Use caution

Use caution, explosion risk

Use caution

In an interesting experiment, I thought I’d report here on the (non-scientific) results.

Just because you can make a man orgasm without ejaculating, does not necessarily mean he won’t return to fucking after that orgasm and not be ready to instantly blow his load.

This is the lesson learned this morning. See, she was very wet and horny this morning and, well, I’m a dog and am almost always horny. So she used me. She teased me. She finally got me to the point where I could give her some fucking, but then she started whispering to me. Damn it, woman, don’t you remember what happens when you do that?

Eventually, she tired of my not being able to really fuck her hard (else I’d explode!) and I lay back on the bed. And then I felt it. Oh there was that squeeze, that contraction in my body. And I knew what it was. And I accepted it, I wanted it and I breathed at her “squeeze me, please” and she squeezed my cock. “My balls, hard, please” I managed to utter. Her other hand grabbed my balls and she squeezed the hell out of them. I writhed under her, not from the pain, but from the orgasm that was jolting my body. It’s weird when it happens, but I was able to make it happen, pull that orgasm right out of my body and let it flow. It wasn’t the best orgasm ever, but it certainly WAS an orgasm.

So, well, being the dog I am, I suggested “Maybe after that, I can fuck you harder now.” And she invited me to try. And I failed. Oh boy, did I fail. I didn’t cum, but I still couldn’t fuck her. Five or six strokes into her beautifully wet pussy and I was back again at the edge of ejaculation and she was smiling up at me with one of those “Damn it, boy” grins on her face.

I don’t like that I can’t fuck her the way she wants and deserves, but I also know now that she really does enjoy watching me struggle against cumming inside her. Her cruel side takes great pleasure in watching my struggles. And I know that, if she really did want to be fucked, she’d summon that other side of me that really can fuck her until she begs to stop. But in the meantime, we’ll continue on, for science, in learning what limits can be pushed, what should be pushed and what shouldn’t. And I’m a willing lab rat in the series of experiments. Because, well, for science, after all!

 

Just a handful

I very much appreciate that, even in her most fatigued state, Madame always reaches out her hand for me, to feel me in her hand while she sleeps. I am always naked in bed, she usually is. When she lays on her belly or on her left side, her left hand reaches out each time to feel me there. She cups my balls, squeezing sometimes and this is so very often how we call asleep. Sure, we both roll over in bed through the night but when I roll away before she does, I always feel her hand clutching at my balls before I can roll away. Sometimes she clasps and doesn’t let go, sometimes she squeezes deliberately and with great pressure and sometimes it’s just a gentle squeeze, a note of her subconscious self not wanting to let go of her property.

hand on cock and balls

Her hand on his wiggly bits

This morning was one such occasion of the latter. She had come to bed very late. I was up early, as we’re dog sitting and I went to take care of the dog’s morning needs. As I turned to try and get up, she squeezed gently at my balls. I stayed in place for a minute, then more slowly left the bed, her hand letting me free on this second pull. It was such a beautiful thing, her sleepy hand still clutching at my balls, not letting me leave, but she was completely asleep.

It’s very good to feel wanted. Very good indeed.

Oh, when did that happen?

This morning, she woke me a little earlier, as I had asked her to. And I went back to sleep.

Later, she came back in with a slightly barkier tone in her voice telling me to get up. When I groaned at her, she acted by pulling the covers down (CRUELTY!) and then grabbing a cane, with which she struck my hip, the place I really hate to be struck with anything. I made a terrible effort of pulling the covers back over me and she pulled them back down. “Okay okay, I’m up, I’m up!” as I started getting up out of bed.

“Lie back down, on your stomach.” She wasn’t done with me. She caned me, perhaps a dozen strokes, but still, enough to get some blood flowing and whimpering from me.

“Okay, I’m up!” I whined and started sliding off the bed.

“No! Back up there!” I resumed my position. “Two more for whining” she said as she brought the first stripe across my ass, harder than all the others. She followed up with a second one, equally painful.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, pup.”

I then proceeded to make the bed, as is my morning ritual, she helped with some of it as well, as it’s so much easier with two people. I drowsily tucked, folded, stacked pillows setting it all up for the evening, my cock half erect and rubbing against sheets and wool blankets. I removed my collar, hung it up and asked for my glasses. She gave them to me. I set about my morning duties in the rest of the house – mostly drinking coffee, checking our social media efforts and simply waking up.

His collar hanging

A collar hangs on the lamp post

After she left, I showered and returned to the bedroom, I looked at the collar, as you see it hanging in the photo. I reached up to my neck in disbelief, even though I knew I never would have worn it in the shower, to feel my collar. It really wasn’t on my neck. I tried to remember when I put the collar on the lamp. Did I? Did she? When did the collar show up on the lamp? I honestly could not remember. I was hit by this pang of sadness and grief. How could I forget taking it off? It’s my collar. Well, it’s her collar that she uses exclusively on me. I remembered putting it on the night before. I asked her “may I please have my collar? ” and put it on before we lay down together and I read to her until she fell asleep. I remember that. I remember feeling it between my neck and chest, keeping me from bending my neck down to properly read the computer screen. I remember that discomfort. But I could not remember removing it this morning.

It upset me that I could not remember this part of the ritual. This part of my life with my Mistress. It’s a very symbolic part, but it is a secure collar. She has used it to direct me where she wants me to go. She has pulled me into her to lick or kiss here or there. She has held me fast with the leash and collar. So it is more than symbolic, but it mostly serves as a reminder that I am hers, owned by her. I wear her collar as her property and proudly so. And yet I could not remember one of the more important parts of my day, removing the collar for the vanilla day.

And now, writing this, I’m thinking “Well, why will I need to remove the collar once the last roommate heads out for her winter away?” Then I won’t be removing the collar in the morning. It will get removed when I shower. It will get removed at some point before work. It will get placed back on after work and I return home, so maybe it’s okay. I’ll have time to awaken, sip coffee, get into the morning and really wake up, then be able to remove the collar for my shower and place it wherever it goes before leaving for work. So, at the same time I’m feeling upset that I forgot how the collar was removed this morning, I’m thinking and smiling at the idea of the collar staying on for so much longer. I look forward to the days when being naked in our house except for my collar are a regular part of our days. I very much look forward to it. And then the collar will have a new home – not on the lamp. I’m not sure where, but I can’t see why it will live on the lamp, particularly if I’m putting it on when I get home from work. And for that, I can smile.

Sometimes a post starts in one place and through writing it, it goes somewhere completely different. I look forward to the future to come with Mistress – that one where she can act out on stories she writes in her mind and I can take a deeper look at my service to her in the days to come.

Constructing Tales

My boy has become accustomed to me telling him stories. Often, when we are fucking, I will whisper tales to him that are more or less fantasies we both individually and collectively share. Sometimes I will let stories unfold, vividly painting him in the picture, setting the stage, and adding enough detail so that he can envision the imagines created in my mind.

Other times, I will delve straight into the heart of the matter, surpassing all of the background and backstory, and I will put my energies into portraying him as the main character, the sexual slave who is at the complete will and mercy of a roomful of strangers who have gathered for the soul purpose of using my boy for their sexual pleasure.

I will be riding my boy, grinding down upon his cock, my hips slightly swaying so that I might swallow every possible inch of him, and I will start to talk. My voice ends up being more throaty than usual because I speak in hushed tones, wanting him to concentrate on hearing me, forcing him to remain quiet so he won’t miss any of the details. I will talk about his training, how one day there will be another in our lives who will exist for the exclusive purpose of helping me train my boy.

I envision this man……and yes, more often than not, the fantasy is of another man…..as a dominant counterpart who is more than happy to be aggressive and assertive with my boy as he instructs him on how to  pleasure and please. Sometimes my fantasies are of another submissive male that I have acquired, one who is dominant to my boy, but submissive to me. I will use them both as players for my fantasies and training objectives. Or, I will use one as punishment for another.

My boy has spilled his seed many times over the months, without consent, without permission. At times, he has been unable to control himself, and ends up spilling his mess despite strict orders not to. Training is required. Punishment must be summoned. And I thoroughly delight in the idea that another will be invited in to assist with those two things.

We are finally at the point where those fantasies have a real shot at becoming realities. Soon…..very soon…..the personal ad I have been constructing in my mind will become a reality, and I will begin my search for  the ideal confidant

7563557368_a16438f66b_zwho will be more than delighted to be an occasional but regular visitor in our home. This man will show up after work, in winter darkness, and will do as instructed. He will use my boy, his holes, his service, and he will be an instrumental part of the rewards and punishments. The stories that once thrived only in my mind will become realities, and they will breed new stories, real stories, and more fodder from which my boy will feed.

When I straddle my boy, and ride him as I did yesterday, and I instruct him to keep is mouth wide open (his cunt, as I call it), it is for a reason. Because that WILL happen one day. One day…..one night, really….I will be using my boy. He will be on his back, and I will be atop of him, taking my pleasure, and another will be using him mouth to take their pleasure too. My boy will be in service to me, never forgetting the hierarchy of whom he belongs, but servicing us both.

It begins to feel different when fantasy begins to become reality. I am a fairly monogamous person by nature, and I do not wish to change that. My love is for my boy. But that doesn’t mean that training and intimacies with others won’t take place. We have the opportunity to make the private whisperings of sexual utopias real, and I think that makes us lucky.

And so the careful search begins. I will not settle for less than what I want. The right person is out there…..I feel certain of this. It’s just a matter of finding them.

 

Good morning, indeed

She awoke before me, as is normal. I had put her to sleep last night reading to her from an author on literotica.com, a lovely place I’ve been perusing for well over a decade. She loves my voice and I love serving her this way. She pet my cock and balls during some of the time I read to her.

I awoke this morning and took on my typical morning duties. Still collared but without my glasses, I made the bed. I was just putting the wool blanket on the bed when she came in. “You’re up” she said with surprise.

“Yes, Ma’am” I replied. She was surprised I was up on my own without her coming in to wake me. I often snooze and she ends up being my alarm clock.

“Lay on the bed, head over the edge.” I knew what was coming. She dropped her robe and now naked, turned to present me her ass. I kissed her cheeks until she spread them open and planted herself on my tongue. I dutifully tongued her ass for her until she shifted and presented her pussy to me. She smothered me with it as well, though she didn’t appear to be in the mood to really smother me. She dismounted, walked around the bed and climbed up. “Do you think you’ll be a good fuck toy for me?”

She straddled my legs “Are you going to be able to fuck?”

She put my cock at her opening. “Are you going to be useful to me?”

She slid my cock into her, in and out a few times before she settled down with my cock fully inside her. “I hope you’re a useful fuck this morning, boy.”

And then she rode me. I had treated all her questions as rhetorical, as she had already had me stroking myself while I orally serviced her and my cock was already at the edge several times. I knew that I didn’t have a good fucking in me and that I would soon be struggling with my own physical need to explode and spill my cum. Replying to her questions would have sealed my arousal in my mind and further brought me to the edge.

“STOP!” I heaved…

She stopped. “What? Why? Aren’t you my fuck toy?”

“STOP!” I implored, pleading with her to stop using those words. She knows the power some words have on my sex, simply saying the right words in the right way when I’m at the edge can easily push me over and result in a rather large mess.

She slapped my face. Hard. I winced and instinctively put my hands up to defend my face. “Hands down!” she barked. I put my hands down and she slapped me again. “At your sides, you know how I want them”. This was not the first time we had been in this place. I knew what she wanted. When she wants my hands out of the way and she is riding me, I put them at my sides, she pulls her legs in while straddling me and I am imprisoned that way. I likely COULD get my hands free, but I dare not, else I would face harsher treatment.

She continued riding me, still verbally taunting me. “What are you?”

“Your fuck toy”

“And what do I want?”

“Fucking…” I queried.

“Good fucking. Hard fucking. I want to get off on this cock, this toy, this thing that I own. Who owns this cock?”

“You ma’am, you.”

“Yes, I do” she groaned as she settled down onto the cock and buried it deep within her.

“STOP!” I implored. She slapped me half a dozen times with both her hands. My face was sore and smarted. I was sure it was red.

“Why the FUCK do I have to stop?!” she smacked my face again.

She rode me more. She had put me, finally, into that place where she can fuck me. And that is what she did. She ground her hips against me, really getting a good fucking going. She did that for a few minutes really enjoying her ride, taking great pleasure from riding her toy, fucking her cock, using her boy.

“Now that’s a good toy. That’s a good fuck toy. Are you allowed to cum?”

“No Ma’am!” I replied.

“No, you’re not and you won’t for a long time.” I could hear her smiling. “Open that mouth. Open it. Open your eyes. Look up at me.” She put three fingers into my mouth and fucked my face with her hand. “This is how I want you once I find the right cock to visit us. Riding your cock while you suck off a beautiful cock. LOOK AT ME!” I had closed my eyes. She had taken me from that point of being able to withstand the fucking and pushed me further into danger. She knew what she was doing. She was done fucking and ready to climb off but she wanted to torture me again. She kept me like that, forcing me to open my eyes and my mouth wide for her while she alternatively rode me, slapped me and taunted me. She knew that talking about cock sucking would push me to the edge and she did it skillfully.

“STOP! PLEASE! STOP!” I almost shouted. She did.

She caressed my face, causing me to flinch at her touch. She smiled. She climbed off, brought her pussy back to my face for a little post coital cleaning and told me she was done. My cock throbbed. It probably dripped too.

Yes, a beautiful morning, indeed. The taste of her on my lips combined with my coffee was heady. I hate having to wash her scent from my face when I shower and brushing my teeth removes more of her scent. But I served her well last night and then this morning and that’s a very good thing. Everyone started their day with a smile.

Happy Endings

15224067403_ec01b04f6c_zThings are better. They weren’t bad before, but I do not like being unnecessarily disappointed, and my boy had disappointed me unnecessarily. I don’t like to be cold. I live in New England, so it is something I am used to confronting, but in general, I don’t like the prolonged cold. When my kids were young, I embraced it. We skied often, went ice fishing, owned a fleet of snowmobiles, had a sledding hill on our property. We practically OWNED winter. But now those kids are all grown, the downsizing took place, I moved back to the city, and winter feels like a whole different animal. I just don’t like it as much, and it takes skill to get through it.

Part of that skill set is to not be unnecessarily cold and damp, especially when at home.

That is why my boy disappointed me. He enabled the cold to seep into our cozy home, without invitation.  That is why he got caned. That is why there will be more punishment to come…..on a different day, when we are guaranteed to not disturb a roommate.

My point in writing today is not revisit the disappointment, but rather to express my joy in getting past it. My boy fixed the problem. He owned his mistake. He got lucky that the gas company was able to fill us up the next day, problem resolved. Neither one of us like to dwell on the past, when the past is less than pleasant. So, we moved on.

Last night I had dinner plans with a friend, and I returned home deeply exhausted. I am an early riser, so by 10pm, I make a bee-line for bed. I like taking my boy with me. I like his body next to mine. I love the times when he pets my body until I fall asleep, and he quietly slips away to enjoy some alone time in a quiet house. I am glad he has those moments. But I also like when we slumber together. Last night, I wanted time with him. Not TV time, not sexual time, but nurturing time. I knew exactly what I wanted…..for him to read out loud to me before bed. I love when he does this. His voice is smooth, quiet and strong. He gives life to the stories he reads me, and I love being pressed up against him, his cock buried in my enclosed hand, and he reads. He chose a rather long story from Literotica, one that was very well written and captivating. It left my mind wandering and inspired. It stimulated more than it soothed, but still, sleep found me soon after. I like writing our own story. I like that we are a story……ever unfolding, always emerging, nowhere near the end. The rather insignificant heat issue had a happy ending. And that’s good. I like happy endings.

The heat is on

I got the call from the propane company that the driver was on his way so I drove home – a benefit of the new place – it’s less than ten minutes from the office, sometimes as little as six!

To my surprise, Mistress was home, having dropped in to change and shower before an appointment. It seems that all the warm clothes she was wearing became too much when it turned into a gorgeous fall day!

Having met with the “gas man” (snicker!) and confirmed that the heater was working, I went back inside to tell Mistress the good news. She was happy it was done and happy that things were finally set up properly. But it was obvious she had not been happy Monday morning. Or this morning.

“You know what’s next, pup?”

“Ma’am?”

“You failed me pup. I’m upset that you failed me and our roommate. Put away those clothes on the floor and I’ll be right back.”

I put away her morning clothes as she finished some post shower items and returned to the bedroom.

“Drop your pants.” I did.

“Lay on the bed.” I did, my thighs, cock and balls laying upon the heavy wool blanket – the blanket I had to put there because I failed to attend to the propane tank – the reason I was in the doghouse.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her slide the sjambok from the toy bag. “Oh, fuck!” She stood to the side of the bed and after a few strokes to calibrate her distance and the weight of the stroke, she lit into me with a few zingers. I grabbed a pillow and yelled into it. She hit me again. I yelled again. She hit me a few more times, thighs, ass, wherever she wanted.

She then found a cane and started striking me with that. Lighter, yes, but it felt as though the cane was slicing into my flesh, the thin rattan stick able to cut such a fine line across my ass and thighs.

He is caned

He is caned

 

She tried to take a picture but the light of the room didn’t let it happen. “Turn over!” she barked. “Keep that leg flat!” I covered up my cock and balls to protect them “Put those down”, she said as she struck my hand with the cane. I forced my leg down to flatten it out and she came down with a cane stroke, right across my right thigh and my balls. I squealed out in pain and collapsed my body into a fetal position. I swear I heard her smile.

And then we both heard the house door open and close. Our roommate was home for a lunch break.

“You’re lucky… ” she said in a quieter tone as she motioned to me to start putting myself back together.

“Yes Ma’am, I know.” And I am.

As I left the bedroom our roommate greeted me with a smile “So, a little afternoon delight?” she laughed.

“Something like that, sure!” I smiled. “The heat is fixed!” I deflected. And vanilla conversation ensued.

Mistress promises more beatings. And not just for punishment, but because she wants to. Hey, roommate, any chance you can leave the country a week or three earlier?

Dog house

Yes, I am in the dog house. It’s not for providing her all of the fabulous fun she asked for, not at all. After all, she conjured up a beast and she got a beast. More than once!

No, I’m in the doghouse because, as we moved into the new place, she assigned me the task of getting propane service wrangled. And yesterday morning the heat didn’t come on. Because the tank was empty. Now, to be fair, I could easily say (and I have tried to make an excuse of it) that life things (and death things) have gotten in the way, but it really did just take about 15 minutes on the phone to get things set up – so it wasn’t that big a deal to take care of. I should have done so earlier.

I know I’m in the dog house. Fortunately, we’re supposed to get a delivery today and get on automatic service so we’ll be covered for the entire winter.

But yesterday morning and this morning it was cold in the house, all in advance of warming temperatures to be had today. Had we an actual dog house, I might have found myself out in it last night. Sometimes she taunts me with the ideas of such torture and I know why she doesn’t follow through. First, we are in a neighborhood, one with children nearby. It wouldn’t do to have a man tied up to the picnic table naked all night. Second, we have a roommate. One who knows and respects our FLR dynamic, but we also respect her by not obviously playing it out in front of her. Were she to head out in the morning for a morning smoke, she might be offended by the naked man tied to the picnic table. The ideas within fantasy are always so wonderful and potentially beautiful, but in practical terms, the reality can’t let us play that way. Were we out in the country with some acreage, perhaps it would be different. But given our city location, it just won’t work.

Not to say I wouldn’t have deserved it. And it wasn’t THAT cold, I would have survived it, I am sure. I certainly deserve to find myself out in the cold, even in the rain, naked and suffering as part of the penance I should pay for my failure to serve appropriately. I’m expecting some painful strokes of some device in my future as punishment. But I can’t be sure. Perhaps that’s what she wants… the waiting. Tom Petty is right, it’s the hardest part. Well, aside from my cock – that might be harder right now.