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.

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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?

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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.

 

Cum and go

 

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Dogs. Their behavior.

Unpredictable at times, it seems.

Nothing is wrong, nothing has happened other than life happening. But that said, I have noticed something of a shift today. Or maybe it was last night, and I didn’t notice. But something is different. I have my suspicions, I’ll write about them here, and maybe my dog will read this post and it will generate a conversation. Okay if it does, okay if it doesn’t. Either way, it won’t really change how I am feeling right now.

My dog had a big, beautiful cum Saturday night. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but he did. And really…..he didn’t even get in trouble for it because it was that big, and it was that beautiful.

We played Saturday night. At the event. The picture in this post is from that scene. I liked the web-like device I had him crawl into as I beat him. He liked that web-like device he  was made to crawl into. It is a simple piece, but I love the way it looks. I caned him good and hard while he lay entangled. It was pretty hot… so much so that he had an orgasm without ejaculation while being caned. I love when that happens… it’s truly an amazing thing.

From that room, with the web bed, we moved to another room. In this room were no fewer than 26 queen sized mattresses. They filled the entire space of that room…..wall to wall mattresses. Some were stacked 4 mattresses deep, others two deep. It was a Minecraft of mattresses, all covered in clean, white sheets. The point of this room is that couples can enter the space and occupy a stacked pile and have a sense of separateness from the other piles….the other coupled couples.

I chose our pile, and we started to slowly sink into one another. We didn’t fuck, we didn’t rape or beat. We made sweet, penetrating love. I think what turned us on was a myriad of things. The earlier beating. The naked time in a group setting. The collar. The kink that surrounded us. All of it, really. But I do know for me that I got pretty turned on by knowing we were in room with 3 other couples who were sharing their own versions of intimacy. I could hear the love making all around me, but because of the different heights of stacked mattresses, I could not really see what was going on around me. If I looked (and I did), I could see a stockinged leg or an arching foot, but that was really about all.

My boy and I were really into one another in that moment. It was sweet and tender and it was driven by our hunger for one another. I used my boy and had a big cum as he pushed deeply inside me. My cumming pushed him over the edge. As my orgasm intensified, it grab at him… squeezing, pulling, clutching. It was more than he could bear and he could hold on no longer. He spilled. He spilled a lot. He spilled the contents of 45 days of not spilling. His cum was like my cum… hard, hungry, happy. We lay gathered in one another and smiled. There would be no punishment for this, because it was perfect and I was happy and that was all that needed to matter.

I don’t know if it is biology or psychology but damn… I have come to my conclusion: Every time my boy has an ejaculation, things are different for at least a week. There seems to be something about his deep and gathering hunger when he is denied cumming for prolonged amounts of time that make him become more compliant. More submissive. More slave-like. More proper. More… I dunno… more everything. It is as though that once he has that biological release, he has a psychological one too. I can’t say that I like it all that much. It can be confusing. Unpredictable. I can’t say that I am a big fan of this. I like him to be consistent. I already cornered the market on inconsistency; that ship sailed some time ago. I should know – I am the Captain of it, after all.

So, here we are… in a quiet moment, in a quiet month. It was an excellent weekend, it really was. No complaints, but rather observations. Last night had me feeling withdrawn. He seemed a bit snippy. Short. As though he forgot his manners. I pull and prod at him all the time to keep his mind and mouth open because he has the propensity to get too quiet sometimes. We are living proof that opposites attract, and his quiet overall as a personality type is something I have become used to. So, when the quiet gets quieter, it pushes me beyond my comfort zone. Not too far from it, but enough so that I withdraw a bit and wait for his balls to start to fill again. Because when his balls become full, his mind steadies and his submission rises. That is what I am used to, that is what he aspires to. It’s just weird to be right next to someone and to feel like they are miles away.

I shrug. This too shall pass.

Tight Ends

IMG_6563

Football fun! The kinky version of “Family Feud”, newly coined “Submissives Feud”.

 

Watching football while at a kinky event with kinky friends as well as kinky hotel roommates leads to….well….kinky goodness.

Yes, we were at an event this past weekend. Yes, it was a hotel stay. The where and what won’t be discussed here, but I will say it was an excellent event, one we have been to before, just not in a while. We met our good friends there, Ms. J and her boy, lucky. I’ve written about them before. We decided it would be most fun to share one room with two big beds since we have all played together. This is not to be confused with swinging, for that is not what we do and not what we did. But certainly, we shared playful naked, D/s laden, protocol filled weekend together.  So much I could write about, but for now, I will concentrate on football since we ARE in New England, and we DO root for the Patriots, and it WAS a playoff weekend.

So, instead of joining a big, kinky party Saturday night, we made our own party in the hotel room. Four quarters make for the game, and there were four of us. Perfect.

Ms. J and I decided that each of us would have a quarter, and for that quarter of the game, we could each individualize our own set of rules/games to be played. All of us chose something unique and fun. I’ll write about mine. Here was the game we played based on my rules:

I googled a trivia game. I actually searched for “football trivia for kids” and found a great trivia questionnaire. It was perfect for the range of football knowledge that had amassed in our room. I made john and lucky kneel in front of a bench. On that bench before each male contestant was large dildo. Larger than they could comfortably swallow.

The objective was this: I would read a trivia question, confirm the stakes and whomever knew the answer had to deep throat the cock to the best of their ability. Think ‘Family Feud’, only instead of buzzers to hit, there were cocks to swallow. If they both swallowed cock, then whomever swallowed deepest won. I would start by reading the ‘prize’, then read a trivia question, and then watch one or both heads slam into the cocks, mouths wide open, gagging sounds shortly thereafter. Here is an example:

“This question is good for 5 cane strokes. If you swallow first and win the round, you can either keep the cane strokes for yourself or give them to your opponent. Ready? Here is your question:

Which of these teams is NOT a team in the National Football League?
  • Detroit Lions
  • San Diego Chargers
  • Green Bay Packers
  • Chicago Bulls”

And so it went. Round and round.  Different questions each time. I am not entirely sure how many trivial questions I ended up asking, but I CAN tell you that a 15 minute quarter is not a 15 minute quarter.

Oh my god, the laughter!! The silliness! The playful arguing, cheating, bribing, whining, begging. It was all fun and games, and only a few got hurt. :-)

The quarter ended, and then someone else presented their game for the next round. I will say this: I got caned. I got spanked. No one was unscathed. No matter who’s turn it was, we laughed until we cried. We cried until we laughed. We spent 3 solid hours in that room, and all of agreed that we have never had a better time watching football, and never quite like this.

I can only imagine what a Superbowl would bring, if we make it that far (Go Pats!).

It certainly got me thinking about baseball. I love that game too. And to think….. 9 innings of tortured glory! Oh my….the possibilities!

 

 

Lucky….or not.

So, it’s the eve of our weekend departure. My boy is in the bedroom, packing and preparing things…..clothes, toys, accessories, hotel goodies. We are going to kinky hotel event this weekend and we are sharing a room with another lifestyle couple. She is the dominant and he is her husband and submissive.

We have traveled, played and shared before. We have our limits and rules, but other than that, we merge very well together. We understand each other, we have similar tastes and values, so we don’t have that “new couple thing” to deal with. We get to show up tomorrow and start playing. But really, the playing started long before that with the group texts. Last night they circulated in earnest. But before I tell LAST nights’ story, I need to backstory first.

The four of us got together in early November for a weekend. Lovely times, excellent service from the boys, lots of playful, kinky, service focused fun for all.

I am not sure how it started, but the end result was that john was to write Ms. J a series of 5 stories and email them to her prior to this January weekend event. Ms. J and john have many years of playing together, so this was a very natural and comfortable thing for j to do. I have known Ms. J’s boy  ‘lucky’ since they have been together, but not as well as Ms. J and john know one another. So, in the spirit of learning more, I too asked lucky to participate in an assignment. His was to find 5 different stories from Literotica. He could pick any 5 stories he wanted, but the catch was that he had to assess them for me. Specifically, he was to critique each story, listing 5 things about each story that he liked and 5 things he disliked. This would enable me to get a better  sense of what moves him, and what doesn’t.

Initially lucky did fairly well sending me stories. I got 2 within the first month. But then, it all came to a crawl, and I really haven’t heard much from him since then. Fast forward to the beginning of this week, and he is seriously behind schedule. To the very clear point of punishable.

He will face that punishment this weekend, for I will not forget his delay, but that will be another post for another day.

In the meantime, I wanted to do something….generate some activity…..that would put him the spirit of taking orders from me, of preparing himself to be of service to two different women. I am not even sure where the idea came from, but in our group text exchange, I ordered him to lay naked on his bathroom floor, and to have with him blank paper and a box of crayons. I told him I wanted him to draw me a picture. Something I could enjoy since I was unable to enjoy this stories (BECAUSE THEY WERE LATE!!!). I am definitely more a dog person than a cat person, but for some reason, I required a drawing of a cat sitting on a rock wall. The rock wall needed to have vines and flowers growing over and on it. And the cat needed to be overlooking a Caribbean sea, with a sailboat in the distance.  Maybe it’s because I just booked a trip to the Islands and have that on my mind, but regardless, it was the picture I ordered. Mostly, I wanted the  knowledge and image of  him laying naked on a cold bathroom floor, drawing a picture for me. And I requested that his owner send me a photo of him doing so, which she graciously did. Here he is…this picture is almost too cute for boy who is facing serious trouble.

naked dave

I really do love seeing this. It’s quite pleasurable to know you’ve ordered a man to do something and he is 200+ miles away and he does it.  Of course, his owner makes such things completely possible, but still, it’s delightful fun to have  him to obey as he has.

The finished product?? That picture arrived too, thanks to his owner. I am delighted by it. I had no idea he would be so talented. It inspires me to demand more creative energy from these boys.

Two owned and collared boys, two strong and demanding women. One hotel room. Oh, the fun we’re gonna have!

Dave drawing

Seeking: “Please use my boy”

naked men on grass

I am enjoying the experience of reaching out to an old and dear play partner of ours, of john’s really, as I know we will be seeing him this upcoming weekend. This other person is a lovely man with an awesome wife and family and the group of us see each other at least a couple of times a year in one setting or another. Sometimes kinky, sometimes vanilla.

John has always enjoyed playing with other dominant men. We don’t get a lot of opportunities for that, and truth be told, we are rather selective. Yes, there are the obvious criteria such as approximate age to ours, hygiene, experience. But what’s critically important is that we find a combination of emotional intelligence coupled with a balanced sense of humor. Not easy things to find all wrapped up in one sexy package.

But our friend “S” is all of those things, if not more. We found him close to ten years ago. Or, rather he found us, but that was the easy part. It’s not difficult to make a connection when a giant poster board spells out what you’re seeking.

And that’s how it happened. We were at a large, week long event and I had created a scene for my boy. I had him spread out on the grass, on his back, arms and legs wide open with wrists and ankles cuffed and pegged to the ground. I put a blind fold on him. I brought a beach chair and parked it nearby. I brought with me poster board and markers. I made signs.

We were pretty new to this event at the time, and of course I worried about biting off more than I could chew. But I am also very protective of my boy and guttural instinct to keep him safe gave me all the confidence I needed. And so, I sat and created while my boy lay naked, blind and restrained……waiting.

My posters were simple: “Please come and touch by boy”. “Gawk at him”. “Objectify him”. “Use him”.  Of course, the fine print required that people use our toys that I had spread out on a blanket , that it was safe sex only and that they discuss with me their intentions. I listed suggestions. I listed limits and restrictions, but that was not a big list. I reserved the right to stop any play at any time if I deemed it inappropriate or too over the top. But I never had to do that. I actually don’t think in the 10 years since that I have had to do that. But that’s another story for another day.

What I could see from my comfortable chair in the gentle shade was my naked boy, nervous and exposed in the mid day sun. I had picked a high traffic area where a couple of hundred people who would be walking past within an hours period. I could see my boys’ twitching fingers, his teeth occasionally pulling at his own lips. The occasional turning of his head in his attempts to hide.

There was no hiding. He was helpless, exposed and about to be used……and he knew it.

His large and stiff cock told me all was well. It certainly got the attention of the passersby’ers too.

These were all of the tings I could see from my vantage point. I watched the small  but frequent groups of people walking the path that took them within 10 feet of our scene. Nearly all stopped and read my posters and looked at my boy. Nearly all had a comment to make, which was awesome because I knew my boy could hear everything. Just their talking about what a helpless sex toy he was was all the objectification I could have hoped for.  John could not see the people smile at him, at me. He could not see them give me a silent thumbs up in approval. He could not see them come to me in whispered negotiations. And he could not see the line that was forming around him.

Another thing I could see that he could not- “S”. This tall, handsome man stood slightly back, watching. He had a smile on his face, and I think a stirring in his loins. He observed, he walked around my boy as though he were vehicle he was considering test driving. When the onlookers continued on their way to the cafe for lunch and the numbers were fewer, “S” approached me and chatted me a bit, getting to know our story, what might be okay to do, what the limits might be. He wanted to know if oral sex was permitted. My reply? With a condom, nearly anything was permitted.

Do I tell you the rest? Do I paint the picture how how “S” disrobed and stroked his own cock, all the while walking around my boy, talking to him with quiet, masculine words that made my own boy’s cock swell in response?

Do I share the image of how this man straddled my boy, naked and in full sun and slowly lowered himself on to my boys face, but only after he had grabbed a handful of my boy’s hair and whispered his intentions into this straining ear?

Do the details of how he rode my boys mouth matter?

Does it add to the story that he was just rough enough with my boy so that john felt like the sex toy that he was pegged to be, and yet not once did I feel it went to far or became too rough for a first encounter?

Do you like knowing that my boy was played with by a dozen amazing strangers but it was this beautiful stranger in particular who used him so thoroughly  and that it would be this stranger who would make use of john in all the years to come?

Yes, we like it when we find people who like the things we like. Of course we do. But I don’t know that I have met anyone who likes poster board and markers more than I. I have created more scenes and have gotten more things that I have wanted, all by asking and communicating. It’s a beautiful thing. I hope I have drawn a picture you can see. It’s quiet colorful. I promise.