A slave's little instruction book

A slave's little instruction book Well here it is something straight and to the point to help submissives learn and grow. No long posts here just little tidbits of advice to impress and show off for your master.


This was originaly a training tool I made and after almost loosing it to a crash I decided to share the whole thing here. Hopefully this will grow larger and broader than my own mind. I have currently 115 ideas.

I am not taking any credit for 99% of what is here. I only wish to share what I have found and come up with.
If you think I missed something submit it. If you have anything to add to the list submit it. I have been working on this for over a year and it only took me a couple days to get this far.

raininjuarez:

[This little vignette is a companion to another post, written from her perspective, which can be found here: http://raininjuarez.tumblr.com/post/72238345832/she-had-him-just-where-she-wanted-him-it-might .  Please do not remove the caption; if you just want the picture, copy it and blog it anew]
He thought about it a lot.
It was, in fact, one of those questions to which his mind often wandered. Waiting in airports.  During meetings.  While on a long run.
How does she experience pleasure?  How does it actually register in her mind?  She has skin like me, he thought.  Neurons and ganglia and a big beautiful brain, but does she feel what I feel?  How can she?
Differences in anatomy taken into account, he ruminated, was there an analogue for the intense pleasure he felt when he unfurled in her mouth? Those few moments of pleasure when he transforms from shriveled and soft and feckless into a stiff club embedded in the hot wet swamp of her mouth; what is there in her experience that compares to that? 
She had told him, of course, that her muscles begin to constrict when he slowly, deliberately undresses her, watching her body as it is revealed, his eyes fixed on her like an animal assessing its prey.  When he squeezes her soft flesh through her clothes.  When he growls instructions to her.  She says that just the idea of being taken in his strong  hands makes her pussy contract.  She had explained, as she rested her head on his chest and toyed with the thick hair on his chest, that this was the way her body reacted just thinking about being under him, being pulled and positioned by him.  But was that close?
Yes, he had asked her, many times, to describe how she experiences pleasure, but they shared no vocabulary adequate to express these feelings.
He pondered these imponderables often.
But not now.  
Now, as he doubled and doubled again in size between her lips, that sort of complex thought was beyond him.  Truthfully, any conscious thought was beyond him.
Now, at this moment, his mind had gone feeble, and only his brain stem was working — and it was fully taxed just keeping him upright.
He had barely closed the front door when she was on him, nude — his pants dropped to his ankles and she dropped to her knees.  As he unlocked the door, he had been thinking about getting a new gear set for his bike, and then suddenly, shock and arousal and a cloud of viscous pleasure
She worked him stiff almost instantly.  Her lips locked tight on his shaft and pulled from the base to the tip, she made smooth his wrinkles, as if she were smoothing out freshly washed clothes to fold.  
She liked to play with him.  Her tongue darting and lapping at his balls and then traveling the length of him.  As she swallowed his length, he’d feel her tongue explore the ridges and structures beneath the soft surface, as if she were memorizing each facet of him. She’d press his shaft back against his groin, and slide her lips and tongue, firmly and slowly — often very very slowly — the full course of him as if she were playing a harmonica.  This allowed her to get more pressure on him than she could when she had him totally engulfed, and he invariably rewarded the effort — unknowingly — with deep gravely sounds of pleasure.  
His fingers played with her hair as she sucked at him.  Combed it, petted it, pulled it back from her face.  Subconsciously, unthinkingly.
But as his pleasure began to steep and then roil, his fingers became more demanding and his body less passive.  Now, as his fingers threaded in her hair, he cradled her skull, and his hips began to rock, then twitch, then thrust.  
At this point, most of his nervous system had essentially ceased to function. His body had all but disappeared, the parts of it not buried in her mouth.  As he fucked her, the thick liquid sounds of her efforts filled the room, but they were inaudible to him.  He was no longer there, she was no longer there, the only thing present, the only thing occupying his universe at that moment was his need.
As he felt himself edging closer and closer to the crest, he pressed her, hard, down on his cock.  He held her there for a time — a second or a minute or an hour, he would never be able to say — but as he careened towards his finish he relinquished his hold on her, as if he had lost the ability to control even his hands.
But as he relinquished her, she grabbed him, roughly, fingers digging into his ass and pulling him violently towards her.  Her nose flattened against his groin and she wriggled and rocked her head, side to side, as if to guarantee that there was no more of him to have — that all of him was buried in her.
As the head of his cock firmly closed the gap at the back of her throat, he made a sharp, almost inhuman sound of climax
And he detonated. Wave after wave after wave, he came like some sort of pump, and it must have seemed to her as if his reservoir would never run dry. He came first with long jets of thick white, ribbons of him painting the back of her throat. Her muscles constricted and her eyes teared as she struggled to keep pace with his output.
Then, as the violence of his release began to ebb, he merely effused, pools of his cum dribbling from him into her, one white drop coming to rest on her lips.
As the storm passed, she continued to work at him, sucking at him, her cheeks hollowing with her effort, even as he collapsed and receded between her lips.
Slowly, he returned to the world the rest of us inhabit.  Panting, his chest still heaving, snatching for oxygen, his eyes began to open — how long had they been closed? — and he gazed down at her.
She looked up at him too, to judge the quality of her work, no doubt, and in her eyes, he saw a look of pure pleasure.  An unadulterated, genuine, unalloyed joy.  And he considered that the ways in which we experience pleasure may be incapable of definition or explanation, but that makes them no less real.

Reblogged from raininjuarez

raininjuarez:

[This little vignette is a companion to another post, written from her perspective, which can be found here: http://raininjuarez.tumblr.com/post/72238345832/she-had-him-just-where-she-wanted-him-it-might .  Please do not remove the caption; if you just want the picture, copy it and blog it anew]

He thought about it a lot.

It was, in fact, one of those questions to which his mind often wandered. Waiting in airports.  During meetings.  While on a long run.

How does she experience pleasure?  How does it actually register in her mind?  She has skin like me, he thought.  Neurons and ganglia and a big beautiful brain, but does she feel what I feel?  How can she?

Differences in anatomy taken into account, he ruminated, was there an analogue for the intense pleasure he felt when he unfurled in her mouth? Those few moments of pleasure when he transforms from shriveled and soft and feckless into a stiff club embedded in the hot wet swamp of her mouth; what is there in her experience that compares to that? 

She had told him, of course, that her muscles begin to constrict when he slowly, deliberately undresses her, watching her body as it is revealed, his eyes fixed on her like an animal assessing its prey.  When he squeezes her soft flesh through her clothes.  When he growls instructions to her.  She says that just the idea of being taken in his strong  hands makes her pussy contract.  She had explained, as she rested her head on his chest and toyed with the thick hair on his chest, that this was the way her body reacted just thinking about being under him, being pulled and positioned by him.  But was that close?

Yes, he had asked her, many times, to describe how she experiences pleasure, but they shared no vocabulary adequate to express these feelings.

He pondered these imponderables often.

But not now.  

Now, as he doubled and doubled again in size between her lips, that sort of complex thought was beyond him.  Truthfully, any conscious thought was beyond him.

Now, at this moment, his mind had gone feeble, and only his brain stem was working — and it was fully taxed just keeping him upright.

He had barely closed the front door when she was on him, nude — his pants dropped to his ankles and she dropped to her knees.  As he unlocked the door, he had been thinking about getting a new gear set for his bike, and then suddenly, shock and arousal and a cloud of viscous pleasure

She worked him stiff almost instantly.  Her lips locked tight on his shaft and pulled from the base to the tip, she made smooth his wrinkles, as if she were smoothing out freshly washed clothes to fold.  

She liked to play with him.  Her tongue darting and lapping at his balls and then traveling the length of him.  As she swallowed his length, he’d feel her tongue explore the ridges and structures beneath the soft surface, as if she were memorizing each facet of him. She’d press his shaft back against his groin, and slide her lips and tongue, firmly and slowly — often very very slowly — the full course of him as if she were playing a harmonica.  This allowed her to get more pressure on him than she could when she had him totally engulfed, and he invariably rewarded the effort — unknowingly — with deep gravely sounds of pleasure.  

His fingers played with her hair as she sucked at him.  Combed it, petted it, pulled it back from her face.  Subconsciously, unthinkingly.

But as his pleasure began to steep and then roil, his fingers became more demanding and his body less passive.  Now, as his fingers threaded in her hair, he cradled her skull, and his hips began to rock, then twitch, then thrust.  

At this point, most of his nervous system had essentially ceased to function. His body had all but disappeared, the parts of it not buried in her mouth.  As he fucked her, the thick liquid sounds of her efforts filled the room, but they were inaudible to him.  He was no longer there, she was no longer there, the only thing present, the only thing occupying his universe at that moment was his need.

As he felt himself edging closer and closer to the crest, he pressed her, hard, down on his cock.  He held her there for a time — a second or a minute or an hour, he would never be able to say — but as he careened towards his finish he relinquished his hold on her, as if he had lost the ability to control even his hands.

But as he relinquished her, she grabbed him, roughly, fingers digging into his ass and pulling him violently towards her.  Her nose flattened against his groin and she wriggled and rocked her head, side to side, as if to guarantee that there was no more of him to have — that all of him was buried in her.

As the head of his cock firmly closed the gap at the back of her throat, he made a sharp, almost inhuman sound of climax

And he detonated. Wave after wave after wave, he came like some sort of pump, and it must have seemed to her as if his reservoir would never run dry. He came first with long jets of thick white, ribbons of him painting the back of her throat. Her muscles constricted and her eyes teared as she struggled to keep pace with his output.

Then, as the violence of his release began to ebb, he merely effused, pools of his cum dribbling from him into her, one white drop coming to rest on her lips.

As the storm passed, she continued to work at him, sucking at him, her cheeks hollowing with her effort, even as he collapsed and receded between her lips.

Slowly, he returned to the world the rest of us inhabit.  Panting, his chest still heaving, snatching for oxygen, his eyes began to open — how long had they been closed? — and he gazed down at her.

She looked up at him too, to judge the quality of her work, no doubt, and in her eyes, he saw a look of pure pleasure.  An unadulterated, genuine, unalloyed joy.  And he considered that the ways in which we experience pleasure may be incapable of definition or explanation, but that makes them no less real.

raininjuarez:

reblogging with a spelling mistake corrected (horrors!)
raininjuarez:

She had him just where she wanted him.
It might not have looked that way to others; she was on her knees, with his long body towering over her.  He looked dominant — his frame casting a shadow over her — but she knew that she was in control.
It didn’t happen often.  She was tiny and he decidedly was not — he was more than a foot taller and outweighed her by more than 100 pounds.  Usually, her body went wherever he pulled, lifted, or placed it, and she liked it that way. She ached to be swallowed in his arms.  She felt like a toy in his massive hands, and she happily replayed that feeling — the feeling of being small beneath him, being buried beneath his bulk — in her mind endlessly.  His size, his power, his insatiable hunger for her nestled perfectly inside every desire she had ever had  for a man.
She liked to surrender.
But now, with his eyes closed and his length down her throat, all of his power — his six-three frame and his mass —  they were useless to him. She felt as though his body was a machine, a glorious rigid pulsating machine, and she had the throttle in her hands.  Or, more precisely, in her mouth.  She would decide the course his pleasure would take, and she thrilled at the control it gave her.  
He’d been limp when she started.  He walked in the door, and she had stopped him there,  unzipped his pants and took him, soft and shrunken in her mouth.  And as she licked and sucked gently at him, he had unfurled beautifully for her, stiffening on her tongue.  She loved the sensation of his resting wrinkles expanding, becoming smooth, of the rushing blood filling him out.  She loved listening to his breathing begin to labor and the soft rolling growl he made as he became engorged between her lips.
Now, he was hard as agate — twitching hard — so hard it felt to him as though his cock might shatter.  As her lips coursed from head to base, she felt the silk of his skin — that  impossibly soft surface transmitting the braided steel beneath.  His pronounced veins rippled on her tongue as she sucked her way down, all the way down, until he came to rest at the back of her throat. 
When she reached the terminus — when she felt her nose press against his groin and his balls come to rest on her chin, she felt his fingers thread through her hair from her temples to the back of her head and hold her still.
She loved this challenge.  Engaged to his root, she’d recall summer days as a girl in the diving well, her legs snapping her down to the bottom of the pool to snatch a quarter off the floor.  She remembered being starved for air, the way her lungs burned, but she never surrendered.  
And now, her mouth stuffed with cock and her nose pressed against his body, she celebrated the struggle, the married sounds of his feral pleasure and her liquid distress.
Eventually, he released her head so that she could disengage and fill her lungs, but she saw breathing as defeat, and she was determined not to be so easily defeated.  So she stayed in place, grabbed at his ass, the base of her palms sliding perfectly into the gorgeous twin depressions that hollowed when his ass muscles tightened.  Her fingers dug in and she pulled him, hard, even further into her mouth, grinding against him, as if her life depended on getting the last quarter inch of him inside her.
And that was all it took to open him up.  The barking sound he made when she crushed her face against his body and jammed his cock down into her throat didn’t seem human — didn’t even sound animate.  It sounded like furniture being scraped along a concrete floor.  And he canted forward, as if he was going to tumble, but at the last moment, his hands shot out, palms-first, against the wall behind her.
Now he succumbed to her utterly and completely.  He was preverbal — the most eloquent expression he was capable of uttering was a dark, thick groan, as black as pitch and as rough as gravel.  He was sub-conscious; he was slipping from her.  He didn’t know his name or where he was.  All that existed for him was his cock and the flood welling up behind it. 
That first spatter against the back of her throat made her elated, almost drunk with pleasure.  He’d always told her she needn’t swallow — in fact he told her that the sight of his profusion pouring in waves from her lips down her chin excited him — but she was determined to drink him all — to control this aspect of her work as well.  But he gushed.  Her mouth flooded so quickly that she had to gulp desperately to keep pace.  Her lips pressed down hard against his shaft, and she worked him, milking him from the base toward the head.
This was the best part.  As he emptied — detonated — in her mouth, his growls transformed to whimpers.  As she sucked him dry, his thighs quivered and his jaw dropped open and he whimpered like a little boy.  Like a puppy.
She continued to work him until he softened and shriveled in her mouth. She tongued his desiccated cock and listened to him snatching for air.
And when his breathing returned to something like normal and he finally stood up straight again, she let him fall from her mouth, gazed up at him and murmured “good boy.”  
“Good boy,” she said it twice, and she wondered whether he fully understood.
[A companion post, from the man’s perspective, can be found here: http://raininjuarez.tumblr.com/post/73612259061/this-little-vignette-is-a-companion-to-another .  Please do not strip the caption from this post; if you would like the picture alone, please copy it and blog it alone]
raininjuarez.tumblr.com

Reblogged from lorisweetcream

raininjuarez:

reblogging with a spelling mistake corrected (horrors!)

raininjuarez:

She had him just where she wanted him.

It might not have looked that way to others; she was on her knees, with his long body towering over her.  He looked dominant — his frame casting a shadow over her — but she knew that she was in control.

It didn’t happen often.  She was tiny and he decidedly was not — he was more than a foot taller and outweighed her by more than 100 pounds.  Usually, her body went wherever he pulled, lifted, or placed it, and she liked it that way. She ached to be swallowed in his arms.  She felt like a toy in his massive hands, and she happily replayed that feeling — the feeling of being small beneath him, being buried beneath his bulk — in her mind endlessly.  His size, his power, his insatiable hunger for her nestled perfectly inside every desire she had ever had  for a man.

She liked to surrender.

But now, with his eyes closed and his length down her throat, all of his power — his six-three frame and his mass —  they were useless to him. She felt as though his body was a machine, a glorious rigid pulsating machine, and she had the throttle in her hands.  Or, more precisely, in her mouth.  She would decide the course his pleasure would take, and she thrilled at the control it gave her.  

He’d been limp when she started.  He walked in the door, and she had stopped him there,  unzipped his pants and took him, soft and shrunken in her mouth.  And as she licked and sucked gently at him, he had unfurled beautifully for her, stiffening on her tongue.  She loved the sensation of his resting wrinkles expanding, becoming smooth, of the rushing blood filling him out.  She loved listening to his breathing begin to labor and the soft rolling growl he made as he became engorged between her lips.

Now, he was hard as agate — twitching hard — so hard it felt to him as though his cock might shatter.  As her lips coursed from head to base, she felt the silk of his skin — that  impossibly soft surface transmitting the braided steel beneath.  His pronounced veins rippled on her tongue as she sucked her way down, all the way down, until he came to rest at the back of her throat. 

When she reached the terminus — when she felt her nose press against his groin and his balls come to rest on her chin, she felt his fingers thread through her hair from her temples to the back of her head and hold her still.

She loved this challenge.  Engaged to his root, she’d recall summer days as a girl in the diving well, her legs snapping her down to the bottom of the pool to snatch a quarter off the floor.  She remembered being starved for air, the way her lungs burned, but she never surrendered.  

And now, her mouth stuffed with cock and her nose pressed against his body, she celebrated the struggle, the married sounds of his feral pleasure and her liquid distress.

Eventually, he released her head so that she could disengage and fill her lungs, but she saw breathing as defeat, and she was determined not to be so easily defeated.  So she stayed in place, grabbed at his ass, the base of her palms sliding perfectly into the gorgeous twin depressions that hollowed when his ass muscles tightened.  Her fingers dug in and she pulled him, hard, even further into her mouth, grinding against him, as if her life depended on getting the last quarter inch of him inside her.

And that was all it took to open him up.  The barking sound he made when she crushed her face against his body and jammed his cock down into her throat didn’t seem human — didn’t even sound animate.  It sounded like furniture being scraped along a concrete floor.  And he canted forward, as if he was going to tumble, but at the last moment, his hands shot out, palms-first, against the wall behind her.

Now he succumbed to her utterly and completely.  He was preverbal — the most eloquent expression he was capable of uttering was a dark, thick groan, as black as pitch and as rough as gravel.  He was sub-conscious; he was slipping from her.  He didn’t know his name or where he was.  All that existed for him was his cock and the flood welling up behind it. 

That first spatter against the back of her throat made her elated, almost drunk with pleasure.  He’d always told her she needn’t swallow — in fact he told her that the sight of his profusion pouring in waves from her lips down her chin excited him — but she was determined to drink him all — to control this aspect of her work as well.  But he gushed.  Her mouth flooded so quickly that she had to gulp desperately to keep pace.  Her lips pressed down hard against his shaft, and she worked him, milking him from the base toward the head.

This was the best part.  As he emptied — detonated — in her mouth, his growls transformed to whimpers.  As she sucked him dry, his thighs quivered and his jaw dropped open and he whimpered like a little boy.  Like a puppy.

She continued to work him until he softened and shriveled in her mouth. She tongued his desiccated cock and listened to him snatching for air.

And when his breathing returned to something like normal and he finally stood up straight again, she let him fall from her mouth, gazed up at him and murmured “good boy.”  

“Good boy,” she said it twice, and she wondered whether he fully understood.

[A companion post, from the man’s perspective, can be found here: http://raininjuarez.tumblr.com/post/73612259061/this-little-vignette-is-a-companion-to-another .  Please do not strip the caption from this post; if you would like the picture alone, please copy it and blog it alone]

raininjuarez.tumblr.com

daddymademedirty:

daddyandhislolo:

I don’t know if this statement is so true for BDSM and D/s in general for me, but more so DDlg

daddymakesherdirty

Reblogged from daddyspdxprincess

daddymademedirty:

daddyandhislolo:

I don’t know if this statement is so true for BDSM and D/s in general for me, but more so DDlg

daddymakesherdirty

(Source: frillybowsandlace)

wolfstravelsinmind:

I want to take my time. I want it to both torture your mind and delight your senses. In my slow torment, I’ll see your body speak things that your mind is far too cluttered with lust to think and utter clearly.
Enjoy your last cognizant thought for awhile, baby girl.

Reblogged from lorisweetcream

wolfstravelsinmind:

I want to take my time. I want it to both torture your mind and delight your senses. In my slow torment, I’ll see your body speak things that your mind is far too cluttered with lust to think and utter clearly.

Enjoy your last cognizant thought for awhile, baby girl.

(Source: jackromero)

so-personal:

everything personal♡

One of my biggest pet peeves it’s when a sub won’t speak up and talk.

Reblogged from daddyslittlebunny

so-personal:

everything personal♡

One of my biggest pet peeves it’s when a sub won’t speak up and talk.

(Source: dididean)

Reblogged from releasing-my-inner-slut

(Source: summertime75)

Reblogged from come-to-the-edge

(Source: black-sapiosexual)

Reblogged from hisbabybrat

smutgasboard:

Jack: Amen.

Reblogged from smutgasboard

smutgasboard:

Jack: Amen.

(Source: peter-the-apostle)

just-relatable:

 

Reblogged from hisbabybrat

just-relatable: