Start With a Bang

On New Year’s Day i sleep in until 11am and potter downstairs yawning. Mx is already awake and sipping coffee in the kitchen and i join Them, roll and light two cigarettes (one for Them, obviously – i don’t smoke two at a time unless i’m very drunk) and lounge against the counter as i smoke and caffeinate. i’m sweaty, greasy-haired, and i smell strongly of cum. Shower will be essential soon but for now i’m quite enjoying the reminder of last night. It was a quiet one mostly, because a migraine stole most of my New Year’s Eve – but i’d perked up a bit by bedtime, enough to fuck on the floor with one of Their hands over my mouth and the other yanking my hair.

“Do you have tasks this morning, baby boy?” They ask.

“Shower, Mx,” i say. “i’m stinky. Need to put some laundry away and do another load, there’s a bit of washing up – and clean out the litter trays. i think that’s it, unless You have anything else, Mx?”

“No,” They say.

“Any instructions for what i wear, Mx?” So far i’m just in my sleep bra and Their dressing gown.

“Skinny jeans – yes you can steal some of Mine – push up bra, and a low cut top please.” They’re not usually this specific, but i know where this is coming from – and i like it.

W/we had O/our monthly check in last night, just after midnight. It wasn’t the plan – W/we’d usually wait until daylight hours but W/we were up to see 2025 arrive and were chatting kink anyway so, why not? Amongst the usual review of the previous month’s scenes, general chat about how everything’s going, and plans for the coming month, W/we’d talked about something new. Mx has an interest in bimbofication, and Their interest – as it often does – has awoken mine.

For a start W/we’d agreed that i would style my hair every day, i will prioritise building a bigger butt and narrowing my waist with my diet and exercise choices, W/we will purchase makeup, sluttier clothes, and Their control over my appearance – which They already have – will be more actively used. Lip filler as soon as it’s safe after my upcoming operation – and to be topped up at Their discretion – and tanning injections. The goal is to make me into a sex object – not, as They clarified several times with obvious concern, to make me more attractive. None of this is a criticism or complaint of how i look now. It’s about control. It’s about eroding my autonomy and free thought. It’s about leaning into what’s already there – the way i’m already cock-stupid when i look at Them, the way i pick out Nice Bra and Little Shorts when i’m craving Their attention. Let’s amplify it, make it extreme, make it a game, make it all consuming. Let’s find out where it takes U/us.

But today is day one – i’m my natural, unaltered self, and W/we’ve barely got started but those instructions for my outfit already start a little tingle in my brain – and elsewhere too. That’s new – when They tell me what to wear it usually feels good in the same way other acts of non-sexual control do, it makes my brain go brrr and feel loved and connected and secure. This feels like that too but with a spicy twist and – oh god, i’m going to really be into this aren’t i?

i do my tasks, and head for the shower. i wash my hair and think i should do another hair gloss soon – that might be something to maintain more often. i shave how They like it – just my pubic hair – then dry off. On impulse, i apply perfume too. i blowdry my hair, i put on jewellery, and i look in the mirror.

Physically, nothing has changed – W/we’re going out today and if left to my own devices i’d have picked a similar outfit, i think. My hair is one of my current standard rotation styles – though i’ve pinned one side back behind my ear today to open up my face more, and i like it. But there’s no barbie doll staring back at me – just the lightly androgynous face with somewhat incongruous cleavage that i already know. So why do i feel so different?

There’s tendrils of Their control laced across the surface of my brain. i’m wet. i’ve been thinking about Them throughout my whole routine – will this please Them? Is this what They would choose? i’m focused, intentional, obedient, and anything outside that in my brain has been stripped out. It’s not stupidity – W/we’re in agreement that’s not the goal, except during play where it’s already a given. Hit me hard enough and there’s nothing going on upstairs. No, not stupidity – but a simplification. A clearing out, an emptiness with stars floating in it that say Theirs, Theirs, Theirs.

i go downstairs and They approve – and W/we’re good to go. There’s a New Year’s play event local to U/us and that’s where W/we’re headed, fashionably late because of my faffing about and last minute plans to give a friend a lift too.

There is cheese, and i go fully feral at the snack table. W/we socialise for a while – but not too long because W/we’re keen to play and also because the smoking area is bitterly cold. i have a coat but i didn’t bring a jumper and i have some regrets.

The room W/we choose in the dungeon is almost perfect. It’s far enough from the larger main dungeon that noise won’t be too much of an issue – i’ve seen the toys Mx brought and there will be noise. It contains a large round bed and a couple of couches for if W/we gather an audience. The downside is the ceiling – it’s shorter than Mx. They stoop and begin unpacking toys.

The selection today is mostly O/our Christmas presents to each other. W/we went to a local kink market in December and agreed – to avoid accidentally buying the same things – that Mx would buy me toys i like (thuddy, heavy things) and i would buy Them toys They like (slappy, stingy, evil things that make me screech). They picked out a beautiful wooden club inset with metal studs that weighs so much i initially thought it was internally weighted (it’s not, it’s just hefty) and a cricket ball on a short length of flexible rubber. Ball on a stick is one of my favourite genres of impact toys, so that looks like fun. i bought Them more toys – therefore creating a huge problem for myself because they’re all things i know i’m going to hate. There’s a bright red wooden tawse, a miniature leather flogger designed for cunt impact but with lots of potential to fuck me up everywhere else, a rubber ladder-shaped strap, a paddle made of solid metal, and a crop with plastic lotus spikes attached. The venue W/we’re in is a no-blood venue so the spikes won’t feature today – but flip it around and it’s a high quality leather crop with added weight from the studs holding the spikes in place. Still plenty of fun.

To be nice, Mx brought a couple of thuddy toys W/we already had too – just for balance. But They’re in a mood to make me hurt and i suspect as i’m getting undressed that They’ll find ways to make those unpleasant too.

There’s no warmup – They start with the club and on a cold butt even that makes me squeak. Before long They’ve found out how to use the flat side to deliver a horrible slap despite the toy’s weight, and what follows is a lovely thuddy rhythmic beating that is frequently interrupted by a surprising and awful slappy impact across my thighs. i grizzle about it. The mix of moans, shrieks and complaints attracts a couple of people to the couches where they laugh in appreciation of the thoroughly bad time that follows – i am flipped over and back several times so Mx can beat my ass and thighs one minute, and Their cunt (it’s not mine anymore – hasn’t been since W/we met) and my inner thighs. Uh – not with the club though. Christ. That little flogger packs a wicked sting i hadn’t expected – i tested it on my arm at the market and thought it wasn’t too bad. Mx is very good at curling it to wrap around, and flicking with the tips, to get the worst possible result.

Wait – aren’t i supposed to be a masochist? Why am i complaining? See – i have two sides of my masochism. There’s the “ooh, that feels nice” masochism in response to things most people would be horrified by – like being beaten with a spiked club until there’s blood on the ceiling, or having a cigarette stubbed out on my tongue. Some pain is just pleasure – or at least mostly pleasure – for me. Then the other side of my masochism is the “oh no, that’s awful, do it again”. Sometimes i don’t want fun, sexy pain – i just want to hurt. Sometimes Mx just wants to hurt me, and i just want to endure as service. Sometimes i just want a challenge.

So challenged i am, and between my loud complaints there’s giggly moments too, spaced out moments of bliss where They hit me the way i like for likings sake, then the shattering of my peaceful trance as They return to the tawse or the ladder strap. There’s also, unfortunately, a loud bang on the ceiling and i turn around to see Them clutching Their head after straightening up directly into a beam. i am sympathetic. i am also looking for trouble.

“Aw, no,” i say sarcastically. “Did You get hit Mx? Did it hurt?”

What can i say, i’m not a brat as such but Mx has unintentionally trained me to be cheeky by constantly positively reinforcing it. And here comes the positive reinforcement.

They pin me down with Their hand over my mouth because this is going to get really loud, and pick up the ladder strap. Ah, fuck. They bring it down repeatedly across my breasts and my chest, and i can tell it’s not full force but it’s definitely forceful enough. i make a giant fuss screaming against Their hand and kicking my legs, which is rewarded – when They decide my chest has had enough – with a final blow of the strap across my thigh. That one was full force and i wail and curl up in a ball.

Mx is dizzy from the bonk on the head, so W/we wrap up there and go for a couple of very cold cigarettes and some social time, where i mostly stare into space and mumble nonsense for a bit. The post play stupids are hitting surprisingly hard considering it was a fairly short one – but it definitely wasn’t light and i float around in my endorphins for a bit and occasionally think of something to contribute to the conversation as i become one with the couch. Partly because i’m practically a liquid at this point but also because the couch is broken and i’ve sunk at least a foot into it.

i nap in the car on the way home and i think i’d quite like to put on pyjamas and merge with O/our couch next, but Mx has other ideas and i know those ideas involve an orgasm for me so i obediently trundle off upstairs when W/we get home, and i strip off while They feed the cats. Once the relentless meowing stops, i hear Their footsteps on the stairs and that tiredness ebbs away to be replaced with excitement – there doesn’t seem to be a limit to how much They can wake me up with the promise of more play.

They have me kneel on the bed, handcuffed, and fit a gas mask over my face. The poppers pump comes next, screwed into place and before They give it a squeeze i can already smell the harsh chemical scent in the air. There’s a hiss, and i inhale, hold, and exhale on a moan as the stupid and horny kicks in hard. One of Their hands is between my legs – “you’re a drippy mess already, disgraceful,” They murmur against my ear – and Their other hand controls the steady flow of poppers reducing me to a cock-hungry drooling mess. Time is fake just now so i either cum fast or take forever i have no goddamn idea but i know its good, the way They time one more flood of poppers just as it peaks and i scream and almost sob inside my mask. They turn me over and i’m gasping, moaning, on another planet as They use both holes and then collapse next to me and hold me close. The mask comes off – with a chunk of my hair, oops – and i mumble nonsense and grunt against Their sweat-damp skin. Maybe a sneaky sniff too.

i’m in no fit state to properly cook when W/we make O/our way downstairs, but W/we’re well stocked with party food and cheese from the holiday period and i bake camembert, warm crusty bread, and put a selection of picky bits in the oven. That’s within my capabilities. i join Mx on the couch with O/our mini buffet, curled up in my dinosaur onesie, Bevo beside me on the other side (my giant cow stuffie – he likes to join U/us for TV especially if there’s sports on) and Mx watches football while i float around in my own brain and absorb almost nothing.

At bedtime, there’s one more kinky moment still to fit into O/our day. i strip and kneel at the foot of the bed while Mx gets ready, and then They come and stand in front of me.

“My best boy,” they say, and stroke my hair. i nuzzle against Their palm sleepily.

“i love being Yours.”

They push my head down and i flatten my chest to the floor and worship Their feet, kissing every inch until They bend to pet the back of my head and encourage me back up. This has been O/our night time ritual for a while now and it never loses its magic.

“Thank You, Mx,” i say, and They give me permission to get into the bed. They lock my sleep chain around my ankle, check it’s comfortable – not so loose i can slip out, not so tight it cuts in – and They climb into bed beside me. i drift off to sleep in Their arms, excited for what the rest of 2025 will hold.