January 2020: Rise of the Phoenix

Words. Sometimes they can be hard to come by.

They can love.

They can hate.

They can heal.

They can hurt.

They can be powerful.

They can do everything.

Can words hold you in a way you have never been held? Can words take you to another place? How do these words have the meaning that they do? How can they take us to places that are far too familiar? How can they rocket us off into a space where we have no idea where we are?

How can words pull us out of a scene? How can words keep us captive? How can words create anticipation that turns into pure raw emotion?

These are the words that lead me to the most remarkable scene of my life. 


“You have not had my focus be on you in full capacity.” they texted me.

Throughout my life, I have rarely been anyone’s “focus.” I have been part of their existence. I have been a player in a game. I have been one of many. Focus – sole focus – is a rarity in my life… especially when it comes to positive experiences. 

“I will set a formal warning that it will be intense.”

Oh yes! Intensity. I did not want something fun with them. I had watched them play before where in spite of being a bottom, I had never seen anyone so powerful. This was the attraction. If anyone could take my imagination, it was someone who could command a scene as a bottom and come out on top. Anyone that can do that can surely place me into a space where I had to feel intensely, and be helpless like never before. 

I was shivering at the words they were sending me all week. The text exchange was “a tiny prequel” 

“I think the *best* part… will be getting to know you better. Spending some time focused on each other, no distraction. For those moments the space and time we share will the all that matter. No past, no future to worry about.”

“Please bring your locking cuffs.”

They knew I loved to be bound helpless. They had read my blog. They knew what would get to me the most. They said the locking cuffs… not just cuffs. I knew I would be helpless and my excitement was super-charged.

I was sent a song, based on my favorite singer, and what I seemed to portray. 

You’ve been set up one too many times

The perfect victim for the perfect crime

You left yourself wide open to the pain

So close your eyes now

You’re out walkin’ in the rain

You’ve got a burning desire to be The Victim

You’re bleeding from the soul

You’re hurting from the heart

Things you can’t be told are gonna tear you apart

  • The Victim – Pat Benatar.

“I don’t want you to be the victim. You want to be,” they wrote. “I don’t want you to be anyone you are not. That is the point.”

“You get me,” I replied.

“To let you be fully, truly, transparently you. Raw and real in a way you have never before. So, you need to be reminded of who you are?”

I thought I knew who I was. I told them who I am now, stepping outside of any kind of scene, and what was happening to me in real life. It was a very rough week, where my confidence in who I am was shaken to the core. They let me know what to expect.

“I love mental fuckery, just I also help people heal all the time… so I will be bringing my box of tools from both realms and unleashing it all in one weird swirl of my intuition guiding me to push the fuck out of your buttons. So, DO you need to be reminded of who you are?”


“Need or want?

“Need.” It had been a week where I thought I knew, but needed to know again. 

“Good. Don’t forget that,” they said.

“Tell me about three things you adore about yourself. Tell me three things that frighten you?” they asked, delving into my mind.


The day of the scene arrived. “How busy are you today?” they asked.

I said I was carshopping with a friend.

They said, “Ah, perfect. Every hour I want you to tell me something I don’t know about you. A memory, a fear, a hope etc. If I already know it, you will have one chance to replace it with something I don’t know. If the second time in an hour you fail, there will be a punishment tonight. When the punishments are doled out, I will tell you which hour it is for to keep it fair. Keep in mind I read a decent bit of your blog – so dig deep. ;)”

“I will start with a memory. I was nine years old and attended the original production of A Chorus Line. I am not sure if that fed into my fetish imprint.”

They retorted “Is there a specific reason that such a vague detail should count?”

My mind dropped. How had I disappointed them right off the bat?

“I will be more specific. I want to know something each hour that if a random person happened to know it would just be really really odd.. Not just you saw the show, but why it sticks with you. Or, that it may have contributed to your fetish. How? Why do you think that? You don’t have to write a novel each hour, but dig deeper. Start at the 9 AM hour, and don’t stop until you arrive at the Academy.”

I sent my first story. 

“Thank you”

That was the only response each time. 


It was 11:57 and I had realized while with my friend that I had not sent anything. I was having lunch with my friend when I picked up my phone and reached for something to write. I got it in… at 12:02.

I had failed to comply with what they asked. They gave me a chance to argue, but I said I have to live with my actions and that I take responsibility for what I do.
“Very well.”

Oh no. I knew I was in for it. I actually wondered what kind of punishment she had in mind. My kink-friendly friend was gleeful with laughter, watching me go through the process. Following my 12 PM entry, which was in with plenty of time, I received a picture. It was a page in a book, and in the most beautifully written penmanship you can imagine, there it was in black and white.

“Catsuit’s Failures”

Underneath, the entry with a red X. 11th Hour – Failure to send in time.

My friend saw my reaction and just started to laugh more. She knew my mind was racing. She knew from experience something that I had not realized until then. The scene had already started.

Hour by hour passed by. One journal entry earned more than a thank you, which just lead to more agony. I had talked about my thoughts on strap on’s. To which they responded “thank you. I did bring a strap-on.”

I spent the afternoon with two friends, and they saw how I was feeling, supercharged with energy and the anticipation was bursting out of me. As I drive home, I knew that there would be a punishment. I knew I had shared many secrets. I had handed them dozens of buttons to push. 

It was 6:57 and I was standing naked after getting out of the shower. Was I trying to fail? My hands were shaking. Words were impossible. I scurried to get something together and I hit send. 7:00 PM. 

No response.


I arrived and saw my scene partner checking in. Their makeup was beautiful. Eyes that popped like beams of energy. 

“Are you ready?” 

All I could do is smile and say yes. 

They went to get dressed while I said hello to some friends in the space. When they emerged from the dressing room, I could have dropped to my knees there. Fishnet catsuit, corset and thigh high laced boots. A vision beyond compare. That was the point… but that was not the point.

We entered the “interrogation room,” a place of intensity. In it was a cross, a spanking bench, a desk and an office chair. It was lushious, but cold at the same time. 


I complied as they unpacked their bag. Paddles. Floggers. Handcuffs, Medical Kit. Metal implements. Nipple Clamps. The more they unpacked, the more serious the implement. 

A book was placed next to me… the one with my failures written on the page. There was only one. Maybe they had not realized that the last text was after the hour. I had a bit of a relief.

“Get out your cuffs.”

I pulled out the bag and placed it on the only open spot on the desk filled with instruments of bondage and pain.  I realized that I put them on top of the book, and that would upset them, so I gently slid the book to a different position and placed my cuffs with the locks beside them.

I was given a question to answer, which I did, and they said with a very serious tone “you wouldn’t lie to me?” 

They took out one last implement, and reasked the question. 

“Do you know what this is?”

“A straight razor”

“Good girl,” they said caressing my face. As their lips approached my ear, they continued. “And if you ever lie to me I will take this and fucking cut your catsuit off your body.”

They asked me to look at my log of failures. They said, something was missing, and asked me what it was. I said I had failed again. Then they asked what was missing from the table. I looked and said, a pen? 

“Yes,” they said with great excitement. “And do you know what we have to do if there is no pen?” 

“Write in blood?”

“YES!”  with even more excitement. “Pick a number between 11 and 27.” 

“21” I responded, not knowing if that meant lashes, spankings or something else. The blood was going to come from somewhere.

They went into a box that looked like a medical kit. They counted packages and looked happy when pulling out a specific package. Inside it, was a needle about a half an inch long. I hate needles and just winced.

“Yes, we will use blood… but it will be my blood.” and with it, they poked a finger with a pleasureable gasp and took the finger swiping across the page. “There, “ they exclaimed while sensuously putting the bleeding finger in their mouth. 



Challenges were set. “Your first task is to figure out my name.”

I fumbled with so many ideas and wasn’t even coming close. I accepted the punishment of nipple clamps to which they complied… and placed them between my thumb and index finger and the fourth finger and pinky. After what seemed an eternity and with hints, I finally succeeded by saying the name Phoenix.

“Yes it is Phoenix. And do you know what a Phoenix does?”


“Yes, and if upset takes everything back down to its origination.”

That origination I knew was fire. There was a lighter sitting quite close to me.

You will need to sit for this next part. They gazed into my eyes. The stare was forcing its way deep into me. Its intimidation strong… its beauty, undefinable.

“Tell me something you have never told anyone”

I had little hesitation. It was something I had been shameful for since I was a teenager,

I started to cry.

“You are not lying to me?” they said to which I responded absolutely not.

Now, tell me something else you have never told anyone.”

Again, I told them without hesitation. I will share this one with you as the first is too private. I babysat for a neighbor on new year’s eve when I was 13. In the laundry room, their hung on a drying rack a green leotard and matching tights. After the kid went to bed, I went down and put them on, I was so obsessed with the feel of them that I had to do it. 

“Put them on now,” they said. “Feel how good they made you feel. How amazing they are.”

After a while, they added “now, imagine the woman came in and caught you wearing them. What do you feel now?”

“Absolute shame!” I replied as I started to look down.

They picked up my face and made me look into their eyes. “Tell me what it looks like. Where is it in your body? What shape does it have?”

Through a series of words, we traveled with the shame and its shape through my body. We brought it to a place where it was a bright blue iridescent ball and brought it out of my body.  I placed the ball into their hands and they asked me what I wanted to do with it, to which I responded, I want it to go away. They took the ball and placed it in a box and verbally reminded me that it was here for safe keeping and would be kept by them.

What followed is hard to document because I am foggy on what happened. But here is what I can say. We formed a connection through breathing. The eye contact went seemingly minutes, several minutes without breaks. There was more breathing followed by the placement of my hands around them. First an embrace, then I collapsed into their torso. I cried and could not stop crying.. My hands examined the amazing being before me. I just couldn’t hold on hard enough. 

They asked me where I was. I said, that as I couldn’t lie, I was still in my head. The loud voices outside the room were distracting me. 

They stared and began to breathe with me. Measured. Through the mouth. Increased connection. More focus… “Come back to me.” Breathe with me until I tell you to stop. We continued together and it brought me back to her. The intensity increased until there was this beautiful explosion. They had such a look in their eyes, like joy had struck. And, then their focus came back to me. They said that I needed to stay in the place we are because if they turned away or if I turned away, it would feel like the most abandoned feeling ever known. I gazed back and was totally present.  

“Look closely into my eyes and what do you see?”

“Absolute beauty. The most beautiful sight I have seen in so long.” I replied through hurried breath.

“It’s merely a reflection.”

As I looked into their eyes, I saw myself. I really saw myself. I saw who I was. I saw the lights caressing my face. I saw a vision I had not prepared to look at. I saw a vision that I had spent all week preparing to see, but never knew.

I collapsed into them again a ball of emotional energy looking for a place to inhabit. I discovered that their energy was taking over me. We were one. 

They wanted to see the real me. And there I was… looking in their eyes and seeing it. The one who wants to hug the world, but the one who finds himself beautiful and worthy. 

After another long embrace, they sat on my lap and we held each other. The book entered my vision, and I asked “but what about the punishment you said you were going to give me.” I wasn’t trying to top from the bottom, I honestly wanted to know. 

“Hasn’t been looking at it all day been punishment enough?” they said.

Again, a collapse of tears.

It’s at this point where I can’t really remember anything but the emotions and connection I felt. But I want you, the reader, the one on this journey with me… there was not one restraint. There was not one impact. There was not anything holding me in place. 

It was two people. One was a guide. One was the passenger. It was a journey into my heart on the back of a Phoenix rising into a world I knew, but needed to discover again.


To my pilot, my partner, my friend… I can never come close to thanking you enough. I symbolically did as the hour came to Two, when I saw you on your own journey, and all I wanted to do was protect you from pain, but saw the agony was ecstasy for you, and your power was unlike any I have ever seen. You stood up to someone I have never seen stood up to. You faced them, you felt their energy and you burst into a light with scars that glowed. You were and are the Phoenix. And I shall travel with you… always.

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