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This story by Michelle is used on the Old Tom Archive with permission.


by Michelle

“You should never have agreed to be a god for me if you were afraid to assume the duties of a god, and we all know they aren’t as ten­der as all that.” — Pauline Reage

It was March of 1998 that I finally met C, who held the side of me that I called “my sub­mis­sive side”. He stood as “per­fec­tion” in my eyes… eyes that were blind­folded by all that I had cre­ated him to be.

I still learned more about myself in the year that we were “together” than I had pre­vi­ously, but as I found out, he never really did agree to be a god; I had sim­ply appointed him. And it’s easy now to look at the events and under­stand where my head was… and know the dif­fer­ence between what I had with him… and true submission.

True sub­mis­sion can only be found in the light of true Dom­i­nance. The kind of per­son who will take time to make you under­stand Respect, humil­ity, truth, purity, love, and inner peace. Some­one who accepts you for who you are, the way you are, but will help you stay on the path of what is right. (more…)

The Statue

This story by The Flog­mas­ter is used on the Old Tom Archive with permission.

The Statue (****, M/​F, Intense, Adult, semi n/​c)

A woman meets a sculp­tor with a unique talent.

At first I assumed he was lying. But his expres­sion was sin­cere. My refusal crushed him, and I felt bad. His accent was for­eign. He was mod­est about his art and with­out smil­ing said his name was Zolton. Gig­gling, I remarked that he sounded like a car­ni­val magi­cian. He glanced at me sharply, his thick eye­brows bunch­ing into a glare.

Do not joke about such things,” he said. “In my coun­try magic and art are not far apart.”

For rea­sons I can­not fathom I fol­lowed him home. Be assured this not my nor­mal habit. I am a mod­est girl with a good rep­u­ta­tion. Per­haps the man’s dark, mys­te­ri­ous eyes cap­ti­vated me. I couldn’t refuse. (more…)


This story by Elsie dePlume is used on the Old Tom Archive with permission.


By Elsie dePlume

Copy­right 1997

Dis­claimer: This is fiction.

He watched her as she took up the flask and a woven bas­ket and dis­ap­peared down the path that led to the stream with­out a back­ward glance. She would not risk show­ing him her face; but her body told as much as her vis­age would have. Her pos­ture spoke of resent­ment, her gait of irri­ta­tion. There was no affec­tion in her now.

He shifted care­fully on the pal­let of skins, cradling his injured arm, and tried to find a less uncom­fort­able posi­tion. This resent­ment toward him had been more and more appar­ent as the days had passed and his infir­mity had not abated. There had always been moments of ten­sion between them, of course — only one of them could be dom­i­nant, and in all fam­ily units the leader was tested on occa­sion; but she was no match for his size and strength, and the end of every skir­mish had found her pinned, help­less, while his open hand reaf­firmed his ascen­dancy on her round­est, ten­der­est region. She was for­tu­nate, in his opin­ion, that he had never caused her seri­ous injury. Some of his fel­lows were not so care­ful with their females. This worked to his own advan­tage, of course, for when such an unlucky female was ren­dered unus­able and the for­mer mate went look­ing for a replace­ment, the threat of cap­ture by a more bru­tal male sud­denly enhanced his own desir­abil­ity in her eyes. (more…)

the vanillas just wouldn’t understand…

This story by babalon is used on the Old Tom Archive with permission.

the vanil­las just wouldn’t understand…

by babalon

tonight, my Mas­ter punched me.

first, he burned me on the inner thigh with his cig­a­rette. then, he punched me right in the cunt. repeatedly.

he made me spread my knees so he could do it again.

i was lay­ing on my back on the hard wood floor as he punched me, in the cunt, on my per­ineum, on my ass, punch­ing me in the crotch, but mostly directly on my cunt. when i reacted by clos­ing my knees, he dug his elbow into my clit while hold­ing my thighs apart with his hand. then he punched me again. and again. hard.

i was wor­ried about him bruis­ing my pelvis a cou­ple times, cuz he was hit­ting so hard.

after­ward, he sent me off to do my bed­time chores — putting away per­ish­ables and set­ting up cof­fee for the morning.

mind you, he had to wait until after i came down from cum­ming <grin>, and clean up the pud­dle i had made from squirt­ing repeat­edly. <big grin> and fetch him a new tshirt to wear cuz i had soaked the one he was wear­ing and his glasses and his pants… <really big grin>


Reindeer Munch

This story by babalon is used on the Old Tom Archive with permission.

Rein­deer Munch or flog­ging to infinity

by babalon

over the hol­i­days this year, we went to the Rein­deer Munch at Tanith’s. we parked the kids at my cousins for the week and flew to SF, to stay with Leona Joy and Toby.

Leona is volup­tuous, viva­cious, and a won­der­fully gra­cious host­ess. Toby is cute, intel­li­gent, and a sweetie. we got to meet Chastity, his newly marked slave (her tat­too is *just* awe­some) and we also got to meet another gor­geous lady we’d cor­re­sponded wit. unfor­tu­nately, we also missed one of the folks who was wait­ing to meet us Sat­ur­day, because we got back from Tanith’s too late. bum­mers. (i’m avoid­ing nam­ing folks cuz i’m not sure of their medi­aslut sta­tus.) we scratched Levi’s butt a lot (he really *is* the incred­i­ble u-​​shaped dog) and Leona took us on the perv tour, where i spent way too much money… Leona and Toby did a lot to make us feel wel­come and i appre­ci­ate their time and the use of their beau­ti­ful home. (Martha Stew­art eat your heart out, Leona’s house could put yours to shame.)

Sun­day before we left, we got to have break­fast with Ver­dant and Jay Wise­man. they’re really cool peo­ple. Ver­dant is kinda quiet but sez intel­li­gent things when she talks. Jay is more talk­a­tive but seems just as knowl­edge­able in per­son as on the net. i’m hop­ing they can make it up here some­time so we can spend more time. (more…)

My First Year

This story by huny is used on the Old Tom Archive with permission.

As instructed by my Mas­ter, i have writ­ten a piece about the past year in my life, the changes brought about by my sub­mis­sion in this Real time rela­tion­ship. Our inten­tion was to post it in SSS. How­ever, due to the flam­ing that con­tin­ues there, i am reluc­tant to spill some­thing so per­sonal out where ill-​​minded and mean spir­ited peo­ple lurk. i also do not wish to be chal­lenged about my feel­ings or views. i am not an author­ity on any­thing or any­one but myself. But i do wish to share as does He. i love the con­ver­sa­tion sparked by such revelations.


A year ago, a life­time ago We placed our hearts in each other’s hands and entrusted each other to care for, nur­ture, and heal the man­gled organ we each held. Mine now only aches with love and pas­sion and I look and see that Yours beats strong also. We did good, Mas­ter. We found the right One this time. We fit together walk­ing. (more…)

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