Locked in Regret

 

IMG_7036-1My boy had a rough evening this past Sunday. Nothing to do with us, nothing that he won’t get past, but it was an incident that left him feeling shaky and uncertain, one where in the aftermath, he was left with the uncomfortable consequence of questioning himself and his decisions. I know that feeling, because I have been there too. It was the kind of thing where self comfort and self care can be hard to administer because you’re engaged in a private, temporary war with the inner parts of self.

I had mild cause to be upset with my boy because he made a brief but poor decision. This is not his standard fare, and I knew that he needed no tongue lashing from me. I wanted to be a place of support and encouragement, but I also knew he needed to sit with himself and assess. We didn’t talk much that Sunday night, but cocooned ourselves in our nest of bed and blankets. It was the exact womb he wanted and needed to crawl into this night.

The next morning I was at work early, gone before he had risen for the day. I got a text message from him. He was asking permission to lock himself in chastity. It was a simple text, yet I could feel the intensity about it. “May I lock up your cock today? I feel the urge to  locked…..please”.

What I felt most immediately grateful for was the realization that I didn’t feel mildly irritated by this request. At no point did I think, “Wow…..you just made a regrettable mistake, and you’re thinking about sex??”. This feels important to me because it is my belief is that a lot of partners could have taken this approach. It would be understandable. But I knew immediately that is was nothing sexual. It was purely emotional.

My boy has asked to be locked up many, many times in the past because he simply likes it. Because it is part of his submission to me. Because it is kinky. Because he is owned by me and this is what we do. But this time, I immediately sensed it was different. His cage is another cocoon. It is a place….a thing….that can act as a barrier to outside touches and influences. It can be used as punishment and pleasure as the two are often synonymous and interchangeable. I think he just simply wanted to feel it on his skin. We have talked often how his chastity device is a fist of sorts, how he can feel me squeezing him throughout the day and night. It is pleasurable for him. I think this time is was for the sake of comfort and proximity. He needs to feel close. I am sensing this. I am grateful that he is not the sort of guy who withdraws completely when he experiences trouble with self. And again, in the scope of all things related, this is a hiccup. Just a disappointing one.

The power of a cage can be mighty, and I do appreciate how this event has expanded the use, purpose and function of a steel cage. I gave him permission to lock up and get to work. He was instructed to place the key in my panty drawer, which he did. We had a quiet but good night last night and slept entangled as we do.

And, as is often the case,  I woke early and fumbled through the dark to put on pajamas and start the coffee. As I was quietly getting dressed in the dark, I could see my shadowy boy slip out of bed to the floor, where he knelt as he draped the upper part of his body against the bed.  I know for certain he is not even close to fully awake when this happens. He does this in order to subdued his erection. It was morning wood, which is a part of his natural state.

And it struck me that seeking comfort through a steel cage is part of his natural state too. It grounds and centers him. I know it is not needed, but it is desired. It is something that helps him. It is something he can and does use to help himself.

I am appreciative. Of him, of the devise, of the experience. His cage will accompany him on this personal journey, I think. It is the exact right companion.

 

Locked and Splayed

chastity lock

This is the text I got two minutes ago:

“Does it make you smile knowing that your boy is driving around the state, locked up for you?”

I got this from john, of course. Not that I would mind having another boy or 10 driving around the state locked in a steel chastity chastity device. Hell, I would get off on knowing that every single man out there walked around in a metal tube and lock, but that’s just me. Every time I see another woman walking around with a key dangling from a necklace from her neck, I smile a secret smile…..sometimes outwardly, sometimes privately because I am guessing that often times this is just a fashion statement that has nothing to do with chastity. Maybe…..but maybe not.  A dreamer can dream, right?

But to answer the question (I told him he’d have to wait for this post in order to find out), my reply is Yes, of course. Of course it makes me smile. But I smile at a lot of things regarding us. I do wonder, though…..do you think, pup, that you being locked in chastity becomes old?  Do you fear that one day I won’t smile as brightly?  That your chastity becomes something that is so routine that I stop being aware of it? To answer, it is not anything at all I’d ever tire of.  Ever. I found you last night, splayed out on top of our bed, completely naked, except for the shiny metal upon your cock and wrist. Your smile was splayed too, and the moment I see you, everything about you seems and feels right. I will never in a million years tire of such a thing….at the sight and knowledge of you.

Keuschheitskäfig_zI like the noise of this new cage. It clinks and clangs in a way that is different than the other devices, and I like it. I am guessing that a stranger or coworker would assume the noise has something to do with loose things in your pocket, but I know better. Oh….I know better.

We are in a quiet pattern in our kink. I won’t go as far as to say season, because seasons last months on end. And in Maine, winter is about 6 months long. So, I’ll call it patterns, much like a weather pattern that tends to last weeks and not months. Stormy outside yes, but quiet and peaceful on the inside. I feel a sense of contentment, but know that you crave more. I never, ever forget that you are my kinky, subservient, obedient, service-focused, collared, disciplined, owned, sexy boy. But I do sometimes omit from your diet the daily dose of kink that fortifies you. You are so easy to tend to, and you take such obvious joy and pleasure from chastity and restraint. When you lock yourself up as you do, and I am wearing that key, it’s a  strong bond between us. Another bond we share. I feel this sense of privilege knowing that I hold your key, knowing that you do this for the love of Me, for the love of our dynamic, for the love of the feeling you get. You don’t need a cage on that cock of yours to know and feel that you are owned, but it certainly adds to it.

So, when you ask if it makes me smile, the answer is a resounding, full-bodied, complete and utter Yes. It makes me smile in pleasure. In wickedness. In pride. In joy. In sadism.

In totality.

 

Caribbean Dungeon

Petit_St_Vincent_Island_Cottage_Interiors

 

The Caribbean island of St. Croix was wonderful. Parts were still obviously ravaged from the hurricanes but signs of rebirth and regrowth were everywhere. My best friend and I were visiting friends, and slept in the guest house of friends of these friends….two wonderful men who offered up their extra nest during our stay.

We spent a good part of each day sitting lazily underneath their deep, wide patio, covered in deep shade, which was needed as the sun was strong. Before us was a sweeping view of the sea, and we were lucky enough to be able to look out over the bluest of blue parts of that long stretch of island coast. Usually, we spent morning and late night hours on the patio talking and drinking coffee or other spirits. Early in our stay, we were told a story that I find myself thinking about a lot. Here it is:

We were told that the guest house we were staying in was once a dungeon. The former owner of the house had build the guest house as a place to keep her male slaves. After quickly determining that these were consensual slaves, the story became much sexier to me, and I was curious to learn more without seeming toooo interested. They know I’m kinky, and live a FLR with my boy, but I keep the details vague around the vanillas.

It seems that this Mistress lived happily on the island and was well known and liked by the locals. She built her dungeon to fit in, so from the outside, it gleamed no additional attention. But the inside was a vastly different story. I wasn’t able to get too many details, as our friends didn’t really know her personally, but the stories proceeded her.

I laid in bed during those mornings, the french doors wide open overlooking the sea, and would lounge in sleepy daydreams about this woman, wondering what her world was like. I looked around at the brightly colored, stucco walls, speculating what it must have looked like as a dungeon. The guest house wasn’t a large space, but it was certainly a creative space. The main living area was two stories, with a bedroom loft area off to the side.  Sturdy beans once held chains and bondage devices. Steel rings were built into the walls that now held local art, but once upon a time, they held local males, locked in shackles that confined them to this space.

I was told that these boys….men, toys, slaves…..would work nearly naked on the property, working the lawns, gardens, patio areas. I could picture them in my imagination, making a beautiful place more beautiful, their tanned skin glistening in the hot sun, the vibrant sea blue as the backdrop.  I would then picture them at night,  serving their Mistress, her friends, stepping into the night shadows when their service wasn’t immediately required.

Everything about this property seemed happy, joyous. It just had that energy about it. Everything about it flowed. The inside of the main house transitioned seamlessly to the outside spaces when the shudders and sliding doors were open wide. The patio encompassed the house, and a short path lead to the slave quarters. Everything was open and connected. Lush greenery created a natural fence affording all the necessary privacy. Twinkling lights and large candles cast soft lighting. Magical, to say the least.

I came home after that trip and shared the tale with my boy. But it was a hard story to share, because most of what I could tell about that dungeon was what I created in my own imagination. I find myself drifting off in fantasy about this place, about what it might be like to live like that. And in many ways, I DO live like that Mistress. I live in a sweet place, with a lovely slave. He serves me, he serves friends, he works the yard. I know from private messages I get that others are curious about us, about the way we live, and express a harmless jealousy that my boy and I get to do the things we do.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. Especially when it is built on real life pillars. Now, if I could only have that Caribbean blue outside my front door….

 

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Absence

hearts

Dear lovely blog,

I miss you! Its been about 2 weeks since I have posted, I am long overdue to catch up with you! Lots of cool and interesting things have happened during 2 different and sexy trips. There are stories to tell and adventures to share. I’ll be back very soon….this weekend, I promise! Hope you’re  doing well, blog. I’ll be back!

Love,

Ms. Chloe

Less clothing option

woman on beach

 

I’m all packed, ready to go. Tomorrow at this time, I’ll hopefully be taxing down the runway, lifting off and away from the cold, grey skies and heading south. Off to the Caribbean tomorrow with my best friend to go see our housemate, who spends deep winter in the deep south.  Bus to Boston tonight, a quick overnight, and then away we go.

The only thing left to do is to lock up my boy, review with him the list of chores I expect  him to accomplish while I am gone, grab my bags and go. I’ll miss my boy terribly, but am comforted to know we have another trip on the heels of this one where we go to a 5 day kinky event together. I am looking forward to that too!

So, my dear dog, here is the list of things you’ll do while I am away:

Return returnables.

Make sure bathroom is sparkling clean upon my return.

Clean out that dryer hose I have been talking about.

Contact lucky and Ms. J and settle up with them.

Shoes. You will work on shoes…..yours and a few of mine need a bit of polishing love bestowed upon them. Do it.

Check in with my dad, plan on going over after work one day and having cocktail/dinner with him.

Contact our lovely friend Ms. C and see if she needs anything since she is still on crutches.

I would like that computer cabinet to be fitted to hold computers and cords better. Surprise me with your craftiness!

I will be gone 8 days. You are permitted to consume alcohol for 4 of these days. You decide which ones.

Miss Me. This is a very important order.

And finally, blog. I won’t be able to while I am away, so post a few times.

I’ll see you in a week, my lovely pet. Be the good boy you are, enjoy your week, enjoy the quiet, keep yourself busy and happy. I’ll bring you back a present. :-)

 

Bon Voyage, all!

Pussy Screaming

Earlier this week, while in bed, my boy and I were sharing a bit of grown up playtime. We were beneath the covers, entangled in one another, and I took him by a fist full of hair and pushed him down, face first, between my legs. I ordered him to pleasure me, to lick me, to clean me, and he did. But on this night, it wasn’t enough for me, and my sadistic cravings were in full force.

I had him get up on his knees and shift his body so that his face was at the lower half of my body, and his ass was up by my shoulders. This gave me perfect access to his dangling cock and balls. I took one of his balls in my fist and started to squeeze. Slowly, tightly, firmly.

His response was to press his face deeper into my dark and womanly parts. It seemed to be a natural coping strategy for him as he sought to manage the pain….sort of like yelling into a pillow. But not.

The squeezing and torturing of his balls continued. I did not let up, I did not back off, and I continued to crush and grind his balls. I took my nails and dug into the tip of his swollen cock. It was edging of a different kind, for it almost brought him to the point of break.

His mouth was fully pressed into me. My pussy, my ass. He shifted slightly so that his mouth fit perfectly over my larger, softer opening and he started to scream as my fist brought him to the very edge of tolerance. I held my grip perfectly. And he screamed beautifully.

None of this is new to us. We have played like this so many times in the past that it is almost routine for us. But what was different this time is that his mouth was like a lid, keeping everything inside of me, letting nothing escape. His screams, his cries had no place to go except up and in. I could feel the baritone pitch as it vibrated off of my insides. I could literally feel my cervix absorb his guttural screams as they echoed and reverberated. I pushed his head a bit lower so that his mouth was over my ass and did the same thing. The results were similar, but it also felt different. It was as though those deep sounds had more places to travel. My pussy seemed to be a cul-de-sac of sorts, while my ass was a winding, tight road that just kept going. The music he was playing within me…..for me…..traveled far and deep and I could feel it at different lengths along the way. It was fascinating to me.

I truly no longer cared about any licking or kissing or worshiping. I only wanted to play him like the instrument he was. At this moment, he was not my boy, not my pet, not property. He is always these things, but right then, he was an object I was using and exploring. At one point he tried to beg me to be more gentle, and the response he got was a growl and hair pull. If he was going to give his voice, he would be screaming it and I would be capturing those screams within me…my own, personalized soundtrack of lust and sweet agony.

pussy-this-is-what-i-call-a-perfect-pussy-koika-metart

 

 

Denial and torture in the midnight hour

lounging woman

From Chloe: We went to bed fairly late last night after many rounds of “Cards Against Humanity” with friends. I was still a bit keyed up. Tired, but energized too.  john on the other hand seemed sleepy. We entangled ourselves within the covers and I knew right away that I would be using him for sex. That is what I wanted… sex. A big cum, a big stretch, and a good sleep. He would be my fucktoy and I used him for exactly that.

Of course he was denied any hope of having a cum himself. He struggled with his composure, and my grinding and squeezing didn’t seem to help much.  I wanted silence. I wanted to concentrate on my own thoughts, my own desires. He was ordered to be exactly what I wanted him to be… a silent, obedient, hard, thrusting cock that I would use and then toss aside when I was finished.

And pretty much, this is what I got. He had a few minutes of challenge, unable to fuck the way I wanted him to fuck, but eventually, he got the job done. When I was done riding those last, few blissful waves, he asked me for permission to beg to be allowed to cum. I slowly smiled, expecting this request from him. I granted permission, and he started to ask permission in whispered tones. I was not impressed. This was not begging. This did not sound desperate. It was far too polite and tame for my tastes.

I was harsh with him, practically growling at him to beg in earnest. Dammit, if he wanted a cum, then he had better earn the opportunity for me to even consider such a thing.

And so he did. I pulled him deep within me, started ordering him to fuck me deeper and harder, and demanded that he show me how hungry he was. He did… I could hear that desired quivering in his voice where composure and grit meet and clash. I wanted this from him. I wanted to hear it in his voice.

I told him no. I told him ‘absolutely, NO!’ There would be no cumming for him tonight. There would be no cumming for him for a long, long time. I told him the truth that he loves/hates to hear… that cumming for him is not something that will happen.

He whimpered. And I smiled. And my smile spread the more he whimpered.

I didn’t know that a smile could be heard. Not seen, but heard. And it was true, I was smiling at his discomfort.  He told me as much. “I can hear your smile”, he said quietly, reaching over to feel my face, confirming his suspicion. It made me smile more… harder, louder.

And I thought about that… hearing a smile. I was smiling at his despair. I was smiling at his struggle. I was smiling because he is this beautiful puppet on my scratchy string, and I smile because he loves being there. I smile at his honesty about loving to hate what he loves and hates. It’s the denial. It’s the chase. It’s the power. It’s as though he gives me this gift of his desire for safe keeping, and I abuse it. I abuse him. I crumple up his requests in my fist and toss them aside. Doing so makes me smile. And my smiling makes him happy.


From john: What Madame wrote is all completely true in all its delightful playfulness.

We did retire to bed and I was sleepy. I had been in service all night. Making cocktails, serving food, cleaning up, doing my best to serve all of our friends. I knew she was pleased. And it probably brought us back from my rocky waking from our afternoon nap (I was cranky when I woke). So I took my cranky self and poured it into just serving my owner and our guests and we had a lovely wonderful time. Everyone was having simply beautiful warm house gathering. Nothing too loud, nothing too over the top. No big meal, just a bunch of small plates and beautiful cocktails. And then some Cards – which I never seem to do well with.

But we retired to our bed after the guests had left and roommates retreated to their own bedrooms. I cleaned up the bedroom as I waited for roommates to do their bathroom time, then finished off my night doing my bathroom tasks, returning to find her beautiful self all cuddled up among the seven pillows, the warmth of the electric blanket having warmed the bed from corner to corner and giving her a cozy cocoon to nest into.

I came sleepily to the side of the bed, collared myself and slipped to her side, but she was, as she indicated, still a little wired and soon I found myself kneeling in front of her and cleaning her while she lay back. She reached down to find out the status of her cock and with some disappointment in her voice asked “Isn’t he happy to be unlocked?”

“Of course, Ma’am. I’m just focused on my duties…” I mumbled out from between her legs.

“Get in there deeper” she told me as I cleaned her. “Stick it in there.” These words had their effect – the effect she knew she’d have on me. Soon her hand was grasping a full and hard cock. She directed my oral attention to her pussy now “Get it wet, nice and wet”. Her hand left my cock and grabbed at my head, pulling my hair and pulling me away from her pussy and down into the proper position for her to be fucked in just the way she wanted.

I lay back on the bed on my side, my legs entwined with hers, my cock positioned at her opening where she opened up to me and pulled me deeply with her leg. We both paused and just enjoyed the feeling of being coupled again, entwined, tangled, her enjoying the full feeling and I enjoying the beautiful warmth and grip of her. Her hand danced over her pussy and rubbed her clit in the way only she can find. She directed my fucking, ordering me to fuck her deeper and harder. I resisted, not out of disobedience but because I would not be able to keep from cumming if she persisted. Several minutes into this teasing, I started talking to her, complimenting her. Thanking her for letting me into her beautiful pussy, telling her how much I love to watch her cum, to be used by her and be part of pleasure. I think some of my words helped her, but she shushed me and just had me fuck her.

This is the nature of it, where I’ll be an itchy trigger finger in the first few minutes of sex, then I’ll get past it and be able to service her more suitably. Now I was able to be used by her more aggressively, more soundly. I fucked her as she wished, pushing deeply into her and grinding with her. Her fingers still danced, her hips ground, I fucked, she came.  A nice big beautiful slowly built orgasm, all toppling down and around us both, falling in pieces on the bed and around the bed. She acknowledged my efforts… something like “Now that was a good fuck.”

“May I beg?” I meekly inquired.

“Oh, pup, you may.”

Sculpture "Adoration" by Gustav VigelandAnd so I did, sliding deep into her and asking “Please may I cum?”

And it was as she wrote, I didn’t start with earnest begging. But soon, my arousal increasing while she was still in the afterglow of her own pleasure, I was desperate to cum. She answered all my pleading with all the answers I expected. “Of course you’d clean it up!” “That’s only if I let you.” “Why should you spill?” “The only cum you’ll get is Marks as he fucks your throat.” “You’re hardly what I would call begging.” all these responses to drive my arousal, to hear me whimpering. That’s when I heard it. I whimpered, like a dog, with some words around the whimper, but the whimper is what she wanted. She had driven me into a desperate state and denied me and all to get me to this place – where I would be inside her, desperate to cum, yet denied and emit that whimper that she loves.

“I can hear you smiling.” I said. Her smiled grew – I heard it. I absolutely heard it. And it was almost as if she didn’t believe me. But I knew I was right and that she was still taking her pleasure from me. In telling me “no” while teasing me, that orgasm of hers carried on  – pleasure from a different stimulus now. My cock throbbed, she smiled, she denied, she pulled me in with her leg.

I pulled out quickly “No! no no no no no no no” I lay back away from her, “no no no no no ” I hoarsely whispered. She knew I was at the ultimate edge. Without exaggeration, this was where a single word from her or a touch from her could send me over. I held my body tight, taut, tensed, I held my PC muscle as tightly as I could. The orgasm cycle was spinning up and relaxing would let it flow, so I held the muscle tightly. It felt like several minutes that I held the pose. Arched back, tight loins, breathing in short stabbing breaths, all waiting for it to slow.

Finally I was able to relax, loosening the PC, loosening my back, laying back, my cock throbbed and pulsed and a small dribble appeared on the head.

“Closest ever” I muttered. She knew it too. There were times where I had fallen off that edge. There were times when I was not quite to that pinnacle. But this, this one was a new peak. And she smiled. And she laughed. And she enjoyed torturing me, enjoyed using me and things were not over with her orgasm- after she had used me. Things were only over after she abused me too – tortured and teased me. Taken me all the way up and then watching me come crashing down in frustrated throbbing and begging. It wasn’t over until she was smiling and pulling me into her to spoon her, my hard cock nestled into her ass cheeks and to not feel release, but to feel her warm body in front of me as we drifted to sleep.

Rituals

Laying in bed last night, I asked my boy about what he thought I should blog about this morning. I felt out of content. It’s deep January, our northern world is covered in ice and white walkers, and our daily routines are pretty predictable. No public play, no naked outdoor frolicking, and as it is this time of year, I am in bed most nights by 9pm. This hardly is enough fodder for one good post, let alone a season’s worth.

My boy, being the good one he is, threw out a couple of ideas. He offered, “Blog about my daily rituals” and we proceeded to alternate listing them out loud to one another. The more we talked about it, the more I liked it. Conception bullseye.

Rituals. I simply like the sound of the word.

His day starts with making the bed. Picking up discarded clothing. I do love the sound and image of him removing the panty line from my undergarments. I always think this is quite sexy…gives me a wicked smile every time. Sometimes I’ll catch him holding my panties to his nose. I can’t suppress the grin.

Then, there is the offering to either make or share breakfast, which is a hit or miss thing, but the offer must be there.

He warms up my car this time of year, scraping it if need be.

He is to fill the bird feeder outside our window. I do love those little, fragile, chirruping things!

During the day, he is to send me porn. I do not do this in return, but I do love getting his. Those images inspire me and feed me. So, yeah, it is an important part of my day. I also like this because I can tell how ‘hungry’ he is by what he sends me, both in content and volume. It’s a great way to take his pulse. :-)

He doesn’t cook dinner much, mostly because we have a housemate who loves to do it, and I will take a swing at it a couple of times a week. But he’ll do the dishes every night. And as we know from a recent post, he is not allowed to eat or drink until I have been offered ‘first bite/last sip’.

Other routines: He is to turn on the bed when he gets home from work. It’s heated this time of year. He is still learning to remember this one. He might need a painful reminder….it’s that ‘seasonal adjustment disorder’ thingy.

He offers to make me a cocktail each night. We need a break from this, it’s a good time of year to dry out a bit, damnit. So far, we are failing pretty miserably.

Without exception, he is to empty the dish drain every night and prep the coffee before bed. I dislike waiting up to a cluttered, messy kitchen, and since I am always the first one up, this is law.

Massage_black_and_white_with_handsWhen bedtime arrives, it goes one of two ways; he either comes to bed with me for the night, or he will tuck me in and then get back up and stay up later than me. But either way, he will prep the bed (which involves taking away a mountain of pillows, because actually sleeping with 6 is enough) and he will tuck me in. He then performs his nightly ritual of worship and cleaning. Yes, both of those things. His face, mouth and tongue buried deep into my dark places. I am going to write more about this specific ritual in the very near future.  It deserves a post all on its own.

When that worshiping is completed, and he emerges with a smile and a pink nose (such a cute dog!!!), he will lay next to me and pet me to sleep. I don’t know if it can be comprehended on how lovely this is for me. We have written before about the mind and body connections that are unique to us and our relationship. For example, john’s body has trained itself to respond to mornings, even if he is fast asleep, because his knows that this is the time of day I am most apt to torture it. His body will hear me rustling quietly in the bedroom, and it will respond, sensing that likely, I am taking aim at it. I have this mind/body connection going on too, but in different ways and places.

My body is convinced that john’s hands are magic. And they are. He knows exactly how and where I like to be petted. Petting is an absolute must and is up there with breathing, eating, drinking. He is to pet me on my naked back, open hand, concentrating on either upper or lower parts. I will lay on my stomach next to him . My right arm either dangles off the side of the bed, or is up around my head, and my left arm is tucked against my side, sandwiched tightly between our bodies. My palm faces up, and he knows that he is to place is ball sac in my open hand. It’s the perfect fit for us. I hold and cup him there, mostly being gentle. Sometimes he’ll get sleepy as he pets me and I will need to give him a torturous squeeze or three, which seems to work quiet well in reinvigorating his interest and enthusiasm. and he’ll start to pet me, again. Usually, within moments, I feel my mind go soft, I feel my body sink and then it’s lights out. I always try to pinpoint the exact moment I fade to black, but never can. But wow….it is the most lovely of descents.

Age has changed my sleeping patterns. I will often wake once in the night, usually between 2am-4am. I am one of those types where I wake easily and quickly. If I wake, it’s a struggle to get back to sleep for me. But here too he will work his magic, gathering me in his sleepy arms, pressing me against him and we snap together like lego’s. He never gets impatient or cranky with me for my bouts of restlessness. He knows I don’t like the biological changes and he soothes me. I appreciate this about him more than any words could ever describe. His magic works nearly every time. I am soothed, my body knows his touch, it’s therapeutic to me. Did I mention it’s magical?

All of john’s rituals are important. Most speak to my comfort and ease. They speak to him too, but I will ask him to write about this on his own. We take and gather different things from these rituals. Magic is often found in the most unexpected of places. Rituals is a good place to start looking.

 

 

singing

“Come on home, girl” he said with a smile “I cast my spell of love on you a woman from a child”. But try to understand, try to understand, oh try try try to understand…..he’s a magic man”…he got the magic hands.

 

 

Sexual Sadist?

2

I really like John’s post from yesterday. I too read it as a reader- as an observer.  I didn’t know he was posting such a thing, and I certainly didn’t see him working on any graphs. It was a delightful surprise to me to see it. And it got me thinking about how different our approach is to his chastity and denial.

I don’t lock him up for the numbers. I don’t deny him to make the graph look sharper. I don’t engage in this behavior to make one year stronger than the next. So…..if I don’t do it for those reasons, then why do I do it??

The short answer is that I don’t know. I just do it.  Many times, john is the perpetrator of the lock-down. I never asked for, nor did I order, the purchasing of his new devices. I simply have made comment that I like the look of certain contraptions, and voila….a couple of them arrived in the mail. He knows the rule…..if he is going to be away from me  for a night or more,  he gets locked up. The reason is simple: I just like and want it that way. But on other days, with other opportunities, he’ll just take it upon himself to sport a cage or insert a plug. He’ll be fairly sneaky about it too, waiting hours before he’ll snap a photo of himself during the work day and sent it to me….the metal tube poking out of the fly of his pants, accompanied by a bright yet sheepish smile.

The ejaculation denial is something I have more control of. I like him in a perpetual state of desire; there is a lot of fun in that particular playground. It’s a psychological kind of thing. He lusts, I tease, he begs, I deny. Edging. It’s what we do, and we do it well.

Sometimes I do things to john, or order him to do things to himself because, simply put, I am mean. I am part sadist and we both know it. I love the sweet torment that accompanies all of this. I take pleasure from fierce begging and the firm denial. I see what it does to him. I see how his eyes change, how his head thrashes, how his fingers curl. It can be a beautiful thing to watch a beautiful man chew his own knuckles.

And, sometimes too, I do things to john because I know he loves to hate the things he loves. This is a different sort of nudity, a different kind of exposure. It reveals a vulnerability in a strong man that I don’t otherwise get to see. John can and does often steward his own ship, which might seem odd considering we live a FLR, but think about it….he is making my job as owner and leading lady easier. At the end of the day, we want the people we love to be loved and happy. I like that he has passions that I get to share, but don’t always have to orchestrate. I cannot be, nor do I ever want to be, the architect for all of the things that make us sexually dizzy. That would be too much work for me. I am simply not interested.  But I DO love that he will take that lead, put us on that path, and then hand over the leash. To me, these things are the makings of a true submissive. He knows what makes him happy, and he gives that power to me after securing it.

I am curious as to what 2018 might bring to us. I don’t know if we will alter any trends or break any records. These things are not the point. But I do know that we both enjoy it. Especially the denial piece. The part I want to work on? Getting better at the edging thing. I have been responsible for his spilling, because at the end of the day, biology rules. So, here’s to 2018. May my force be with us. :-)

 

My people

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As it must be true for nearly every single couple across all the lands, my boy and I experienced a brief but intense moment of struggle last night. We had just returned from a fun, easy, kid centered gathering where the family patriarch had rented a couple of adjoining hotel rooms for the night so that all of the little kids in the family could have a mini getaway….jumping on the big beds, swimming in the pool, pizza, cartoons. My boy and I had an opportunity to have a few private moments together in the big bathroom and what ensued was a brief, but hotly intense kinky moment between us. I love that we are good at this, finding those hidden moments where something really sexy goes down. That was last night, and I still have the image of him laying flat on his back on the cold and tiled floor, mouth open as I stood above him, my naked legs straddling his lovely, bearded face.

We got home, and unbeknowst to me, my boy had within him some unrelated tension that bottled up within him. I asked him a basic question, “Hey, did you hear what happened to my dad’s dog earlier?”, and his reply was very off-putting to me, and I took it personally. That is where I went wrong, as my boy doesn’t usually do this. Instead of stopping and thinking globally and recognizing that he was reacting to something different, I internalized it and gave him an icy stare, far colder than  that tile floor from only hours earlier.

The chill in the air lingered between us until we were alone in our bedroom. It all erupted and heated words were exchanged. I don’t always understand his internal ways of dealing with things. They simply are not a part of my overall life experience. I come from a family of talkers….we dig deep, we pry, we explore, we extract from one another. This is not the experience john has had in his life with his family and friends…..his people.  One is not better than the other. Just different. We as people are often what we know. My social circles are much like my everything circles where we are talkers and sharers. My social tribe consists of a modern day version of Merry Pranksters. If we could have done it, we would have happily boarded the infamous bus Further, joining Ken Kesey and all of his adventures. Surrounding me are the people and things I love….the musicians, the poets, the artists and freaks.

In that heated exchange we shared, I said something to john about the communication style I am used to, referring to that experience and the people who are a part of it as “My people”. I saw the flash across his face and rightfully so, he pounced.

“Your people?? What does that mean?? We’ve been together for almost 12 years, and I am not a part of ‘your’ people??”.

I knew exactly what he meant and I knew exactly how  he was taking it. The problem was….how he was taking it was not how I meant it. But it was too late. That emotional table was set and it was a struggle to undo the damage that had been done.

But we did it, I think. We undid that damage. Or enough so that we could go forward. We took all of the skills we have been working on for years, and put them to work for us. We took a deep breath, we gathered calm, we looked at one another, we talked and we listened. john further explained that he was carrying within him unrelated tension, and I apologized for not recognizing that, and for not asking better questions. I was reactive instead of proactive. Knowing the different between those two things is life changing.

Within 10 minutes, he was kneeling besides me as we talked and touched and softened. Within two more minutes, he was collared, leashed, in bed and we were entangled. What he doesn’t know is that I thought a lot about what I had said, “My people” and thought about how that must have felt very hurtful to him. I thought about how  strongly I love him as he lay next to me, and I thought about how he is all of my people. He is a little bit of everyone and everything I love. He is my rock and my glue. We are vastly different and yet a lot alike too.

He is my music because he makes my heart and body sing, and I really mean that when I say this. Like no other ever has, and no other ever will.

Part of the definition of the word poetry includes this: “special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm”. Oh yes….that is us. Absolutely. The power exchange we share is not a fraction less than a distinctive style and rhythm all the time. He is definitely my poet.

My artist….aka my boy….sees beauty in the most obscure of places. He has a gift for making dark, neglected, abandoned places feel and look alluring in a way that no one else could do. At least, no one I know. He describes a fine Scotch as beautiful and hand crafted sword as ‘gorgeous’. And he is right each and every time.

The freak part? Oh yeah…..he’s got that. I grin as I write this. Just ask the bathroom floor and the five minutes we stole. It had ‘freak’ written alllll over it.

He is my people. He is my person. He is my boy, friend, partner, lover, slave, my fantasy, my object, my confidant, my safe haven, my danger, my toy, my lust.  My slut, even. He might not have happily joined that bus ride with the rest of us and cuddled up to Mr. Kesey, but he would have been waiting for us on the other side of that ride, arms thrown open wide, huge smile on his beautiful face, a pot roast in the cast iron, a fire in the pit, awaiting us all.

He is My people.

He is my person.

He is my everything.