Please may I have my dessert, Master?" you beg, eager to have my shaft in your mouth, hoping you have been good enough to receive me. You beg further, "Please, Master? Please let your slave have her dessert? Please? I've been a good pet, haven't I? Please?"
 I thrust my cock into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat, hard enough that it hurts. You dare not protest, as this is what you desperately want-- to please your Master. To worship your Master through obedience and pain. I grab your hair and twist it in a handful and continue to fuck your mouth. I do not let up. I do not show mercy. I thrust into your hungry mouth again and again and you feel the back of your throat beginning to bruise. Finally I grab a second handful of hair and ram, ram, ram into your mouth, your sore, aching throat feeling, your tongue tasting my cum as it spurts hotly into your hungry mouth. I withdraw my cock from your mouth, breathing raggedly, and let go of your hair."Thank you, Master. Your slave enjoyed her dessert. Thank you for deeming her worthy and a good enough pet to receive you for dessert, Master. Than-" You are slapped for speaking before spoken to or directed to do so. You silence yourself for shame, ashamed that you broke a rule so quickly after being rewarded by your Master.
You are unbound from the bar and leashed once more, led down the hall and back to the den. You spend the rest of the evening at the feet of your Master, resting your tired head on the toe of his boot...
The evening is quiet, at least for an hour or so. You obediently rest on all fours in the den with your Master, your weary head using the toe of his boot as a pillow. Though finally it inevitably happens: "Master? Master, I need to use the bathroom..." I set down my pipe and book, taking up your leash. Your wrists are locked behind you as I lead you down the hall. Once in the bathroom I remove your blindfold and guide you to the toilet. You can't ignore the full length mirror directly across from you as I sit you down. "You are not to take your eyes off of yourself, slave. You will watch as you are tended to. You cringe in disgust but do as you are ordered, watching yourself piss in the mirror. You dare not meet even the reflection of my eyes with your own. As I wipe your pussy clean you feel absolutely humiliated to depend on another for a task you would ordinarily feel so mundane that you otherwise never give it a single thought. When you are acceptable clean you are made to stand in the center of the large bathroom, your leash affixed to a mounting point on the ceiling above.
The leash confines you to a very small space. With the end fixed overhead you are pulled up straight on your knees and even if you wanted to, you couldn't manage more than about six inches in any direction before you either could not breathe or would have no choice but to defy your Master and stand- something you dare not do. Instead you wait as I relieve myself and start a bath. The steam heats the room well. Soon you are comfortable in its warmth. Once the bath is drawn you are moved to the edge of the tub. I climb in and soak as you kneel outside the basin. After a few minutes I sit up and place two items before you on the sill of the tub. There is a wash cloth and some soap in a dish. "bathe me, slave. Make sure i'm clean for later." I do not release your wrists. I stand in the tub and you bend forward, picking up the wash cloth in your teeth. You bend again to dip it into the soap. "you may stand, pet. It will help you complete your task."
You wash my body to the best of your ability, holding the cloth in your mouth. There is a ring sewn into the middle for your teeth, presumably to keep the soap out of your mouth. Still you find it difficult, unable to use your arms and hands, and it takes nearly half an hour before you have finally cleaned the last of my flesh. After you are done you are given a towel with which to dry me off. Finally done, you return to your knees- or at least you begin to. "your turn, pet. The activities of the evening have left your Master with a filthy slave. I do not wish to sleep next to a filthy slave. Therefore you may either be cleaned by your Master to his satisfaction or you will sleep on the floor like the filthy bitch you are now." You know what I mean. Your pussy and legs are sticky with lube and cum. Your face still has smears of your dinner and the cum you had for dessert. Relieved that you are being given a choice, you step into the bath and kneel.
You are bathed thoroughly, my hands taking their time. You are given permission to cum both when I wash your crotch and when I wash and finger your Ass. I gingerly wash your hair and finally towel you down, and you kneel once more. On goes the collar and leash, and your wrists are once again secured behind you as I lead you out of the bathroom and once again down the hall. 
We arrive at a new door, opening to a bedroom. A four poster bed with a peaked canopy is set in the middle, with various furniture of the Kink variety decorating the room. You see a bishop's chair, a st. andrews cross, saw horse, spanking bench, and stocks to name a few. The walls have an arsenal of torture implements hanging from pegs and sitting on shelves throughout the room. Your leash and collar are removed. "On the bed, pet." You stand and climb up onto the mattress. You are directed to the center of the bed, and a scarf, long and silken, is wrapped around your neck, precisely placed. The scarf is tied securely but loosely around your throat, and you hear rope being lowered from above on a pulley. A hook is placed in the loop at the back of your neck. You feel tension and raise up instinctively. I get down on my back and bring my head in between your thighs. I begin eating your pussy and tugging on the rope. Your orgasm builds as you know you are about to hang for your Master and that he in turn will reward you by pleasuring you orally. You beg. "please, Master? Please? Please Master, let me cum, please! Please let me cum while you hang your whore!" "You may." you rock in ecstasy as the rope goes taut, pulling the scarf tight. Your world goes black as you cum. You return to the living world unable to stop cumming. You can feel your juices running in rivers down the inside of your thighs and slicking the sides of my face. My teeth are buried in the flesh of your pussy as you buck and grind into my hungry mouth. You couldn't stop cumming if I ordered you to. The rope goes tight once more, and you buck for all you're worth as the blackness claims you once more. The blackness is calming. You dream... You dream of me, serving me, loving me... The light comes back and you are lying in the middle of the bed, my shaft buried deep within you. You wrap your legs around me and I pull you up onto my lap. You ride me as I work my way into a laying position with you on top. "Fuck me like you're going to die tomorrow, pet..." The command inspires something in you. Something wild. Something intensely passionate. Something beyond giving yourself completely to your Master. You grind into me, slamming yourself down on my cock harder and harder, not holding back for an instant. The rope is getting gradually tighter, and the scarf along with it. You know it's coming. You're determined to keep fucking me as hard as you can as long as you can while I hang you. You feel the orgasm building... You want me to do it just as you cum. "Please, Master! Hang me and let me cum! Please let your slave cum and hang me when you do! Please? PLEASE MASTER! I can't- " The rope goes tight, lifting you almost off of me and I follow you up to stay inside you. "CUM, PET. CUM NOW!" You buck and sway at the end of the rope as you cum so intensely you feel like your heart might stop and- You wake to me plowing you with total abandon, as you lay on your back with your arms under you. You're folded nearly in half and being pounded with all the force I can muster. You feel your vulva bruising from the brutal force of my thrusts. You hear your own voice screaming out, hoarse and wild. You hear me growling with every push, building to a sheer primal roar as I cum. Exhausted and delirious from the experience, you hear me say one last thing before an ocean of dreams swallows you: "Rest and rest well, pet. Tomorrow we visit the stable and the barn. You've been a very good slave. I love you, pet."
You sleep hard and dream deep... You wake at 9 to the screech of an alarm clock. Beside it is a note: You are to meet me downstairs in your posture collar. Do not forget the leash. You may walk. Lovingly, Master. You don the required collar and dutifully attach the leash. The floor feels alien under the soles of your feet. You spent virtually no time standing last night, not since your arrival. Unsure of the layout of the farmhouse, it takes you some time to find me. When you do i'm in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Hash browns, sausage, bacon and eggs for myself. Just as things are ready I direct you to the table you were strapped to the night before. Without your blindfold on you see that this entire farm may very well be one gigantic dungeon. Every piece of furniture is designed for bondage and sexual purposes. I strap you down to the table as I did the night before. My plate rests at the base of your spine once more and a cup of coffee is balanced on your Ass. Once I have leisurely eaten my breakfast, I serve you yours. The plate before you to eat without your hands, and coffee in a cup with a straw. You eat your meal like an animal. Like a dog. Like the bitch you are. It's harder this time with the posture collar, and so it takes longer, but eventually your plate is clean...
You are surprised when you are unstrapped from the table. You attempt to return to your knees, to be stopped by my hand- not in your hair, but lovingly under your chin. I ease you back up to a full standing position, kiss you gently on the lips and whisper in your ear, "walk with me, pet." and take your leash in hand. You follow obediently, suppressing any outward show of curiosity. One pace behind and to my left, as any lady should follow an escorting gentleman. I lead you out of the kitchen and toward the daylight coming through a window in the door of the entryway. I slip my shoes on and gesture for you to do the same. I open the door and we step outside. There is a massive amount of land between the farmhouse and the row of dense evergreens that block the view from the road. The drive leading to and past the farmhouse is gravel, packed into the clay soil of the road from many years if not decades of traffic. Looking down the road leading past the house you see a stable roughly fifty yards away. You know that's where we are headed first. You follow dutifully, and as we get closer you hear the unmistakable sound of horses in the stalls. Entering the building I lead you to the stalls where there are three horses, beautiful and friendly. I lock your leash to a chain in the floor. The chain is long enough that you can reach and visit all three beauties. "You may visit them while I get things ready, pet." You examine my tone of voice and are confused. You wonder if my plans for you somehow involve directly interacting with these animals but you dare not ask as I turn and walk down to the other end of the stable. You visit each in turn, a bag of apples on one wall giving you something to treat them with. I'm gone about ten minutes and return with a handful of leather straps and rings. I call you from the horses and you stand before me. The straps and rings are not separate. Now closer, it is clear they are a body harness...
You are strapped into the harness, heavy grade leather with a sheepskin liner. It crosses your body in an "X" pattern and belts around your waist, with a strap going down your crotch, splitting off and passing over each cheek of your Ass before rejoining to the belt. There are ring mounts at each intersection. Your wrists are securely locked to the belt above either hip. Another series of straps turns out to be a pony bit head harness. I unlock your leash from the chain in the floor and lead you to the end stall. Inside is some sort of chariot-like carriage. Two-wheeled, holding two seats, white, elegantly decorated in carvings and beautifully detailed in gold on the moulding. It is clearly designed to be pulled by a human slave... I set to work. You are made to stand in front of the carriage and the bars of the yoke are locked to your harness an the waist. Reins are attached to each shoulder. You are led by your leash out of the stall and out of the stable. You are surprised at how easily the carriage rolls, clearly on smooth, well-tended bearings in the axles. Last but not least blinders are affixed to the sides of the head harness. You hear me open the door to the carriage and get in. Taking up the reins, you feel a light snap as I command you. "Forward, Myzeray. Once you're familiar with the carriage we'll go for a drive and see the sights..." loyal to your Master, you lean forward with your shoulders and begin to pull the carriage.
Surprisingly enough the carriage moves easily even bearing my weight. You learn quickly. A tug at a shoulder ring turns you that direction, a snap of the reins sets you moving forward and a tug at both brings you to a stop. You begin taking me down the path. It curves off to the left and follows the tree line along the edge of the property. You pass under an arch of trees meeting above the path and it opens into a beautiful topiary garden. You are steered toward a fountain in the middle of the garden and brought to a halt. I exit the carriage and walk over to the edge. Reaching down on the other side of the fountain wall, I come up with a cherry wood box. I return and stand in front of you, opening the lid. Inside is a lovingly carved ebony wood unicorn horn on a harness. I remote the bit harness and replace it with the horn, which has its own bit. You still wear the blinders, but you don't need to see my smile as I step back into the carriage to know it's there...
The reins snap lightly, and you start forward. You do not recall not being allowed to smile, but you keep your eyes forward lest your Master sees and disapproves... The carriage is stopped at a topiary of a rearing charger. Leaving momentarily I return with another cherry wood box. Inside is a red and black leather fully open-faced hood, bearing a long, flowing crest of black horse hair. Your head gear is removed and the hood is fitted to your head. The harnesses are replaced. "And now my unicorn has her mane. You look splendid, my pet." once again the carriage is set in motion. Pulling it now somehow feels easier and you somehow feel transformed. Taller, stronger, more graceful... But something is missing. You are guided to a rose bush, magnificently tended. In front of it is another cherry wood box. I bring it to you and open it to reveal the final piece: a large anal plug, from which springs a long tail of horse hair. I move behind you, lubricating your hole. It's large, but you've kept to your anal training like the good girl you are and so it slides in without too much discomfort. The taper at the base makes it easy to keep in. "And now, Myzeray, my unicorn is complete. You are beautiful, my pet. Do you feel it?" A nod is all you can manage...
Once back in the carriage I urge you forward and we truly begin to tour the garden. Topiary sculptures of all kinds, from geometric shapes to exotic animals to mythical creatures fill the space and delight the eyes. You know not how long you have been pulling your Master about, nor do you care. You are his beautiful unicorn. My beautiful unicorn. We stop in front of a fountain and you are given water from it to drink. You sip it thirstily from my hands, and I kiss your brow before getting back into the carriage. "Now off to the barn, Myzeray. There is much more in store for you today, pet."
The road to the barn takes you back toward the farmhouse, then turns off at the fork that led you to the garden. There is a small hill along the way and a bridge over a stream. By now you sense things becoming more serious and less light hearted. The silly game of playing unicorn is coming to an end and soon you will again be the slave. The thing to be used at your Master's whim. The barn looms ahead, its doors chained from the outside. The worn red paint on the planks of its sides reminds you of any other barn... But you get the feeling once inside, things are going to get sinister.
I open the barn doors and take you by the leash. You are led in and unhitched from the carriage, then led to the center of the barn floor. The wooden floor boards are old, warped and worn. You are taken out of your tack one piece at a time. The blinders, then the horn and hood, then the body harness. Lastly the plug is removed and you become aware how empty your Ass suddenly feels. Your posture collar is removed and replaced by your formal collar. Your hands are cuffed behind your back and you are led to a kitchen behind a door at one side of the barn. Inside is a refrigerator and counter as well as a sink. "i'm hungry, slave. Make me something to eat. You have ten minutes. If I do not have food in front of me by that time I will be harsh." you are at a loss. Without your hands you don't know how you will fulfill your orders but you dare not ask me to free them. Without another word I turn on my heel and walk out of the kitchen.
Frantically you glance at the clock for the time. You then hurriedly look around the kitchen. You find that you can still use your hands somewhat and open the fridge. Inside are sandwich fixings. Mustard, sliced meat, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and bread. You can't find any other food in the whole kitchen. Well, you think, a sandwich it is... And you set to work. Working backwards seems like the most effective idea. You manage to assemble a sandwich, though the tomato slices are thick and sloppy and the mustard is simply squeezed onto the bread straight from the bottle. The meat and cheese is haphazardly arranged, the fault of being pressed for time and unable to really see what you're doing. A quick glance up- less than a minute left! You turn around and grab the plate, walking as quickly as you can to find your Master and deliver his meal. You exit the kitchen and see me sitting on a couch on the other side of the barn. Walking at nearly a jog, you arrive in front of me and turn to hand me my plate... And your heart sinks as you see the sandwich, my meal, an effort you had fought so hard to make and deliver to your Master that he might be proud of his slave and by extension merciful... Lying on the floor of the barn ten feet away.
"And I made it easy, too, pet..." the disappointment in my voice is apparent. You feel ashamed... You've let me down. You drop hard to your knees and lower your head, ready to receive my wrath. You feel me slowly rise from the couch. Grabbing your hair, I push your head forward so that your forehead is on the floor and your Ass is in the air. You feel your pussy lips part as I insert the electrode. Your Ass is next, the smaller electrical probe sliding into your still-lubricated rectum. A crotch strap is fixed in place, keeping them in. The leads are attached and plugged in. "ON YOUR FEET." You comply, still averting your eyes so that you don't look upon me at all, let alone meet my eyes with yours. "Back to the kitchen, pet. You will make me another and for every minute on the clock, this will be turned up a notch in speed and intensity." The first click for each setting echoes in your head. Your holes spasm lightly, contractions similar to mild orgasm. You know that when it gets higher it will begin to hurt. You quickly walk to the kitchen, your Master hot on your heels. Your hands still cuffed, you set to work. Bread. Mustard. Click, click... You begin to feel it. The spasms will become uncontrollable in a mere few clicks more... Meat. Start cutting a fresh tomato. Click, click... More powerful spasms streak through you. One slice, two. It's hard to work when you can't see and your hands have to work backward. Click, click... Your insides convulse with the electricity. The pain begins. Lettuce, cheese, slices of tomato. Click, click... You have not been authorized to cum. Your body stages a mutiny and you cry out in orgasm... It lasts long enough that you get two more clicks. Your body is wracked with pain and pleasure as you finish making the sandwich. You rush to get it into my hands. I take it in one hand and tuck the controls into your waist strap. You sink to your knees and writhe on the floor, your body unwilling to relinquish control while I eat slowly...
The TENS unit stops its cycle as I finish my sandwich. Your traitorous body finally ceases its orgasm mutiny. I ask you, "how many, pet? How many orgasms did you have?" You reply, "I do not know, Master. I am sorry. I should have been counting. I'm sorry!" I grab your hair and pull you up to your knees. I attach your leash and begin walking. The leash goes taut, your shaken body not entirely ready to follow. Turning around, I grab your hair and bend you over. Using the end of the leash, I whip your Ass with 20 hard, angry lashes. Your cheeks burn from the stinging strikes and you are reminded again of your place. Sobbing from the pain, you follow this time without hesitation. Back in the center of the barn, you are ordered to wait. I leave for a moment and return with a bishop's chair on wheels. This one is a little different from others you've seen. It has holes in the seat, and a box sitting beneath it. You are padlocked into the chair with heavy manacles and your collar is likewise padlocked to the center post. The box is brought out from under the seat and is set aside. Your crotch strap is removed and the electrodes are slid out of your fuck holes. I set to work with the contents of the box. You hear things shuffling about from below you and a ratcheting sound. Soon you feel a pressure from below. Whatever it is it too big to penetrate you but you also feel that's the point. I continue working the jack until you begin to be lifted painfully on the large blunt item attached to it. You hear me leave again for a short time and return. The sound that accompanies my return is unmistakable. Long strips of leather in large bundles: floggers. You hear me test swing a couple, and the beating begins...
The first strikes are with the deer skin flogger, but harder to start than usual. It doesn't take long to get your back nice and hot, the sweat on your skin grabbing at the tails. You know this is going to be a long, hard beating, additional punishment for your earlier failure. The next level begins: the heather suede flogger. Pounding thuds on your back and you feel the endorphines begin to flow. Down your back, beyond the base... Settling in your crotch. I pause to flip I switch and instantly you know what is pushing you up from below. The hitachi wand buzzes. Your swollen, hungry pussy and you immediately begin begging for permission. You know. You just know you won't be able to hold it off for long. The pounding of your skin continues as the vibrator hums busily on your crotch, rhythm dueling with rhythm. Your begging has gone unanswered and you cannot contain it any longer. You explode in shameful orgasm, your pussy juices gushing down onto the seat of the chair and down the shaft of the hitachi wand. You scream out. "I'M SORRY MASTER!!! I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T GET YOUR PERMISSION!!! PLEASE PUNISH YOUR SLAVE!!!"
I switch to the heavy black flogger and begin railing your skin. You feel burning thuds repeating like a war drum. I spare no mercy for your indiscretion. I order you: "If it's orgasm you seek then you shall have it. Cum, pet! Do not stop until you are permitted!" you convulse and writhe, twisting against the wand, complying with my command. Your pussy is becoming sore from the contractions and grinding into the hitachi. Your juices flow freely, until they can flow no more, and yet permission to stop has not come. You ache from the inside out, agony and ecstasy intertwined. You keep cumming, riding on the pain of the beating you get. Finally I give you permission to stop. You don't know when the switch happened or how long you've been beaten with it but you see the Hellcat as I set it down...
The wand is turned off and lowered on its jack. You are unlocked from the manacles and post. You slump exhausted to the floor, your sweaty form still wracked with sweet pain. Your hands are cuffed behind you once more and you are forced up onto your knees. The leash is taken up once more and you follow wearily to a spanking bench. You are tethered to the base, and I leave you and go into the kitchen. Returning shortly after, I bring you a plate of meat, cheese and tomato slices. You eat yet again as a dog, though slower without your arms to hold you up. After you've eaten and had some water, you are led to a throw rug just past the bench. Your hands are moved around in front of you and cuffed again. Your wrists are pulled down between your legs and locked to your ankles. Now bent forward into a ball, your Ass is up high in the air. You feel a lubricated finger slicking your rectum once more. You groan as my rock hard penis penetrates your Ass and slides all the way to the base...
Your Ass hurts more with each thrust, but you love every minute of it. Bound as you are you can't escape my cock and you don't want to... Pounding thrusts drive me deeper, the pain mixed so thoroughly with pleasure that you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. You groan loudly and are given permission to cum, screaming out loud when granted. You feel me beginning to build, as my breath goes ragged and my thrusts become more deliberate, deeper and harder. I explode, nearly losing all control and filling your Ass with my hot cum. As soon as I withdraw my penis you fall over on one side, trembling and exhausted. I do not unbind you. I drag a cage over to you from a corner of the barn. I order you: "inside, slave." You wearily inch your beaten, battered body into the cage, a slow process that feels like hours. Once you're inside, I close the door. I leave and return with a dog bowl filled with water and place it inside the cage with you. I then lower a hook from a boom above the cage, attach it to a ring in the top and hoist the cage off the floor of the barn with you inside. "I'm going to go shower, pet. Sleep while you can. I'll return in two hours." As I leave you drift off to sleep, my cum still leaking from your Ass...
The cage sways gently as you shift in your slumber. You dream of rocking in the branches of a tree, safe in my arms. Of lying with your head in my lap on a porch swing... You wake to the reality. The continued servitude of a sex slave. The cage is being lowered and touches down on the floor of the barn with a thump. The door is opened and you are beckoned out. You remain cuffed but your wrists are unlocked from your ankles. You are sticky with dried cum, both yours and mine. You reek of sweat. You feel disgusted at how you must look. Your back still burns from earlier. You even still feel the tingle from the internal shock treatment you received in the kitchen. Thinking back on that you look over and see the sandwich still on the floor. Again you feel the shame of your earlier failure... You note that I am clean and dressed in clean, fresh clothes. Button down shirt and vest. Black slacks and polished shoes. A wash basin is set out for you. Steaming water and soap are there as well as rags and towels. "Go to the basin and wash yourself, pet. Make certain to clean yourself thoroughly." You wash your skin, the soapy rag quickly turning gray from sweat and dirt. You move to rinse the rag and are stopped. "Discard the dirty one. Use a fresh rag when each becomes soiled, pet. I want you clean, not evenly coated in residue. " You drop the rag onto a towel and pick up another. You wash your pussy first, then your Ass. Drop the rag, choose fresh. Repeat. Eventually your skin is clean and rinsed. You wash your hair in the remaining water from the basin. "Come, pet. It's nearly dinner time." With that, you drop to all fours and crawl toward the front door of the barn...
You are once again made a unicorn. The plug tail inserted, the hood secured, the horn and bit lovingly set in place and fastened, the body harness fitted. You are fastened to the carriage and pull your Master back to the farmhouse. On arrival, you are freed from the carriage and led in, leashed, allowed to walk. You are brought into the kitchen and secured to a cross of steel bars now standing in the middle of the floor. "I want you in here, but I can't have my pet allowed to roam freely, now can i?" I ask. "No, Master," you mutter around the bit. I turn and begin preparing our dinner. Chicken and corn, mashed potatoes... Your meal is served all cut up and ready for your consumption. You eat on all fours as you have all weekend, and I eat again off of your lovely Ass.
Your meal and mine done, you crawl off the table only to be eased to your feet. "You've been a good girl all weekend, Myzeray my dear," I say. "And now, dessert." You are led by your leash to a large table with two chairs. Two plates, forks, knives and spoons are laid out on top. You dare to look me in the eye, first confused, then shamed at your breach of the role... You avert your eyes- only to have them gingerly brought back up to meet mine. "You have earned this reward, pet. Come. Sit and enjoy a treat." You sit at the table, and I remove your leash. For the first time since you woke this morning you are not locked down securely to some part of this farm. I bring out dessert: chocolate cake and ice cream. You stare at the delicacy before you, unsure. It looks inviting but you wonder if it is some sort of test. "Go on, pet. Enjoy." You reach for the fork. It feels strange in your hand, having eaten like a dog, like a bitch all weekend. But you pick it up and eat... The cake and the ice cream taste like heaven to you this night. You believe your Master that you have been a good girl. You truly believe that I mean that you deserve this. And the reward tastes GOOD... The cake gone and the ice cream eaten, you feel something slip between your back and the chair, settling on your shoulders. It is a satin cloak, red with a black fur trim. "Follow me, pet. There is something outside I want you to see..."
You follow me to the door, one step behind and to my left, as you know you should. As we reach the door, I motion to a low bench at your left. "You'll want to put those on." You see a pair of high-heeled thigh-high black leather boots below the bench. Putting them on, you find they fit you like you were born into them. Stepping outside, you pull your cloak close around you to stave off the chill of the evening air. Your breath is immediately afterward taken away by what you see. A white horse, hitched to a white buggy similar in decor to the carriage you pulled earlier, sits waiting. The coachman nods his greetings and turns his eyes forward. Helping you into the buggy I soon after take a seat close beside you. Without a word, the coachman sets the buggy in motion. Pulling you close to me, I whisper in your ear,"i love you so very much, pet..." and kiss you passionately on the mouth. Full and warm, deep and soft. It is, after this weekend's trials, the sweetest kiss of your life. "I love you, Master..." I ease my way to your neck, kissing and licking my way down to your gloriously bare breasts. Caressing each in turn with both mouth and hand, I take my time and take you in fully. You roll your head back and look up at the stars, a speckled ocean of celestial beauty. I beckon you down to the floor of the buggy, and kiss my way downward. Gently slipping between your thighs, I kiss and nibble your tender pussy ever so gently, treating it with delicate tongue and full, soft kisses. You climax easily, the horse and buggy bumping gently along the path and the stars, so many stars shining down on us as we make love. I come up to you and kiss you deeply as I enter you, strong but gentle. As a lover, not merely as Master. We writhe together in ecstasy until finally I reach my point of release. I lay beside you on the floor of the buggy, holding you close, as we stare at the stars for the rest of the ride.
You fall dead asleep before the ride comes to an end. You wake in the bed... I must have carried you. You sit up and something feels wrong. You are not wearing your collar. A note beside the bed reads, "Wear the clothes on the chair and the boots by the door. Meet me by the stables, pet." You look over to see jeans and a flannel shirt. You get the feeling... You dress excitedly, hurry downstairs, and find a pair of western style boots in your size. You slip them on and rush out to the stables. You find me dressed similarly outside the stables, talking to someone whom you can only assume tends the horses. There are two saddled and ready to go. You are motioned to one steed, a beautiful fresian of solid black. I get on another animal... And you take off. You have a lovely time riding, and even more fun watching me get my bottom beaten to Hell by a horse in grand comical fashion. We go back inside, shower off, and get our things together. We keep all the special things you got to wear throughout the weekend... We make love one last time before the car arrives to take us home.
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Myzeray's Glory (Erotica)

I figure if I'm gonna have this blog any longer I might as well put it to use... SOOOOO... Here. Have a crack at my idea of fetish erotica.

We're outside the dungeon, waiting in line to be let in. The door man seems to recognize us, and hurries to let us in, apologizing for not seeing us sooner.I tell him it's no problem, and yet he continues to apologize for leaving the keynote guests to stand in line with mere patrons. You have no idea what is going on. We didn't bring fireplay gear and you have no recollection of being asked about any sort of demonstration.
This is a lavish establishment, polished hardwood floors and a single red carpet leading down the center. Men and women dressed in their finest stand to either side of the carpet. You are even more confused when you and I are led down the carpet itself. The room bursts out in applause, apparently at our arrival. We stop at the end of the carpet and you are blindfolded and leashed.
You are led, presumably by me, away from the applause and down a hallway. A door is opened and you are led into the room beyond. Once inside I order you to kneel and guide you to a wall, where your wrists are locked into heavy shackles. 
Your blindfold is removed and you open your eyes. You are chained on your knees facing a white wall. The wall is featureless except for your chains, a hole at face level and a single red lightbulb above it. You feel lubricated fingers preparing you. You are helped up onto a stool. It occurs to you that you have some reach in your chains but you cannot move your hands more than two feet from the wall. Your posture is corrected. Clearly you are to sit on this stool a specific way. You feel something hard and blunt being inserted from below the stool. It's just slightly thicker than I am, and slightly longer. It's slowly pushed into you, with generous lubrication applied along the way. 
Finally you hear a voice as your ankles are locked into rigid brackets at the legs of the stool. "this is a fucking machine, Myzeray. It will be controlled remotely by the patrons on the other side of this wall," I tell you. "you are to suck off every cock that comes through that opening. If you please them, they will fuck you with this machine. If you perform poorly or refuse for any reason, you will be savagely beaten. Is this clear, pet? Your punishment or reward is based on your obedience and your performance." 
You hear on the other side of the wall a voice declaring, "and our first winner is... Number 89!" punctuated by applause. The small curtain covering the hole on the other side of the wall parts enough for the first cock of the night. Medium length and thick, semierect, and already dripping in anticipation. You hesitate, fearful of my jealousy firing up.  
You are shocked as the first whip strike lands, thrown by my very hand. Pain burns across your back and I order you to suck. You comply, sobbing in agony, taking him into your mouth. As he grows to full erection on your tongue, the machine starts fucking you slowly. You soon realize that the better you make him feel, the faster and harder the machine fucks you. As he fires his load into your mouth, the machine fucks you harder and faster than humanly possible. He withdraws his rod and the machine stays running. You are permitted to cum. You do so, and the machine shuts down. The next winner is called out, another number. 
The curtain parts to reveal a long cock, heavily pierced. You set to work on this cock and strangely it remains limp. Nothing from the machine either. The red lightbulb comes on. The pain tells you what the light is for. You are whipped again and again, sheer agony. You beg me to stop. "not until the light is out, my little whore..." Finally the light goes out... And you tearfully, sobbingly resume. Only now he's so hard you can see his pulse throbbing in every vein. He lasts barely a minute before cumming. You get the machine, but you hear a voice on the other side... "i just wish I could give her more than that after that blowjob!" The machine runs and you are given permission, but you just can't... You hear the voice again. "our third and final winner of the night is... 42!"
You are exhausted from your whipping. You don't know if you can. That last man was brutal. And he used your master's hand to beat you... Just so he could get up. Your mouth is dry. Your face is wet with tears.You hear a bell ring. Moments later the door opens. You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to look into the eyes of a stunning blonde woman, about your age, dressed only in a collar, chastity belt, and an open tuxedo coat with tails. She offers you a glass of water and helps you drink it before leaving. You've got some energy back, but you pray to the goddess this final man is easy and gentle. 
No such luck. While the red light stays off, the door opens and the blonde slave returns. "he has a special demand." With these words she quickly and firmly grabs hold of your head and holds your face to the hole. The third man fucks your mouth relentlessly as the machine fucks you hard, fast, and deep. He slams into the back of your throat again and again, for what feels like forever. Finally, he thrusts in deep, and holds as you choke on his load. She pulls your head back, off of his shaft, and gives you more water as you are unchained from the wall and unlocked from the machine. 
Once released, you are blindfolded again. You are led from the room and through the hallway, back to the room with the guests. Once in the main room, you are steered hard right, and led up a short series of stems, not more than a few feet or so... Some sort of stage...? Your feet feel cold stone, polished smooth, most likely marble. You are led several feet inward from the steps and halted. You are made to bow forward, and your neck feels something padded, but rigid. Your wrists are placed on either side of your head-- Oh, that's it... Stocks. The top half is placed and locked. Nothing from the audience but a general murmur.
Then-- You feel what I have planned next for you, as the first drip of hot candle wax falls on your back. Then another and another, over your whip lashes, each drop a fiery, searing window into both hell and ecstasy. Soon your back is covered with wax, in how many colors you know not nor could you see, and then the next chapter of your ordeal begins...
The flogger comes down on your back, hard and unforgiving. You feel it even through the armor of the wax on your skin, as the falls begin to crack your multicolored protection. You are beaten until your back is clean of the last bit of wax. You are still wet and sore from the machine, your throat aching, your body weakened beyond what you ever imagined you could be and still stand. You feel my hips against yours as my steely cock rests itself into the crack of your ass, dripping with pre-cum. I glide against you for a few minutes making you beg for my cock before I slide it down and upward into your pussy, balls deep. 
You scream out in an instant orgasm over the pain of having been raped by the cold, cruel, hard and unforgiving machine at the hands of three men... And I continue to fuck you, reminding you what a whore, what a slut, what a little bitch you've been this evening. I tell you how undeserving you are of my cock and how much it should hurt to finally have the HONOR of getting your Master off. I order you to beg me to make it hurt. You comply. You whimper and beg, plead with me to make it hurt, to torment your nerves, to show you pain, agony... 
I draw my cock from you and lubricate your asshole. You do not receive any sort of warmup, for pain is the goal. I ram my shaft into your ass straight to the hilt, and fuck your hole, ignoring your wails and moans. You grit your teeth to bear the pain and begin begging me to let you cum. You know you can't hold off for long, and you pray I let you soon. There are too many people watching you right now, too many things have happened to you this night, for you to be able to hold off an orgasm for much longer...
"CUM, YOU FUCKING WHORE!!! CUM FOR ME, YOU UNDESERVING SLUT!!! DO IT!!! NOW!!!" Your body complies, your mind is nowhere to be found anymore. Pleasure riding above the pain, you faint as you feel the first drops of my own rain onto your back. You awaken as you are being carried from the stocks, and the ache in your throat makes it clear what happened as you fainted... You feel as though you've been hanged, yet you know you weren't. This must have happened when your body went limp with the loss of consciousness. You are helped to stand, and led from the stage, as your feet notice the warm feel of carpet once more.
The blindfold is removed, and your eyes are greeted with bright light, your ears battered by applause. You stand in the center of the room, on a circular red rug at the end of the red carpet. You notice that the black velvet draperies that covered the walls are open, revealing massive screens. On them is video of you sucking the cocks of these three men, and all that transpired in the room. There is footage from every angle. The whole room must have been wired for video and audio. The stage, too, as you also see what happened to you there. Every drip of wax and every swing of the flogger is there on screen for all to behold again and again. It is even more clear on the screens on the walls of the Dungeon as to what happened when you lost consciousness, as you watch your own knees buckle and you very nearly hang yourself in front of the crowd when your full body's weight sags against the stocks, only your neck holding you up as you are quickly supported for release. You watch your own mouth tortured, rammed by cock after cock, the machine pushing in and out of your pussy as your vulva turns red and raw, you see every lash of the whip draw furious lines on your back... You watch my muscular hips and thighs work like a well-oiled machine as I fuck you in both your holes from behind as you are hleplessly locked into the stocks... You are so wet from watching all that you have endured that you secretly and inwardly beg to do it again.
You are soon surrounded by six godlike men, dressed in tuxedo coats, collars, and penile chastity devices, securely locked. They tend your back, wiping you down with cool cloths, as a claw-footed bathtub is wheeled in on a marble cart, pushed by six stunning female slaves. You are helped into the tub, and gently bathed. The water is warm, bubbly and scented. The women wash your whole body and your hair, and dry you off with huge, soft towels. The whole while, guests watch the play. 
You do not know when it arrived, but a new red rug is outside the tub, on it is a vanity loaded with makeup. An oiled male slave dries your hair and styles it. Another male god-slave applies your makeup, and yet another brings you clothing. Gorgeous silk, a black open backed evening gown with a hobble cut. How they did it you'll never know, but it fits you like you were born into it. Finally, you are fully dressed and allowed to see their handiwork. It takes away your breath to see yourself in the full length mirror. You look stunning. Only the lash marks on your back, plainly revealed by the dress, indicate that anything has happened. 
You are finally removed from your leash, to even more applause. It is then that you hear the familiar voice. It is the man you heard announcing the winners. "marvelous performance, my dear Myzeray, absolutely marvelous! And Master Frederick, this is for you," he says, handing me an envelope. It is thick, and looks near to bursting. 
"we charged quite a sum for guests to come to this show," he says, turning to you. "we also held a silent auction to see with whom you would share the stage. Each of the men you serviced were winners, as were the slaves who tended to you," he explains."it was quite a grand production, and you led the show well." 
He goes on. "the proceeds for the auction are split evenly. Half goes to the house..." he then produces an even larger envelope and offers it to you. "and half goes to the star of the show." 
You take it, still confused. "twenty-three thousand dollars, fitting fee for such a splendid whore."
You ask about what he gave to me. "oh, that? That's half the door. You'll be pleased to hear that it's not even half what you earned, my dear Myzeray."


Confessions of a Hash Browns Mad Scientist

So since Lorelai started working from home, I have made it sort of a ritual to ensure that she gets one really nice home-cooked breakfast each weekend. It is to this end that I have spent several months perfecting the art of the side dish known as Hash Browns. And today, I took it one step further. Details to follow.

Frederick's Ultimate Hash Browns

Two potatoes for each adult eating, one for each child eating
2 tbsp minced garlic (you can never have too much)
1/4 walla walla sweet onion, diced
bacon grease
Kosher Salt
Fresh ground Black Pepper

"Filling" (Yeah, you heard me right):
3 tbsp sour cream
half a package Cream Cheese
1/2 cup grated cheddar or colby jack cheese
1/4 cup chopped bacon, cooked
1 tbsp chopped chives

Peel and Grate the potatoes into a collander. Make sure the holes are smaller than the strands of potato. Rinse the potatoes in cold water, running your fingers through them to make sure they are all rinsed. Do this until the water runs clear. Empty the collander onto a clean towel and bring the corners together. Twist the towel into a bag and wring the potatoes out as much as you can, and then wring them some more. Your potatoes should bee relatively dry, and when you pour them back into the collander, very little should stick to the towel. Add kosher salt, pepper, garlic and onions, mix well. Melt the bacon grease into a 14" skillet, about a tablespoon or two should do the trick. Bring it up to a high medium on your range (my range has a 1-10 dial, I set mine to halfway between 6 and 7) and let it reach temperature. Once it does, add the potatoes in a layer about 1/2 to 3/4 inch deep. You may have to make two batches, depending on how many potatoes you use. Cook turning once, for ten to eleven minutes.

While the Hash Browns are cooking on the first side, prepare your filling. Combine cream cheese and sour cream by repeatedly mashing and folding with a fork. When it is well combined, add remaining ingredients and fold them in to thoroughly combine. Set aside.

When it is time to flip the Hash Browns, try to flip them in a single piece, as a whole. This may take practice, but you'll find it a skill worth learning. as the Hash Browns near their finishing point on the second side, add your filling to one side and fold them in half over it. Cook an additional two minutes per side, flipping only once. Transfer them to a plate and cut them into individual portions and serve. Revel in the tasty goodness that is the Ultimate Hash Browns.


Okay, now that I've actually had the time to not only soak it all in but to sit down and write about it, Seadog Nights was fucking awesome. I've been to the first, second, and every single other one and watched it grow over the years. This year was its tenth anniversary.

So Myzeray and I arrive onsite and get checked in. We find our encampment with no difficulty, and attempt to set up in the midst of a puppy stampede (six puppies in camp, WAAAAAAAY too cute). We get the tent up only to find (bear in mind that neither Myzeray nor I are the owners of this tent) that while all of the poles and parts of the tent were indeed included in the bag, the poles of half of another tent (actually, I think it was a day shade) were also included. This of course made for the usual frustrations of setting up. Now I've been eventing for eleven years, and I accept that setting up is always going to be a hassle. Especially when you're Frederick the Reckless (tm).

So Thursday night after setting up we get changed into garb, and I wear my new outfit, one I wore at Olympus Among Us:

Myzeray also dresses to the nines, but we have no pictures of the outfit at this time. They will be coming however, as Dawlmesh the Imagemaker was very inspired, as he usually gets at events. And so as a rare treat, rather than set up and perform on the first night of the event, Myzeray and I go out roving. We find the rest of the Troupe and where they're camped, and then head off to Ignition's encampment. Now, allow me to reiterate (beacuse I've said similar words in the past) that if you event, and Ignition is there, and you don't attempt to get to know them on even the least level, you are short-sheeting yourself in the "knowing cool people" department. Khan and the gang are cool people, and that night we spend about an hour catching up before heading out to seek more noise. That's what you do, really, when roving. You follow the noise and seek the most interesting source of it. The night passes with much roving, drinking, carousing and catching up with friends, and I recount the story of how I lost my hair several times over, something I got used to at Olympus Among Us. Thursday night ends relatively early from my perspective, singe I tend to stay out all night at events...

Friday begins with me selling raffle tickets, something I do when I'm desperately broke, which is more often than I'd like of late... But enought lamenting the financial things. This year the prize was something I make and sell for one hundred dollars a set-- stainless steel talons:

I make three designs, and this style, the Classic, is my most popular. Each talon is laser cut, and made of 18 gauge stainless steel, hand formed and polished. I sell tickets for the chance to win them, explaining that there are two sets, and therefore two winning tickets will be drawn. When I run a raffle I offer a deal to sell more tuickets and give folks a better chance to win: One dollar per ticket or six tickets for five dollars. They sell well, given that in this economy very few have the money to buy a set outright. When you get the chance to get something this cool that sells for one hundred dollars for one dollar, even when you're in competition for it, you'll take that chance.
Friday evening is our first performance of the weekend, with two menmers of Ignition guesting with Fire and Steel. It's a "fire performance open mic night," as I like to call them, more a glorified practice than a show. Still, the audience enjoys them, so we do them, and it helps us keep our edge. Nothing beats lit practice, and even better when there's an audience. Myzeray has a brief accident-- During her double whip set, she catches her bandanna on fire. These things happen, even to the most experienced of all of us. She handles it without a stutter, swiping her bandanna off her head in a fluid motion, without dropping either of her whips and carries on with the rest of her act. I can't tell you how proud she did me there.

After the show there's a masquerade ball to get ready for, but we don't make it in time. I spend too much time figuring out Myzeray's outfit, something I planned out in my head but never rehearsed. She is dressed only in one hundred feet of rope tied into a body harness, and five yards of powder blue lace held to her skin by that rope. I do my best to arrange the excess so that it looks like a gown, and in the back it works well, but the front requires a revision by Myzeray in order to look right. Since we miss the ball due to dressing and pictures, we decide instead to carouse. More roving is in order that night, and we retire in the wee hours of the morning as the sun starts to rise-- very, very drunk.

Saturday starts with more raffle tickets, roaming about and such, attempting to bide the time til dark. There is precious little shade onsite, but there is an ice cold creek running on one side. We go there to try to cool off... Big mistake for me, really. I have asthma and am overheated, and the runoff in the creek is so cold that my lungs try to shut the fuck down. Seriously, I begin hyperventilating to the point where I can't stop, but I am in too deep already to really see any point in turning around and getting out. So Parlon (sp?) of the Criminal Dawn helps me across with an inflatable raft or somesuch, and I stand waist deep in a portion of the creek which gets sunlight, so it is a bit warmer. I stand there for about half an hour, and gradually cool my core temperature before crossing back to dry off and go out selling more tickets and meeting folks. Myzeray finds the creek to be invigorating and just what she needs to cure her hangover. I leave her to her own devices and roam about the site.

Saturday evening's show-- Can you say Chaos? Ignition  is to be on before us, a rare opportunity for me to finally catch their show in its entirety. You see, usually we go on before them, and when the show's over I still have things to do. I generally have to get changed, move gear to whatever area I will be doing my Fireplay demo at, and then usually I return in time for them to close out their show. Seriously sucks, since just as they are fans of Fire and Steel, I as well as the rest of the troupe are fans of Ignition. But not this time. We get there early, and beforehand I change into my NEW STAGE GARB:

So, somewhat unrecognized, I make my way to the rest of the troupe's encampment and then out to stage. We set up before the show, and Ignition is still getting ready. So to fill the stage as the audience gets restless we have Brandon, a regular guest at Seadog's fire shows, and Pirate Technics, a new troupe, as well as the Fiery Dragons open for Ignition. Ignition's show-- AWESOME. I don't care that they run a short program, it is a treat for me. I finally got to see a full show for a change instead of a few acts at the beginning and the very end. We go on and rock the site as usual, but this year there's a treat for the audience- you remember about this year being the tenth anniversary of Seadog Nights? Well, I have a treat for Zorgon, the Autocrat for the event. I've learned a new trick that I like to do on special occasions. Ever heard of "Swordside Service?" It's the act of opening a bottle of chanpagne by way of cutting the top off with a sword. Ever seen it done with a FLAMING sword? No, didn't think so... Well, I call him out onto the stage, and give a short speech about the history of the event and how it's grown, and call for cheers for he and his autocrat team for running such a sensational event. I have my flaming goblet brought to me, and draw and ignite my sword. I take the bottle and with one quick, precise cut sever the neck of the bottle just below the cork. Ffyn the Ffool tries to catch the cork in a bucket, and the audience roars when they hear the thunk in the bottom. I pour Zorgon a mug full of champagne, hand him the bottle, ignite and raise my goblet. I toast him, the autocrat team and the event, and take a mouthful from my goblet. The audience explodes with applause as I breathe fire across the top of the goblet, proving that I did in fact take something from the flames as I tipped it back. Zorgon returns to the audience and the show continues.

That night is the night I have set aside for fireplay demonstration, a show I like to call "the Dark Side of Fire." Two things different about this year: Pirate Technics opens for me with their adult firedance show, drawing the crowd in. The other difference is Myzeray is helping me run the queue this year, having completed her training in torchplay. We take donations only for this night, as fireplay is costly, explaining that this one night will likely cost us seventy-five dollars in fuel and supplies to do. Most are accomodating, some grumble. Much of this is put down by my explanation that this year, rather than waiting in line up to three times to experience torchplay, fire flogging and fire whipping I will run one line, and you get the full fireplay expereince you're after all at once (in other words, if you want torchplay front and back followed by a back and front fire flogging followed by a fire whipping finishing up with torchplay over the fresh lash marks, you got it-- for a BUCK...). As for fire safety, instead of Zeke as per usual, I find an equally awesome substitute: Drake, of Ignition. He handles the job well, and it does NOT suck. You have naked chicks hanging on you while they get beaten with fire, what sucks about that?

Sunday we pack out as usual, say our goodbyes and head home. While it's been a fun weekend, I am still eager to be home again and even moreso to be next to my loving wife, Lorelai. She doesn't do Seadog because the site is too hot for her and the baby, and I miss them each time.


Stepping off the Gangplank

Having sailed the seas of An Tir for nearly ten years, this old Irishman has noticed a rather disenchanting trend: That Pirates, for all their pageantry and flair, are less and less interested in how life was at sea and more and more interested in simply getting into their garb and swaggering about like drunk, beligerent assholes. And God forbid you call them drama queens... And so it is with a heavy heart that I make the following announcement: I am stepping away from pirate events for the most part, save for one or two events a year maximum. You see, when these non-sanctioned events started out, they were, though out of Period as known by the Society for Creative Anachronism, still based on a love of history and knowledge of how things were back then. As they increased in popularity, both by way of like-minded individuals and trends in the movies, they became less about the history and more about the fiction and roleplaying. While this is still a nice outlet, it also led to a flood of drama queens who attend these events expecting to be entertained by all those around them and all that happens in their immediate vicinity. Further, it led to an influx of LARPers who have no interest whatsoever in the foundation of these events and really have no place there (I'm looking at YOU, STEAMPUNK!) and really would be better off sticking to their own venues and gatherings. I have no interest in playing Pirate around faeries, vampires, Jedi, or Neo-Victorian Sci-Fi fanatics. If things could go back to the way they were, that would be nice. But wanting does not make it so. So here's the vignette that explains the decision officially according to my persona:

I've sailed too long. I've lost too much. Friends, comrades, money, treasure... Too much lost. I've started over one time too many. I find myself finally back in Ireland, my home. It brings back so much for me, to see the cliffs of Dover, to see the Glen once more. I find myself walking the streets I played in as a child even before I leave the dock. I even miss the life of a sellsword. The life of a Mercenary. The life of a Galloglas. I tired long ago of the smell of rotting sea rations, the mildew in the water so thick and viscous that you needed to cut it fifty percent with rum just to choke it down. I miss the stews my ma used to make, the venison my da brought home after a good day of hunting. I look up toward the deck of the ship I arrived on, the deckhands talking of grog, treasure, rum and women. The rough men whose sole interest is their own greed. The simple minds of men whose base desires rule over any logical wants and needs. Already they plan their next foray into the life, merry and short. Already they spend their treasure, even before it is in their hands. I tired long ago of such simple men. I tired long ago... Of too much. I cannot forget my time at sea, nor will I try. I will return to the sea once, perhaps twice a year, for with so much of which I have grown tired, there are things still that I found beautiful and captivating. The sunset at sea rivals the beauty of the finest woman, the waves can at times bring joy greater than the laugh of the giddiest child. The adventure can bring greater thrill than any experienced, even by the heroes of folklore itself. But for now I shoulder my seabag, take one long last look back at the docks, turn on my heel and leave.

...There are no goodbyes. Goodbyes are forever, and so there will be none.

On Safety in the Workplace

As you, my loyal tens of readers know, I work in a sheet metal shop, where I am a Finisher. Basically, I make all the ugly shit disappear like David Copperfield, making the guys with the welders look like they know what they're doing. One of the machines I use on occasion is the shear. I leaned over the back of the metal shear when the backstop was moving (stupid, I know) and got my hair caught in the drive screw. It pulled my head in, but luckily my hair was thick enough to stop the machine once it reeled me in. It tore out about a quarter of my hair and settled the question I had been debating the answer to (about whether or not I should get my hair cut) for me.

Before the accident, my hair looked like this:

Then it happened, and when it did, I checked myself out of course. This is the wad of hair that came out with my hair tie:

And when I got home, I had Puppy check the damage and this picture was taken:

And so, of course, this meant a haircut:

And even as short as it is, you can still see where the hair was ripped out:

In time it will grow back in and even out, but for now there is a pretty well-defined reminder of my mistake.

Why did this happen? Because, quite simply, I had become complacent with my safety practices at work. I had the lax sense of near invulnerability that comes from getting too comfortable at your job. And it cost me my hair, and could have cost me my LIFE. This should serve me (and YOU, the person reading this and biting your nails) as a reminder that you can never play it TOO safe. Sure, I could take that chance again. It is, after all, faster for me to do that so that the backstop can be set back to where it was before I used the machine much faster by way of combining this action with retrieving my cut material. BUT-- It is also highly unsafe. What good is getting more done faster to you if you're dead? Had my hair been too strongly rooted or the machine not been as old and worn down, it would have extruded my head through the gap between the drive screw and the guide bar, a gap of about 2 inches. If I was lucky, I'd just have ended up scalped. If not, my skull would have been pulverized and drawn through that gap, and there wouldn't have been a thing I could have done about it.
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Where the Hell Was I When THIS Was Going On?

Now, my loyal tens of readers, you may remember back in May when I posted a video on YouTube featuring my knife tricks:

I figured it would get a few hurrah's and some ooh's and aah's, and that would be the end of it. But NOOOOOOOO... I google my stage name from time to time, to see where I'm at in regard to Intarweb fame... And at the time I write this entry, I get this if I put my name in quotes for the most accurate results:

Now, I'm wondering: Where the hell was I when this was happening? I mean, the video is cool and all, but is it really THAT cool?

Before you look at me funny and say, "DUH, Frederick..." understand where I'm coming from:

I have been doing this stuff with blades longer than I have been doing stuff with fire. I began playing with blades back when I was about 15, sort of killing time and tempting fate. I got better in spurts, with long periods of stagnation in between. I didn't just step into this, nor did I work hard and long at it. I would lose interest and put the blades away for months, sometimes years at a time, then eventually pick them back up. Some of these times I would learn new tricks to add to my repertoire, most times I would not. I never really considered it all that big a deal.

BUT-- I uploaded it to YouTube, StupidVideos and LiveLeak... And within HOURS, I had a guy from CMT's "Country Fried Home Videos" asking me if I would be willing to send it in to their show. And within DAYS, there were tens of thousands of views of this video. It had been shared from website to website, and traveled around the virtual world known as the internet. I had gone VIRAL. There are video sites hosted in Spain, Poland, the Ukraine, and so on featuring this video. I did not anticipate this. I have people from time to time coming up to me asking me if I am the guy they saw on the TV show, or the guy from the Internet. It's been about one or two a month, but it's weirder actually than being approached by someone who's seen me perform on stage with Fire and Steel. At least with them I have a chance to possibly know who they are in kind.

Point of Trivia: I am a walking contradiction. A living, breathing OXYMORON. You see, I have always wanted to entertain the masses. BUT-- I have NEVER wanted to be famous. I know, wanting my cake and eating it too... But there you have it. The persona known as Frederick the Reckless is just a bit more than a role I play at events. He is also a form of defense mechanism. You see, if HE absorbs all the attention, I can go back to being absolutely no one in particular on Monday morning, when I go back to being a stranger on the bus, a sheet metal finisher at an aerospace fab shop, and the father of a beautiful daughter and husband of a lovely wife. I never wanted fame. I never wanted it, but it happened. And I have no idea how or why, I just know that I have to put up with it, because I'll be damned if I want to deal with it.

In the words of John Lennon: "Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans."
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On Seadog Nights, and Not Having Time for This (LONG ENTRY)

So, I just got back from Seadog Nights, my last event of the year given current budget circumstances… But to fully tell the tale, I must go back to just Thursday of the prior week. You see, I have a dangerous hobby. It takes its toll on my joints, and seven years ago it cost me my anterior cruciate ligament (ACL), meniscus, and bursa in my left knee. I get along fine most days, and for the last five years have performed without so much as a brace without a problem other than the occasional ache. BUT… Thursday, one week before Seadog Nights, I was coming down the stairs that lead to the entryway of my apartment building… I get to the third step from the bottom and-- POP-CRUNCH-GRIND… And I fell. I re-injured my knee. SONOFABITCH. Well, I didn’t have time for this, now did I? I had a wedding to attend for a good friend of ours, and I was to walk her down the aisle. I had an event coming up. I had an errand to run. I HAD SHIT TO DO, DAMMIT!!! Suffice to say, I found myself back in a knee brace, frequently relying on a cane to get around for extended periods.

So upon arrival at Seadog, I of course got no end of the obvious question from those I had not previously informed of my condition: “What did you do to yourself?” I gave the explanation so many times I think I had it on auto-reply. When asked if I would still perform, I asked in return, “Is pig pussy pork?” And added, “I’ll still perform, though I might have to settle for being less of a madman than usual.”


We got set up in the heat, and I very quickly chose to ditch my sweat-lodge mundane clothing for my kilt (unless you own one, you have no idea how welcome the breeze that blows along beneath it can be!) and headed out for a bit of recon. I had to find the rest of the troupe, find out where our stage area was going to be, locate the household where I would be doing my fireplay demo, etc, etc, etc… I had thought about holding a raffle, as I had a nice stag-handled bowie knife and a set of ceramic mugs designed to be easy to decorate with permanent markers (something in the glaze made the colors stay permanently, I think), but I thought better of it when I realized just how much walking I would be doing. On my knee, not such a good idea. Well, as it turns out it was still a good thing I had packed my roll of tickets. Shamus, troupe leader ot the Fiery Dragons (a recently formed troupe of fire performers, who got into firedancing after being inspired by Fire and Steel) was having no luck selling his twin Kukhri knives. I lent him my roll of tickets and gave him pointers on selling as many tickets as possible. He turned a pretty enough penny, I’m told, to get himself a leather vest, leather mask, and set aside some cash to help supply his troupe.

Showtime that night was nothing short of magical. Fire and Steel, Ignition, and the Fiery Dragons all blended our respective shows into one HUGE jam session, or as I like to say, “A Fire Performance Open Mic Night.” It was very relaxed, as opposed to the way we usually do Seadog: One troupe following another. Boulron about went nuts from the stress of running that huge a stage queue, and I can’t blame him-- I’ve been there. I used to run the stage queue before he took it over, and I remember what it’s like to juggle thirty people backstage. But everyone performing that night put in a good showing for themselves including Godiva, who has recently begun training in fire. Though my knee was absolutely killing me, I still managed to perform just fine and leave the stage with only a slight limp from time to time.

After the show, Godiva and I went out drinking and roving from camp to camp. We ended up spending much of our time at Ignition’s encampment, exchanging anecdotes and alcohol. Once again, I’ll say it: You would be doing yourself a disservice not taking the time to get to know them.

The next day was spent by me roaming about in the heat, sitting and chatting with old friends, and making some new ones. I basically window-shopped a lot, shot the shit with folks, and then… I have noticed an influx of something new that doesn’t belong at these events, sanctioned or non-. It seems some folks have decided that STEAMPUNK would be okay to add to our brand of SCA play. All I can think is, “MUST WE FUCKING DO THIS?!?!? REALLY?!?!?” This shit is about as period as a Heckler and Koch MP5. The difference between the two is that I would actually want the latter if only to use it to shoot the former in the fucking kneecaps. I mean, what makes you fucking think this is okay? There are events where this is welcome, and in fact encouraged… THIS IS NOT ONE OF THEM, at least not to me. I don’t bring my pirate garb and flintlocks to your venue, don’t bring your future-retro bullshit LARP to mine.

Showtime Saturday evening was like it was last year, more structured, with one troupe following another. This made it possible for each troupe to field more of their repertoire, which is awesome, though I did prefer the more relaxed feel of Friday’s show. On the upshot, Godiva tried fireswords for the first time, and did a DAMNED good job! Saturday’s show also brought the fire performance debut of Bevin, Boulron’s apprentice. What can I say, she rocked the torches! Ffyn the Fool also got to ham it up again, modeling a silkscreened Seadog Nights commemorative shirt. He wore it for the merchant’s pitch, performed a palmtorch set wearing it, and took the shirt off comedy-burlesque style and threw it into the audience. The crowd loved it!

After the show, Godiva and I went back to the tent briefly so she could change and I could take some of the load off my knee before heading out to the Sanctuary of Pan. They were holding a masquerade ball there that night, with one corner of the area serving as “Sexual Deviant Central.” There was a tent for Suspension bondage, one for play piercing, one with a St. Andrews Cross set up for flogging, and I was to perform my fireplay demo in the middle. PROBLEM: The hard clay that passes for soil at the site did not want to let me plant my standard, a stainless steel flame on a pole with a holder for two tiki torches attached. Well, if at first you don’t succeed, stab it into the ground HARDER, right? Well it worked-- with an unpleasant and completely unforeseen side effect. You see, when I planted it, the screws in the back of the tiki torch holders gouged out about twelve inches of wood as they dropped, driving the point of one of the tiki torch holders into my forearm deep enough to require stitches. My reaction: “Oh… That SUCKS!!!” My first thought thereafter: “I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!!!” I went inside a tent, and Puppy had a good look at it, wrapped it in gauze and a pressure dressing, and turned me loose. (Realize this: She knows me and how stubborn I can be. She decided on this course of action because I related to her that I felt it was enough. I will NOT hear any bullshit about my troupe’s SAFETY MANAGER giving substandard care.) I went outside and finished setting up for fireplay and began. By the time I saw my tent in the morning, the sun was peeking up over the hills. My only regret about that night is that I was so busy I didn’t get to see much of what else was going on.

After waking up, Godiva and I did the usual packing and saying of goodbyes and headed home. I enjoyed the event, and immensely so, but I was glad to be headed home. The Baby withdrawals from not having Lizard along, and the Lorelai withdrawals (Neither she nor the baby attended as Lorelai hates the site with the fury of a thousand suns and we both agreed it would be too hot for Lizard) were also beginning to seriously wear on me. My next event will probably be DMDT of next year, as we are hoping to be able to organize a reunion for Lorelai’s family Memorial Day Weekend.

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