The Apple Cart

Today was the day. 

Sebastian had been feeling the urge for as long as he could remember. Even as a kid, he had this peculiar longing deep inside. He wanted an apple. 

So Sebastian summoned up his courage and made a trip down Main Street to the Apple Cart, where he’d heard there were all kinds of wonderful apples. Sure, he’d heard too that there were some bad ones mixed in. But he was a smart guy. He was sure he could tell the difference. 

“What’re lookin for?” the man at the Apple Cart asked, watching Sebastian sidle up. 

“I’m here to buy an apple,” Sebastian said, his voice a little thin despite the pride he felt inside. 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I got loads of apples here. I got yer McIntoshes, I got yer Granny Smiths, I even got yer Golden Deliciouses. You name it, I got it. What do you fancy?” 

Sebastian hesitated. He wasn’t sure. He’d never had an apple before. But he sure wanted one—a good one. Cost was not an issue—he’d gladly pay dearly for a good apple. 

“I’m not sure,” Sebastian answered. “Could I maybe take a look at them?” 

“Well, of course you can,” the Apple Cart man said. “Be glad to show you. There’s just one little proviso.” 

“A … proviso?” 

“It’s a tiny thing. Nothing really. But, you see, if you look at an apple, I gotta be sure you’re serious about maybe buyin it. So I charge you to take a look.” 

Sebastian had never heard of such a thing. “I have to pay to look at the apple, even if I don’t want to buy it?” 

“Of course. You understand the position I’m in, surely,” the man said. “I gotta make sure you ain’t one of them guys who just wants to look at my apples with no intent of ever buyin one. I get a lot like that coming by my cart, you know.” 

“What if it’s a rotten apple?” 

The Apple Cart man nodded serenely. “Many of them are in this batch. A whole bunch, in fact. Still, I gotta charge you.” 

“What if it’s a McIntosh and I really want a Granny Smith?” 

“Gotta charge you.” 

“If it’s bruised or overripe or underripe?” 

“Gotta charge, charge, charge.” 

Sebastian quickly realized that buying an apple was going to be no easy feat. Still, he tried looking at a few, despite the cost. He was willing to do that, of course. He’d wanted an apple for so very long. 

He even mustered the courage to pay the full fee to buy one outright, one that looked yummy and delicious. It looked so tasty that he closed his eyes, held it with both hands, and bit in as deeply as he could. Finally, he could satisfy that persistent need to taste a real apple. 

But he quickly discovered that that particular apple made him sick to his stomach. 

Little did Sebastian know that the Apple Cart was filled with wonderful apples, sweet tasty ones that would have satisfied that lifelong urge of his and more. That would have sated that hunger that had so long gone unfulfilled. 

But he couldn’t find them in the Apple Cart, not this way. 

Instead, Sebastian turned and walked away defeated, his pockets empty, convinced he’d never manage to eat an apple. Not a good one, anyways.

The Lazy Vanilla Man

A neophyte sub once asked me a silly question: “How do you tell the difference between a Master and a lazy vanilla man?” 

I think my first reaction was to dismiss the question out of hand as ridiculous. The difference was obvious to anyone with even half a brain. I’d spent my own considerable time coming fully to grips with my orientation as a Master. It would be more than a little deflating to think all that effort directed at personal growth had left me further behind than where I started, nothing more than some vanilla sluggard. 

But in the course of discussing the question, it began to seem far less silly than I first imagined. The curious sub had intuitively recognized something that is surprisingly easy to forget, particularly as the weeks of a relationship grow into months, and the months grow into years—namely that domination and submisssion are not two sides of a single coin as we sometimes mistakenly think. Rather, they are distinct needs that require separate fulfillment, for both Master and slave. 

I know few Masters who have not found themselves guilty of behaving like lazy vanilla men, at least at some point in time. After all, if a slave’s service is fully satisfactory, what need is there for active domination? Isn’t accepting the service dominant enough? 

Maybe there was an acute need for overtly expressing dominance in the past, when the slave needed to learn the Master’s preferences and idiosyncrasies, the boundary discriminating acceptable and unacceptable behaviour. During that honeymoon period, the separate needs for submisssion and domination were naturally fulfilled by the process of defining the scope of service. 

We sometimes see remarkably beautiful relationships in our communities, ones with an elegance of service that outsiders envy, tailor-made in every respect to the Master’s individual preferences. As outsiders, what we often don’t see is an unexpected feeling of malaise and unfulfillment that has infected the parties to the relationship itself. More often than not, the source of that malaise is a waning of the expression of dominance. 

In a very real and sad sense, the Master has become nothing more a lazy vanilla man. And the successful fulfillment of both parties’ needs has suffered.

Who Has the Power?

I remember the day. 

My slave and I were enjoying a quiet moment in the early evening. Autumn’s coolness was making its early presence known through a gentle breeze floating in from the open door. I was relaxing on the couch and she was on the floor at my feet, leashed, as I still often have her, all these years later. She grew quiet in the way she often does when she’s been processing something that she wants to raise and discuss with me. 

She looked up, met my eyes. 

“Master,” she said, “I can’t disobey you.” 

Good, I thought, perhaps a bit smug, that’s the whole point of being a slave. 

But I didn’t say anything aloud. I know her. In moments like those, her first statement is inevitably just the opening to a much deeper discussion. 

Looking down at her hands playing nervously with the leash, she elaborated, “I mean, I don’t think I’m capable any more of disobeying you, even if I wanted to. The thought of it makes me physically sick, makes me need to throw up.” Like an alcoholic taking Antab*se. “It scares me.” 

At the time, I didn’t know all that much about Master Tanos and his ideas of internal enslavement, which have become much more widely known and embraced in the years since. But I knew I liked what my slave was saying about herself, about us, even if she feared it. It meant that she was truly enslaved to me. Not only did I hold a physical leash that gave her comfort, I held a metaphorical one—an unbreakable metaphorical one. 

It is a common trope in some segments of our communities that “the sub has the ultimate power.” After all, they say, the sub can simply withdraw consent, can safeword, can decline to tribute, can log off, never to be seen again. I’ve seen the sentiment expressed on this very site, in some blog or other writing that I happened upon while hopping around. I think this is dangerously naïve thinking. 

At best, it applies to a different kind of relationship than the ones that sustain me. Or maybe I concede that it applies to the earlier phases of such relationships. But in those, the endless tide of scenes and tributes and domination and obedience steadily works its erosion on the once-rough rocks, rendering them as smooth as seashells polished by the waves. It happens slowly enough that it might not even be noticed—until the moment when it has become undeniable. 

On that late-summer day many years ago, my slave and I discussed her feelings and mine well into the night, until the earlier pleasant chill had deepened enough to cause her to shiver and she needed the leash unclasped long enough to close the door. 

We came to a shared understanding. Scary it might be, but it was also thrilling, satisfying, and mutually rewarding. Neither of us knew what would come next, of course, in this new phase of our relationship. We knew only that it was something special that we would both lean on in our exploration. We would continue together, taking intrepid steps along the obscure path, and see where it led. 

I’ll never forget that day.

Yellow Dye

Almost thirty years ago, SlaveMaster published an article about the process of realizing one’s slavery in the now long-defunct Metropolitan Slave. And with that, he also devised what I think is a brilliant analogy of that process. 

Summarizing many of these ideas in an essay called “Dipped in Yellow Dye,” he emphasizes the repetitive nature by which colorfast yellow cloth is produced. The cloth is dipped into yellow dye, and then held in the sun to bleach the dye away. One iteration provides only the faintest yellow color, so the process is repeated, and repeated, and repeated, with each iteration strengthening the color. 

He makes many points in the essay, but the most important is perhaps that “[t]here are no short cuts, it all works as it must to produce the final result.” He emphasizes that “[i]t serves no purpose to hold the cloth in the dye for extra time” and that “[t]here is no advantage to bleaching the cloth until the sun begins to rot its fiber.” “Into the dye,” he says, “then into the sun, then into the dye, again, and back into the light of day.” 

The analogy is powerful because it aligns so closely with one process of enslavement. The potential slave is used hard enough to experience the reality of slavery, and then given his time in the sun, to reflect and understand the small transformation that has taken place. And then again. And again. Until the dye of his slavery begins truly to yellow the fabric of his being. 

These lessons are well conceived. Along this path, there is indeed “no purpose” in imposing the continuous reality of slavery before undergoing the previous bleachings. And there is indeed “no advantage” in allowing the slave to bask in the sun’s freedom so long that the process breaks down. The process requires attention and diligence, brooking “no short cuts,” to realize one’s destiny as a slave radiating with the brightest yellow color. 

The essay is easily found on SlaveMaster’s web site through a simple online search, and provides many more details of his thinking. It is a worthwhile read, particularly for those who see slavery as a spiritual path.

My Findom Fantasy

A slave on this site asked me what seems like a straightforward question for someone who is here: “Sir, what is your findom fantasy?” I wanted to give a more thoughtful answer than simply to say, “For you to send me all your money and give me control over all your future earnings.” So I have been thinking about it, and realize that, although that would be nice for obvious reasons, even such a level of financial control would not alone be terribly fulfilling to my needs as a Master. 

My actual findom fantasy is inextricably linked with those needs, to be obeyed, to be served, to be worshiped—and with the process by which someone is transformed in a very personal way to satisfy those needs. The needs of an artist are not satisfied by walking through a museum filled with masterpieces. The needs of a sculptor are not satisfied by gazing upon completed statues. Their needs are fulfilled only through the intimate act of creating something unique and personal. 

In my findom fantasy, I want to be Michelangelo, confronted with an unassuming block of marble. I want to chip away every piece of stone that doesn’t belong, revealing a creation of my own design. Each tribute, each gift, each act of financial surrender should be part of the process of instilling an ever-increasing devotion that compels the slave to obey my financial commands—to obey all my commands. I want the slave to yearn for my chisel, to become a participant in making himself helpless in his obedience, to render him unable to deny that his finances are meaningless in his own hands and only purposeful when given unto mine. 

Is this a fantasy? Of course, and on multiple levels. But it is, for me, a more complete and truthful answer than the facile one that first sprang to mind.

Forgiveness

All human beings make mistakes, and those of us in power-exchange relationships are no exception. Most of those mistakes are small ones, but sometimes Master or slave makes a mistake so grievous that it threatens the continuation of the relationship. Forgiveness of those mistakes is essential to the process by which the participants successfully move past the incident and continue on their journey together. 

With respect to this issue, I think slaves are in the more enviable position. 

When a slave commits a grievous error, his Master can define the precise conditions of atonement, whether that be a severe beating, a suffering payment, or something else. Ideally, the understanding between the two of them is that such atonement by the slave earns the Master’s complete and irrevocable forgiveness. Payment of this penance allows both to put the experience behind them, preferably never again discussed or even considered as they move forwards. Indeed, I think this is one of the great benefits of power-exchange relationships. 

But the relationship’s asymmetry makes the situation quite different when the Master is the one who has committed the grievous error. Indeed, the Master finds himself in a very lonely and isolated place when he knows himself to be guilty of having done so. The relationship dynamic does not realistically allow the slave to demand the Master’s penance, and only the Master can thereby define the conditions of his own atonement, something he largely has to bear alone. 

So I ask this of slaves: If your Master finds it necessary to ask for your forgiveness, please appreciate the gravity is what he is doing in an effort to save what you have enjoyed together, and seek to be generous in granting what he asks.

The Art of Sub Cuisine

Subs may perhaps be considered as lobsters or as frogs.

To cook a lobster, one plunges it into boiling water. And there are some subs who respond to that approach with a Master who thrusts the sub into the highest of expectations right from the beginning. 

But they’re almost certainly the minority. 

Most subs are frogs. And everyone knows the better way to prepare a frog: put it in a pot of comfortable water and raise the temperature slowly but inexorably. Indeed, there are few things more satisfying to a Master than witnessing the moment when a sub suddenly understands that the water in the pot has become so hot that it is no longer possible to escape. The creature has become beautifully enslaved, ruled by a sense of need and devotion that has been carefully cultivated by a Master Chef. 

Thoughts About Limits

I have spent more than a fair bit of time over the years thinking about limits in BDSM and M/s.  It is common enough in the kink (BDSM) community to dismiss subs who claim to have no limits as clueless (“cut off your arm” examples come to mind).  But the M/s community has tended to have a more nuanced view of the issue because it is important for many slaves’ self-identity for them literally to have no limits with their Master.  Often, such a lack of limits is, for them, the very definition of their slavery.

I have always understood the sentiment that such slaves are expressing (and I know several) as describing a relationship that is quite special.  That is, the statement that they have no limits with their Master is not the knee-jerk sentiment of a neophyte overwhelmed by the excitement.  Rather, it is an expression of the depth of interaction and trust that has developed between Master and slave over a long time, many years.  The two come to know each other so well that the slave understands the value system that governs the Master’s behavior.  In a very real way, the slave has not surrendered to the Master as a person, but has instead surrendered to his value system, which the slave knows intimately from years of interaction.  For instance, my 20-year slave started describing herself as “no limits” about 10 years ago; my 15-year slave is still not ready and may never be.

It is not merely that the slave “trusts” the Master not to do X, Y, or Z, not to cross some limit line that has been negotiated and expressed or has perhaps remained unsaid.  Rather, the slave knows that the Master’s value system binds him irrevocably, perhaps even more strongly than the slave is bound to obedience and service to the Master.  The slave doesn’t worry that the Master might be inclined to do something harmful but refrains because it would infringe some limit.  Instead, those acts simply do not exist as possibilities within the universe of the specific M/s relationship.  And if there are some gray areas, as there inevitably are, the slave has confidence that the Master’s value system will demand corrections that are reasonable and appropriate.

I am relatively new to findom, and my experience has mostly been limited to het M/s relationships.  But my initial impressions are that much of what I have learned about limits over the years applies.  I know Masters and slaves in relationships, for instance, that include complete control over finances, but it has never been the initial focus that drew them together.  It instead developed organically, incidental to a shared desire to reach a TPE interaction that is mutually satisfying.

Maybe this is more of a diary entry documenting my thoughts than it is a blog that should be shared.  But I do want to learn more about findom, become better at it, and integrate it into the skillset I already have.  So I’ll throw it out there anyways.