Hard work is good for the soul

We all know this, that working hard at manual labor can release something within ourselves that is healing. I have done all the hard work in helping set up this place to be a beautiful space for people to play and fuck and get their PYL on. And that’s awesome. While setting all this up I work with a good dozen or so people that are all just out there kicking ass and taking names and just getting it done. We throw canvas, we move the things, we make it all work. We encounter problems and overcome them. We sweat. Holy hell do we sweat. We go through gallons upon gallons of water. We eat because we’re either starving or because we know our bodies need fuel, even if the heat is telling us “No, sorry, not hungry”. More salt on those eggs please. More water.

And at night, we party strong too. The last three nights have been very busy in the party department, but all within good boundaries. Things have been pretty good and hoisting a cold one with these comrades on the crew is always a highlight of the event for us. Even though we get comped into the event for 4 wicked long days of work, I’d still be happy to be on the crew and keep working beside these people. It’s inspiring to work with these folks.

And as I’m writing this, I’m thinking that I owe it to these folks to go out there and get my fucking kink on and do what it is that I do. Where the hell are my clothespins?

On writing…

Not to be confused with another Mainer that wrote a title like that.

I’m at camp, Chloe and I have done all the set up things and things look good. It’s raining (All due respect to Allan Sherman) and breakfast is over and I haven’t found my camp inspiration yet. But it’s okay. At the moment, I’m finding some solace in peeling away from the world, sitting in the one room that gets wifi and writing perhaps a few short blog posts, which I’ll schedule to come over the following days.

At least, at camp, I can write in the nude. But this is certainly not me. ;)

At least, at camp, I can write in the nude. But this is certainly not me. ;)

Right now, however, given my lack of mojo, I’m thinking about writing. I like doing it and I’m enjoying the time and ritual of finding that space to write and I can dash off a few ‘pages’ in no time. But then I do just one proof and hit publish and it’s out there in the world. I don’t edit as much as I should. And that’s okay, to be honest. “Writers write” is the mantra and it’s true. Does my writing my blog make me a writer? Kinda? I write. I’m writing, I’m learning more. I am, in fact, practicing. After all, nobody steps up to the plate and smacks out home run after home run the first time. This is a good field trial.

Add to that writing portion of things that I am learning about myself, my kink and my relationships in the same breath and that’s even more helpful.

I will find my mojo while here. And I will make it work. Of this, I am positive.


FICTION: Road trip

It was their annual pilgrimage to their kinky camp. A trip they looked forward to every year. They’d been on the road for a few hours already and she was getting fidgety. She always got fidgety. Even Pandora was no longer entertaining her. He heard her ask her phone “Find me a pub.” It responded, she got frustrated, but eventually found the map that suggested several pubs in the area and she looked up from her phone.

“Here! Now!” she barked as they approached the latest exit.

He looked at her, then at his mirrors and he whipped his head around, trying to peer over the pile of pillows in the back seat. He slid over from the left lane and made the exit in the nick of time. He breathed deeply and exhaled as he decelerated on the ramp. “Well done, boy.” She smiled. “Right.” He put on the blinker.

She gave directions and within 10 minutes they were in the parking lot of the pub. His stress was on his face, still feeling the rapid exit with not a lot of time, but he almost anticipated the action and had a good awareness of the other lanes.  This was not their first road trip together and this was not unusual to have happen.

“Good breathing, pup. You handled that well.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Let’s go then, I need a bite. And more than just you.”

They walked in and they both saw the same thing. The grail of their road trips. “Family Restroom” She smiled at him. He smiled back. They took a seat at a booth near the bar. Drinks, lite fare, conversation, innuendo. Her foot ended up in his lap, he gave her a massage. Then the other foot too.

“Time to pee, boy” she smirked at him. They both stood, but made a point of leaving the table appearing occupied, and headed toward the rest rooms. They slipped into the family restroom together. She walked toward the toilet, turned and pointed at the ground. He knelt where she pointed. She undid the clothes necessary and sat down, putting her hand on his shoulder and pulling him toward her legs. He bent over as the sounds of her peeing echoed in the restroom. It was a roomy space and tastefully decorated for a pub. A chair in the corner made it look more like a ladies washroom, but the tile floor and drab color of the walls was less impressive. The sounds stopped and she stood, then pulled his face into her. He knew what to do and did so, craning his neck awkwardly, as was necessary for this cleaning process. She held his head with her hand. “Be still” she spoke. He held his face at her mound and soon she filled his mouth. He swallowed, she continued, he swallowed again. She soon finished and swung her leg back to a more normal position so she could stand. She walked to the chair. “Come.” he crawled over to her and buried his face back into her, cleaning her. Her scent was deep on his face. She picked up a leg and put it on his back. “Back there too, dirty boy.” He complied, cleaning her as she commanded. She pushed him away then went to clean her hands. He took this opportunity to pee and then flushed. He washed his hands and was about to wash his face when she reached a hand up toward it… she grabbed his face in her hand. “No. You wear that” and she smiled at him.

“Yes Ma’am” he smiled back and licked his lips.

They returned to the booth to finish their drinks, get the bill and leave. Their waitress smiled widely at them as she noticed the key resting between Chloe’s breasts. “Lovely necklace… ” she smiled.

“Indeed. It’s for important property.”

“I think I know what you mean” the waitress said and then glanced at him. He blushed deeply. “Yes, that blush tells me I’m right. You two have a wonderful time, wherever you’re headed.”

“Thank you so much” Chloe responded. “We will. We most certainly will.”


She goes to shows sometimes. This night, she headed to a show she has seen before, with a man who has bought her tickets before, who stands zero chance of getting into her pants, but is a good friend. And yet, I get a text like this from her and I am aroused and intrigued.

she tells strangers

she tells strangers

Indeed, she wore the key tonight, while I’ve been locked up for several days, including during this mornings parking lot orgasm thing… and yet she wears the key out with another man at another show where she’ll twirl and dance and enjoy the evening… while I am home packing up for our week long camp adventure. And I am perfectly fine with that. In fact, I want to know more about what she told strangers! It stands to be an awesome story!

I do enjoy being locked for her. And I look forward to being unlocked by her, but texts like this often can lead to other fantasies… and I’ll, perhaps, need to write about those ideas too! :)

And yes, my nickname for Chloe in my phone is “My Lover” – because we are just that to many others. Boyfriend, girlfriend, but I have, in the context of others, called her my lover and even corrected people who say “Your wife” with “Oh, no, sorry, she’s my lover.”

We’re not quite at the point where I’m telling them “No, I’m her plaything. Her submissive. She’s my Mistress and owner” but we are making some progress.

I also like how I can ask my phone “Locate my lover” and it’ll find out where she is. That’s a lovely feature. ;)

The push…

She said she didn’t really notice it. It didn’t mean much to her. But it was powerful. It was strong.

The other night, I was concentrating on kissing her neck and chest, she had just come back into bed. I was horny, as is normal for me. And I started kissing her breasts and holding her close, grabbing at her… and her right hand…

Oh fuck, the right hand, against my head, pushed me toward her pussy. Just that little push… so arousing, so forceful. Something she really doesn’t normally do. And it set me off… and I worked my mouth between her legs until her hand pulled me back up out of there… and I love every moment of it.

Just a quick push… sometimes that’s all it takes.

“I’ll have what he’s having…”

So, I’ve been playing around with the ideas of orgasm without ejaculation for some time now. I haven’t practiced a lot, but I have practiced. And sometimes I can channel the energy just right and find myself an orgasm, even though Chloe is telling me “no cumming!”.

We’ve been so close and so touchy over the past week that my arousal has been so high and I can’t get enough of her. So this morning, after a morning errand, we had breakfast out. I told her “I could probably have an orgasm right here at the table.”

“That would be interesting.”

“I’ll have what he’s having?” I joked, quoting Harry met Sally. But I felt it. I felt the stirring.

We finished breakfast with no further sexual drama, but not without sexual talk and conversations about our coming adventure to kink camp.

We left, headed back to the cars and we made out a little bit in the parking lot, standing next to her car. She turned us and pushed my back up against the car. I grabbed her shoulder and her hip. She kissed me. I tucked my chin down, breaking the kiss and I felt it. I grabbed it with my mind and I took and ran. It was an orgasm. It was in me, and I worked it out. I grabbed her hard and tucked my face into her shoulder. I cried out into her shoulder as I orgasmed, my legs tightening, my back, my arms, all tense, all pulling, all pulsing. My cock twitched in its metal prison. I tried to not go too crazy, keeping myself at least partly on the Earth… and yet, I had an orgasm. In the parking lot. Making out. All that pleasure and without all the mess of cumming in my pants! So that’s even better!

Damn I love her. I love us. We are very good. I’ve never known I could have such powerful physical and mental pleasures and it just keeps getting better.

What about that?

“So, what are your feeling on that? Do you want to? What about that?”

That’s what she asked this week while we were packing for camp. Our foray into the shared lives of 1000 kinky people and I haven’t come for over 100 days and this is what she asks me.

And I am not entirely sure I can do justice to my reply. It was a weak reply, I think, because I haven’t really have so much I could say, but time wasn’t on our side when she asked. And so, I decided I’d write about it. What is it? This question:

“Do you want to cum?”

Yes, Ma’am, I do. I don’t want to be in that fantasy world of “You’ll never come again! Mwahahahahahaahaha!” fantasy femdom. Nope. No thanks.

“Do you want to cum at camp?”

Well, okay, that’s different. Want? Erm, maybe.


So, here’s the thing. You’ve kept me from cumming for over three months. We’re certainly beyond casual denial. And here’s the biggest thing about that. I really do think that you really do enjoy denying me. When I practically shout out “STOP!” as you’re teasing me, you smile. You smirk. And then 20 seconds later you’re stroking your cock again and making me scream “STOP!” again. And you know that I don’t fake it. When I scream stop I mean it and you do. And that’s fortunate. Because…

I am perfectly fine with you owning my cumming. I leak, because, well, biology and we’re not going to stop having sex altogether. That’s not going to happen. And yet, you like teasing and tormenting me and I’m happy you like that. It fits us both well. I like the occasional tantric style orgasms I get. Thanks for those. They’re really amazing. Thanks for letting me. I don’t think you want to deny me pleasure – you just want to take away this whole “cumming” part of it.

I’m at the point in my mind where I can say “three months? Okay, well, you own it, it’s yours…” and really, it is. I’ve accepted that it’s yours and I want it to be yours. Please keep hold of it. Use it when you want to. Or don’t. It’s yours. But I just can’t be ignored – so there’s THAT on you. Denial by ignoring me won’t fly.

And then, also, there’s the idea of my weighing less than 200# by camp. I called it “starts with 1” and it was a goal, but I can’t imagine I’ll get there. After all, we leave Saturday and the Wednesday weigh in was still a few pounds shy of the goal. I ‘m not sure that I can make another 3.5 pounds before camp starts. Anyone that reads this might even suggest that were I to make that, it would be an unhealthy weight loss. I’d agree there’s a hazard there.

If we played the weight goal story line, you’d have a great reason to deny me at camp. “Oh, he’s a good boy, but he failed his goal, so we’re just going to tease him all week. He’ll go home with a tan, a locked cock and still his balls full of cum… but he missed the goal… ” I can play that one.

And then there’s the idea of the “Well, almost…” and I’m not sure Chloe knows of this part of chastity and denial fantasy land of mine. But the idea of a ruined orgasm isn’t something I’m sure she’s aware of. And I could easily see her finding out in detail, talking to people at camp and getting me well worked up and giving me an epic ruined orgasm. “Well, I hear that’s a ruined orgasm, did I do it right? ” she might smile. And I know she would. And I’d still be frustrated as all hell.

And then there’s the idea of actually joining with her, perhaps with the toy in our family doing something with us. But I’d be in her, we’d be fucking, and she’d let me cum. Finally, after over 100 days, she would finally say “yes” and I’d cum. And it’d be a long loud cum with lots of mess. And she’d make me (or me and her toy?) clean up after myself. But I want myself to spill without having to clean it up after – in whatever way she might make it happen.


The bottom line on all of this is that yes, she owns my orgasms and ejaculations and I’m 100% okay with how she wants them to work out. And I would not think I would have a bad camp if I didn’t cum. Cumming is so very beyond where I’ve gone and where I am. It’s a beautiful and very fun part of our sex life, but it’s certainly not the end all be all of male sexuality. No, I’m very far past that belief by now.

I see both Chloe and I growing in our roles in this lifestyle. She coming more comfortable with her dominant self and I in my submissive self. And we’ve worked out good roles between us. And it seems to be working. I know that being the dominant in a relationship is not without it’s efforts. I don’t like to pressure her for certain things. And I know she respects my opinion, but I think we’ve both gotten into a level of our FLR that my opinion on ejaculating no longer matters. If I’m to be owned, this is one part of my life, like so many, where she should feel free to own it, dictate it, and decide whether it happens or not.

Madame, I thank you for asking me what I think about this. But you’ve kept me denied for this long and it is absolutely your call on whether or not I ejaculate. What I want out of our camp experience is fun and joy and beautiful naked time and fucking. And some play with our toybags too. But I want pleasure for all of us involved. And however you take that pleasure, well, I’ll be there to help in any way I can.

Packing, but still time for…

Last night we packed. I had some storage unit things to grab, she had other things at the house. I left work at a decent hour (for a chance, that’s nice), stopped at storage, got the storage things and headed back to the house. I made us some bubbly beverages, a huge bucket of popcorn (dinner?) and we talked a little about all the things.

I looked for my chaps (they were NOT in storage), finally found them, and started sorting a few of the other items also found in the bag with the chaps. I hadn’t noticed she’d moved to the bedroom, had removed her pants and panties and was waiting for me. She called me to come in, I complied and found her lying on the bed, her legs open.

“Kiss me.” I reached my body over the bed and began kissing her as directed. Between her legs, as directed. I kissed and nuzzled and inhaled. “I wish you could fuck me right now” she said. “But I know you wouldn’t last.” I reached over to the shelf where I swore I had a dildo, but it was not there. I was soon back between her legs, kissing and now licking. “Are you kneeling?”

“No, ma’am”

“Pull me forward… ” I pulled her body toward the edge of the bed. I knelt in front of her, moved back toward her pussy again and she poked me right in the eye as her hand moved back toward her clit to rub herself. I winced, rubbed my eye and went back to the job at hand.

Now this was an unusual situation. This was very new. Well, I’ve eaten her plenty of times. We have lots of sex compared to most people I know. But just in the middle of our evening, she was horny. She was dominant. And she wanted to cum. And she was mostly focused on herself. And my being her submissive was part of what she wanted. She wanted me kneeling, so I was. She wanted me to stay locked and I was. She wanted to have a cum and she did. And my contribution was to lick her, hold her legs up and make noises like her pet would make. This was a different Chloe to me, one that embraced her dominance that she wears very well in other places, and last night wore it just as well in her sexual life. And that seems to be some of the new part. Or at least the extemporaneous sexual dominance. She can plan and does plan, but taking our FLR into this kind of spontaneity is new for us.

I kept licking, what was at first kisses turned to full on licking and then to licking the sides of her pussy. Then I graduated to licking from her ass up to where her hand rubbed her clit with a big flat broad

Beautiful woman getting head

Beautiful woman getting head

tongue. And this she very much loved. She squeezed her legs to hold my face there. I whimpered and moaned. This she liked and exhorted me to make more noises like that. I held her legs, I made noises she liked and I knelt before her. She came, hard. She pulled my hair and my face into her as she came. Her legs clamped around my head. I held my breath.

Once she floated back to Earth, she praised my efforts. I wagged. I smiled. I was happy. I was thrilled. First, she rarely has an orgasm from my oral attentions. Second, it was unplanned, unscripted and completely unanticipated by me. Third, she has rarely taken her pleasure like this, in such a dominant way, with such confidence and… and… well… like I read of others. And it lends credence to those stories I hear of other FLR couples (or more than couple) where I wonder if they’re really telling it truly. And now I think, yes, they are. Chloe is coming into her dominance and desire to lead a Female Led Relationship and I’m more than okay with that.

Last night was just hot. Afterward, I had left her bedside, she had put her clothes back on and was in the living room and I turned around from going outside and came up to her, kissed her on the cheek and said “That was really fucking hot…” and walked out. Our smiles filled the room where I just stood, even after I left.

Not always behaved

This morning she posted and showered. I woke up and caffeinated. She sat there on the bed staring at the clothes, wearing a sweatshirt and panties.

I came into the bedroom and smirked at her, pushed her back on the bed, climbed up, kissed her deeply and slid down her body. And then – I misbehaved.

I pushed her legs back and rolled up her panties, exposing her beautiful pussy. The ring on her clitoral hood peeked out from between her labia. She smiled, I could hear her smile. I kept my hands on the backs of her thighs while I squatted in front of her. My tongue delved into her pussy to taste her and make her wet. I now stood in front of her, her legs in the crooks of my arms, I wet the head of my cock and slid deeply into her. She started talking “You’re not going to be able to last, are you?” I put a pillow on her face. She could hear my smile.

I fucked her. Hard. Deep. She pulled the pillow off her face and spoke again. “You couldn’t do this last night. You were so on the edge. Today you’re able to” her voice sang to me, pushing me higher. I put the pillow back on her face and fucked her hard and deep. I pulled her hands and pulled her body against mine as I turned from a good boy to a naughty boy. Soon I was at the edge and she started grinding against me, providing a delicious friction to my cock head and pushing me to the edge. I uttered “STOP!” quickly and she stopped, smiled and pulled the pillow off her face. Soon she did it again. Again and again we did this, until she had me pushed far too close to the edge. I smiled at her. I pulled out, squatted in front of her again, cleaned her pussy of her own lubrication and licked her as dry as I could, and briefly licked her ass when I was done. I then started to roll her panties back up her and she let her legs slide off the bed as I moved back, helping her dress. We kissed, deeply. “You’re a naughty dog… ”

“Yes, I am.” I smiled.

I showered and within 10 minutes of all this behavior, I am locked securely and her key dangles between her breasts.

Happily locked, looking forward to camp, thrilled to be her plaything. Life may be busy and stressful, but life is good. Very good.

Getting Ready


Camp. Kinky camp. It’s the annual trip we have been making for 8 or 9 years now, sometimes several times a year. It’s a place where over 1000 like-minded bring their toy bags and assemble their devious minds and play can go all day and all night if you want it to.

It’s the place where clothing is optional, and yet last night as I was packing, I was wondering why I am bringing more clothes than I’ll want or need. It’s the same question I ask myself every year.

So, round one of packing complete. Tonight, as my boy works on his own packing list, I’ll go through and weed out what I don’t truly need and what I don’t truly love.

This year, I am bringing both boys with me. Both will be in service, both will be my divine playthings, and all of us will sleep in one, big mattress pile.

I am so looking forward to exposing toy troy to all of this wonderment. It will be all brand new for him. Naked people walking happily. Sunbathers soaking it all in. Rope. Fire. Chastity. Costumes. Crosses and cages. I know not to do too much, too soon. Exposure and dabbling with be enough. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling giddy about it. I’m feeling really giddy about it!

John is working hard. Getting ready for camp is no easy feat. He does the bulk of the organizing and packing. He is the muscle and brain behind it all. The puppet on the end of my string. And with 106 days of chastity under his belt (pun totally intended), there is a cooped up energy that can’t be missed.

Our world is just like anyone elses. Busy, scheduled, frazzled at times. Juggling work, kids, home, money, chores, friends, activities. But then we get something like this…..this camp trip….and we realize how lucky we are. We get to do the things that most only wonder about, and I am forever grateful for that.


I have not decided about his release from his denial yet. I am not sure if I will allow him to have a cum. The start of camp will bring us to 114 days. And there are lots of benefits to that, but some challenges too. I like my fuckings. But I also love the energy that comes from him not cumming, even if it means less fucking. I’ll have to see. I simply have not decided yet.

It’s been a while since I have posted. Too long. I love that john has been picking up the slack, I appreciate him for that….very much so. I think sometimes that I don’t have anything incredible to blog about, but then I realize how lucky we are to get to do the things we do.  That’s pretty incredible.

Just the fact that I found both of these lovely men on Craigslist is amazing. What are the odds?? We have daily moments of extraordinary exchanges between us. Power exchanges. Female driven, and female lead. Some days are better than others. Some days are insanely perfect.  My confidence can vary, my energy can ebb and flow. But daily, no matter what, this is the way I want it…..the dynamic that feels exactly right to me. After all, we live in Maine… the land of “The Way Life Should Be”. Our life just happens to include collars and cages.