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June 4, 2002
daddydom
Anal Sex

Preface

This collection of spanking short stories and observations of the spanking/
BDSM lifestyle has been both a pleasurable experience – and one of great
sadness. Three of the seven stories are purely fiction, “Friday Night Discipline,”
“Switched in the Woods,” and, “The Disciplinarienne.” The other four are
depicted from wrinkles in time that are very dear to me – as well as times of
overwhelming despair.

I am a disciplinarian, first and foremost. I spank women for a living, and do
quite well for myself. I am flown all over the country to administer spankings and
to counsel on spanking and its preconceived notions with those who are not as
comfortable in their own skins as I am about the subject.

As a true “Old Guard” master, a staunch traditionalist when it comes to my
practice, I decided very early on in my training that I wanted to specialize in just
one aspect of the lifestyle/scene. That specialization was, of course, spanking.

I have chronicled in two very powerful and fetish-laced screenplays, the hows
and whys of my knowing by age eight that spanking would be such a strong and
vibrant force in my life. “The Sins of Christina Black,” and, “The Ties that Bind”
tell my story of coming of age in present day Los Angeles, with a whip-wielding
mistress and a long since deceased teacher whom I worshipped – who died
tragically – and whose death I blamed myself for over many subsequent years.

I have often been asked, “How did you get into this line of work?” I usually
pause for a moment and give an incredulous stare and then respond by saying
that I was predestined to do the unique work I do with women. That many who
come to me find they can trust me like no other dominant they’ve ever
encountered. I go on to tell the person that what I mean by predestined is that I
lived through many countless sets of circumstances which prepared me for the
grueling, relentless training I undertook to receive my mastership. Circumstances
that most encounter, but which I used advantageously to strengthen not only my
self-esteem, but my innate, God-given talent to be dominant; to control and
shape people into the realm which is my world. I daresay it’s not too common to
see a ten-year old boy, strung out on Ritalin, thoroughly outwit and bring to a
seething rage his psychiatrist. My parents – Japanese on my father’s side, and
Irish Catholic on my mother’s – worried more about how to please me than how
to shut me up and keep me under control. This was, in retrospect, a high all its
own – and very frightening all at the same time! Being bipolar today has had its
advantages: I have spent time at the computer, writing for up to fifteen hours well
into the dawn of the next day, and done more than most by 9 A.M. (No, that was
not a plug for the U.S. Army).