Safe work attire

Friday had me heading to work wearing my usual casual attire. Yes, we actually do relax on Friday. That doesn’t mean we go from ties to shorts, but it does usually mean jeans for me. But this week, I had to really check the v-neck shirt I was wearing to make sure the cane marks were covered. They were, barely, but I was aware of the possibility that someone would see.

She had caned my ass, thighs, chest, back and even her cock. I’m not sure what got into her wanting to cause me such pain, but… I’m happy for it. Perhaps it was just the perfect alignment of a roommate saying “I won’t be back tonight… ” and another roommate headed to the graveyard shift… and her telling me after these two people left “You should probably be naked now.” And I was naked. And she took me to the bed room where she had me clean her, then she beat me, used me, fucked me, rode me, then took my deep into her in the “L” position, where we both were afforded very big and beautiful orgasms simultaneously. That’s rare for us. And of course, there was the obligatory cleanup, which I was happy to perform.

But then she warned me to dress carefully Friday morning, as I had welts all over. “I hope you’re not planning to swim this weekend… ” – which is a possibility any weekend I have my kids – because even winter isn’t a reason to NOT swim someplace… but that won’t be happening, obviously. ;)

So, it was a damn good week. Let’s hear it for communicative roommates that leave for the night. For easy access to canes. For well placed lube locations that are always able to help insert something into a willing bottom’s bum. And a beautiful and sexy Mistress to take all these pieces, orchestrate them together and build a symphony of our bodies.

My slutty dungeon boy

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Please, ask john about the dungeon…..

So, my boy has been back for well over a week, and he has yet to blog about his trip away.

He went away for a week. Had all sorts of sexy adventures. Did you all know that??

He went south, DC area.

To a kinky event that holds thousands of kinky people.

He was in service to another Mistress there. A Lady, actually. A very fine Lady, if I don’t say so Myself.

He helped build a dungeon. A really really cool dungeon.

And sex spaces! Lots of sexy sex spaces. He helped build those too.

He got to be a bottom that took orders, dropped to his knees, and did what he was told.

He got to wrestle naked with a naked woman. The only reason they were naked was because they started fully clothed. The object of the wrestling was to wrestle one another naked. He did that. Did you know he did that?? Probably not, because he has not written about it. Bad dog. You should ask him who won. Go ahead, ask my dog john.

He got to cane a pussy. He got to cane a man made of military steel. He got caned himself. He had all sorts of adventures, but hasn’t shared by writing about it. Bad boy.

How should he be punished for this neglect?? What’s the point of an alternative kinky blog called Exquisite Dungeon if he isn’t going to blog about being in one of the biggest and best dungeons we have on the east coast? Doesn’t that sound like a very Exquisite thing to blog about??

Comments welcome. Verrrrry welcome. And if there are some good ones, I’ll blog about the results of those suggestions.

:-)

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Battling it out…

Today is going to be a quiet day in terms of posting.

john and I are battling.

John and i are battling.

It is a beautiful Sunday, and we are home for a large part of it. A lazy Sunday of sorts, as our plan is to drift through cooking and some cleaning….perhaps digging out holiday decorations. Perhaps not.

Except we are not getting as much done as I’d like.

Because we keep going at it with one another.

We are fighting.

With each other.

All four of us, swatting, pulling, grabbing, hammering, pawing, clawing, grasping at one another.

One house, and it’s me, Me, john and John.

Top vs bottom, Dominance vs submission.

John keeps pushing me into the bedroom, thrusting himself deep inside me, knowing I can’t talk when he does that. He is big. I’ll just say that. And when he really hammers it inside of me, I can’t get past it that easily.

And that is exactly what he is doing. Smiling the entire time he hammers into me. I don’t know how I know he is smiling, because my eyes are closed, because I can’t open them, because the hammering can be that hard.

I love it. I hate it. I love it.

I love it.

Hate it.

Love it.

Love it.

It can be uncomfortable, which is why he is smiling, I think. That, and the fact that he knows I love it far more than I hate it.

He stops either when he has had enough for the round he is in, or, because I have managed to push him off of me with my foot. Or, something like that.

And then it’s my turn. As soon as the fucking is done, the caning begins.

Boots and a santa hat

Boots and santa hat, is anything more needed?

Because, if he’s gonna play, he’s gonna pay.

Because despite everything, I am the boss, the leader of this household, and that trumps everything, all the time, for every reason.

It’s not even noon, and I think I have caned him 100 times. And the bastard keeps coming back for more.

We can’t stop laughing today. We are both wearing hats in the house. His is a Santa hat, mine is an Elf hat. He is naked and collared and he’s wearing a Santa hat. I am still in my pajamas, in my hat.

If we get too close to one another, either one of a few things is going to happen; a fucking or a caning.

Or a deep, lingering kiss. That leads to the bedroom. That leads to a fucking. That results in a caning.

It’s a beautiful fucking day. Literally.

Punishment

So, I imagine that many of our readers are wondering “Just what kind of punishment was meted out by the lovely Chloe to the inattentive slave last night? He had it coming! It must have been severe!”

You’d think that, and you’d be sort of right. Last night was a little bit of recovery for me from a rough day and some other items that were pressing upon me from work to family to personal. See my post last night for a little touch more info.

Last night there was writing and phone calls around the country and emails to back up the phone calls and a bit of a sigh of relief from me as I think, as long as we get through to next weekend as is, we’ll be good. Sorry, a little bit of vagueness, but I don’t need to air all the dirty laundry here (just the soiled panties).

She loves caning him

This lovely woman has more than a Mona Lisa smile on her face as she poses beside her work – having just laid down beautiful lines of cane upon her victim’s bottom. This picture has always spoken to me. She’s just so beautiful, smiling the way she is after inflicting such perfect lines.

In the end, we looked up at the clock and it was late and Mistress and I lay in bed and talked. Then she took me into her and I fucked her well and she had a nice big beautiful cum while not even allowing me to beg to cum. I did manage to sneak in more than one request to be allowed to beg, which she didn’t seem to be too upset with – perhaps she was more focused on the orgasm she was giving herself. When done, she rolled over, had me perform some cleanup duties and then squeezed her cock and balls possessively. Some additional words were said… very delicious words… and combined with the squeezing of her full balls so near and dear to this very turgid cock, elicited a small orgasm from her boy, yet he still didn’t spill. This ended up being more frustrating than not, however, which I’m sure makes the lovely Mistress smile. Still, it was good to feel some kind of pleasure. I calmed a bit, pet her back, shoulders and ass until she fell asleep and then drifted off after her.

This morning, however, she did not let a sleeping dog lie and I was awakened by the feel of her hand on my bottom. She started gently, moved gradually harder, invoked the cane AND the hair brush and I found myself in a beautiful little commuter flight length sub space journey, through which she caned me rather hard and consistently. I landed from that sub space flight through her thorough rapid caning of my ass, which she later told me induced a very hard cock, although I was very oblivious to that fact at the time.

Sadly, my ass has been well tanned on many an occasion before and the marks don’t keep as long as she might like them to, so the pictures we took would not do it justice. Instead I offer another person’s misfortune as visual stimulation.

So, I was well chastised for my disobedience yesterday morning and have brought my attention to caring for Mistress and her clothing back into keener focus, even if I am distracted by other issues. That’s about as salacious as this report is going to get, but I hope that the readers enjoyed hearing that I am not Mr perfect slave or anything like that, but indeed, am as fallible as the next.

Adult Camp

 

3498831389_87172fb44a_zMany have asked over the years about this “camp” my boy and I go to on average two times a year. Some years, we go three times. For 8-10 days we get to live in adult, naked bliss. The word “camp” is generic. The experience is anything but.

Since I will be away and unplugged for a week, I thought I would schedule some posts about camp, sharing the things I love about it. I am not naming this place, I am not naming the dot com who owns and runs it, and I am not naming any names. But suffice it to say, it is all very real. For these weeks, we get to create and participate in a magical wonderland for consenting adults. Sometimes up to 1,200 of those consenting adults.

Twelve hundred sounds like a lot. And it IS a lot. But, it’s intimate, which is what I love about it. The camp has a few different locations that it changes according to the season, and for the most part, I love the summer season ‘camps’ the most. It means being outside, naked, and it means pretty much any kind of SSC play imaginable.

Camp has indoor places, with indoor plumbing, and indoor play spaces. But it has just as much outside stuff too.

A typical day at camp will find my boy naked, collared, and milling about the communal outside space of our group cabin. Camp chairs create a circle, and folks will gather, some clothed, some not. Music may or may not be playing, but if I had my way, my boy would be providing coffee to all of us with J.J. Cale crooning sweetly in the background. My boy has morning chores to do. Coffee, the making of our big bed, putting my clothing away, cleaning up our bar/kitchen area, organizing the toy bags, providing massage, running errands naked. Our cabin is one of many on a tree lined road. No cars are allowed, so there is lots of pedestrian traffic to gaze upon. We wave to friends, we smile to those we have not met, we compliment on costumes or cane marks if that is all they are wearing.

We outline our day. What shall we do today at fantasy camp for grown ups? Swim naked in the large, in ground pool (always a ‘Yes!’ vote in Chloe’s book!)? Go to any number of classes or demos that are taking place all around us? Go find one of the many play spaces and go play? Or, do I loan my boy out to others so that he might provide service to them?? Or, do I go play with another? Do we play with one another (again, always a ‘Yes!’ in my book)?  Do we nap?  Stroll around the grounds and play voyeur?  We can do any or all of those things. And we do any and all of those things daily. Rinse, lather, repeat.

My boy knows that starting around 4pm or so, he is on duty for cocktail hour. We love cocktail hour. We don’t drink much at night, because night time is dungeon time if we so chose. But happy hour is my kind of hour. We have an enormous communal bar with our cabin mates, and each day, we have a drink special. Anyone is welcome to come by, visit and share with us. What makes it ‘special’ is that it is shaken or stirred and served from a slave. Or, at least, someone playing the role of slave. :-)

Night time has us dressing for events. There are several nightly events, and sometimes we do several, and sometimes we do none. That is the beauty of camp. There is nothing you have to do. But with so much amazing stuff taking place, it’s hard to pass stuff by. Some people get dressed up in the most amazing of fetish gear. If its a hot, summer night, some continue to walk around naked. For me, I prefer a skirt on bottom, topless on top. That is about the extent of it for me.

Sometimes my boy will be requested to top someone else. I love when this happens. I love watching him get Dom’d out. I think he is sexy as hell, and as we are a switch couple, my pleasure button gets pushed hard when I see him upload himself in this particular way. But more on THAT subject later.

I will schedule another post about camp and I will share it here over the next couple of days. I do so because this is a part of our lives. We do this for real. This place really does exist. We get to create fantasies and then go to safe places to act them out. Such as kidnappings. Have you ever been been kidnapped by a bunch of tough dudes, dressed in boots and camo? I have, and it was awesome!

I am hoping my boy will post intermittently with mine some of his own memories and reflections about camp. It is a unique experience for each of us, and yet we share in it together. In other words, it is art imitating life.

Bruised

Yesterday was a very busy day, as I’ve mentioned. Madame was getting ready for her weekend away with friends off doing all that voodoo that they do so well*. In the morning, I went into our bathroom to get ready for my day and also add the “A ring” to my cock, as she had already indicated the day before that I’d be locked up in her absence. So, I’m putting the a-ring on and notice these bruises on my cock and remember “Yes, that’s right, she caned my cock!” The one large bruise near the bottom looked as though it was cause by the chastity a-ring, but I know it was not. It was caused by her caning me as a punishment. I’ll put the picture of it behind this jump, as anybody who doesn’t want to see my junk should not have to see my junk, especially BRUISED junk. Click on to read the rest.

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My scarlet letter, my stripes

Madame is right, there is a scarlet letter to be shared. In a previous post, she indicated that I should be a good boy and not snoop around. Well, I’m a curious one, sometimes too curious.

And last night, she caught me, absolutely, no doubt. She indicated she hadn’t received a lot of response to the ad she placed and inquired “Should I post it on $OTHERSITE?”. She had already started writing something there and had me come over. “Why don’t you cut and paste?” I asked as I looked at her first two paragraphs. “You don’t think it’s too long for $OTHERSITE, do you?” “No. Not at all.”

She smiled. I think she laughed too. I had actually started walking back toward the kitchen, as I was preparing dinner, so I couldn’t see if she was laughing at me for walking right into it.

And she had me. “So, you read it?”

I had. I had read it. I was sneaky and I broke her trust with my snooping. I perused the first site, which is not normally unusual, as we both keep our eyes on it from time to time. But I wasn’t casually looking there, I was deliberately looking for her post. I was snooping. I was being bad.

She later came up behind me and pulled my hair, whispering into my ear “The only thing that’s saving you right now is a roommate. If I had my way right now, I don’t care if you ruined dinner from it, but I would be whipping you so hard you’d be in tears on the kitchen floor.” And she would have. And I’d have completely deserved it.

He's caned, she laughs. I think I've seen this film before.

He’s caned, she laughs. I think I’ve seen this film before.

Instead of a whipping then and there, I received a caning when she returned from her evening event, as our roommate was out for a bit. She beat my backside, my shoulders, my thighs and even had me sit on the dining room table’s bench, spread my thighs and cane directly across the tops of my thighs and cock. She positioned it just right so that the end of the cane landed directly across my flaccid cock. Excruciating pain ensued.

This morning, while waking, I wondered to myself “I know I have that spot at my belt line that’s been giving me grief, but what’s with this spot on my thigh?” Then I looked beneath my robe to see the tell tale stripes of a caning. One of those marks is what was reminding me of what I did. My scarlet letter – there on my thigh. There are other scarlet letters on my chest, back and buttocks, but this one on my thigh was severe. I’m unsure if there are marks on my cock, to be honest, it’s been such a busy day, I haven’t looked. I better take a look soon, as I’m quite sure that while she is away, I won’t have the luxury to look at my cock as steel tubing is not transparent.

I think I might have been set up and while I don’t think she’s really upset in this, it does show a violation of her trust on my part and for that, I am guilty and I am sorry. I do want her to be able to trust me and I’m not sure I presented my best side to her in this. I am normally a far better man than that. And a better slave.

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?

Little touches

This morning I found myself naked and on my hands and knees in the bathroom, gloves on, cleaning the floor and toilet with a bleach solution. Later I would rinse some miscellaneous linens in the shower as well. Madame was also doing some kitchen work, food prep and cleaning, but of course she was clothed while her boy was naked.

After the cleaning, she took me to the bedroom where she showed me the cane she would beat me with. I had done nothing to deserve a caning, other than being her property. I’m okay with that. There are two points in this mornings play that really stood out to me, as if my crawling naked on my hands and knees in the bathroom was not notable enough! First, that she had on her kitchen apron. Standing there with a cane in her hand, waiting for me to walk through the doorway of the bedroom, I naked and smelling slightly of bleach. That apron, so very mundane, so very matter of fact, so “not very dominant”, but she simply taking time to put stripes on her boy.

And she caned me. Nothing too severe, but there were a few places where it really hurt, as is the intended consequence. The second item that really played out strongly to me was when she moved to the other side of my body and took my right foot in her hand, then struck me with the cane. That touch… that lovely exquisite touch of her hand, so tender, but yet so constraining and deliberate. I at once felt owned, protected, disciplined and bound. Bound by her hand, bound to her spirit, as she held my foot and ankle and let the cane whoosh down against my naked flesh.

I am amazed at how such seemingly little things can be so powerful in their ability to touch me.