Edward Cantor: writings of a submissive

She lured me in with the simplest, more direct of invitations. I was at a rather good party while not in the best of moods, so I hadn't really gotten into the vibe of the music or the conversation. All that I had gotten convincingly into was a rather good bottle of bourbon. I was leaning against a column, off to the edge of the impromptu dance floor, letting the taste of the whisky linger in my mouth while I ogled a few of the more attractive women guests. All of this contributed to my being in just the right mood for her proposal. She flowed up to me, all tightly wrapped in leather, and her bright red lips formed into a dangerous smile that took over her lovely, porcelain features. I was tempted to let my eyes drift down into the soft valley of cleavage her corset top provided, but her words stopped me. There wasn't a hello, a "Hi, my name is..." She just said, "I want to suck your cock and make it mine." Well, you don't say no to that, at least

“Mr. Cantor, I’m going to get you ready for your skin check. I see you already stripped down. No, you won’t need a gown. Yes, our whole team is here. Are you getting excited? That must be so embarrassing, but we must record the entire exam for our records. Let’s get you secure.” There's just something about the authority of someone in a white coat... and I find myself accepting this all as some kind of normal, and I slide up onto the paper-lined examining table. “This hood is required for patient privacy. I will be wheeling you across the hall and into the exam room. Please be still, you’re crinkling the paper under you and things must stay sanitary. Now, I’m just going to write your patient number on your chest.We wouldn’t want a mixup” Given that there is no waiting for my response or approval, I fall into darkness as the words are spoken. Chastised, I concentrate on being still, even as I anticipate being moved. I feel the dragging touch of the marker on my bare flesh. I breathe

As a submissive man, it is perhaps not at all surprising to hear that I’ve dressed in, and been dressed in, panties. I have derived surprising pleasure from this as a submissive act.  My experience has led me to know that there are loose categories that people use to understand those who do things like this. I am not dressing for my own pleasure of the sensation or appearance of these differing clothing choices. I am also not dressing to express a different part of my spirit... well, at least most of the time I don’t think I am. I’ll get back to that later.  When I first discovered the world of the kinky community online, it was via IRC, and I found myself learning a lot in those varied chat rooms, and from some wonderful folks that I met there. As I’ve said before, it was there that I found the person who would become my first Domme. She introduced me to so many things for the first time, and being put in panties was one of them.  As is often the case, the motive and effective motivat

There was a break in his voice. She’d had him helpless and broken enough times that she recognized it. He’d never been hers enough to wear her collar, but she cared for him. She cared enough that his voice on the phone got her full attention immediately. “Mistress,” he said, “I wondered if you might have any use for any of my toys or clothing. I’m not going to need them any more.” His tone was robbed of all joy. “I’m confused. What’s going on sweetheart? Explain.” “I’m just done with it, Mistress. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, and I can’t make this work, and the trying is exhausting me. It’s too much. Too hard.” His voice was breaking and she could hear his attempts to hide the sounds of his sobs from her. He was the width of the city away, and all she wanted was to take him into her arms. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what’s happened.” It took a few moments for him to be able to force words through his tears. “I’m not strong enough, Mistress. I’m just too tired of all this making me f

“I’ve got to talk to you about the apartment,” Alan said, walking into what the two of them called the living room, since it was the most traditionally furnished area of the loft. He pressed one of the two bottles of beer he was carrying into Parker’s hand. Parker gave Alan a crooked smile as he opened the beer he hadn’t asked for. “I’m not sure what worries me more,” he laughed, “that cliff-hanger or the fact that you felt you needed to bring me a beer.” Alan sank down into the opposite couch, leaning forwards with his elbow on his knees, his own beer dangling from the fingers of his right hand. “Well, it’s just that things have been going really well with Mistress Lynn.” “That doesn’t sound bad,” Parker replied, but he could feel the other shoe about to drop. “It’s not bad—it’s great. The connection between us has been growing and getting deeper. It’s really working. It’s just that, well, we want to take the next step.” “Dude, I told you… I might be up for forced bi with the right Do