Paws in the morning

I already mentioned our first try out of the paws and we did end their use in the morning, but I have a mind that wanders. More accurately, I have an incredibly pornographic and fantasy laden mind. And my mind wandered into that land while I was rousing in the morning. Here’s where my mind wandered…

Slowly I woke, my mind rousing, wondering if last night happened. My hands – or lack thereof – reminded it had happened. Like many mornings I woke with an erect cock and my hands tried to touch it but that wasn’t possible, given the mitts on my hands. I was fortunate she had not clipped them together or to any places where she might have locked them into a static place.

I thought I smelled bacon and toast. I knew I smelled coffee.

She came into the room, shutting off our white noise generator and patted me on the head. Her hands checked out my mitts – still completely secure.

“Come on, pup, time for the morning pee” she told me as she clipped the leash to my collar. Still drowsy I was roused quicker with a snap of the leash. Leaving bed, I was clad only in my collar and leash and the mitts on my hands. There was no way I could have put on my glasses. “Roommates are gone, pup, so let’s get you outside so you can do your business.”

I must have looked at her with some kind of look of incredulity.

“Oh, pup, it’s fine. Trust me” she smiled as she spoke.

Our home is odd with three doors to get to the outside. It’s quite the gauntlet. We got to the final door right before getting outside and I balked. She yanked on the leash twice, pulling me toward the door. I remained in the house. We live in a highly residential neighborhood. With kids around. I was not going outside in daylight so exposed. She knew it too. And she didn’t expect me to walk outside. But she did leave me standing there at the door as I got colder.

“It’s okay, boy, you don’t have to go out. Turn around.” She pushed my shoulders to spin me around and I saw in my blurry vision a bucket. She kicked it with her toe. “Come on pup, do your business.” I exhaled a couple times and was finally able to relax and pee into the bucket. There was no way for me to pinch it off with my finger, so I just did my best by exercising my PC muscle instead.

“You’ll take care of that before you leave for work, pup.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

She led me back in the house and into the dining room. My smelling bacon was correct. And toast. I didn’t notice the eggs with my nose, but there they were. In a bowl. On the floor.

“You don’t seem grateful pup. I know you can’t handle utensils with your paws, so I made your breakfast bite sized!”

I really didn’t mind. In fact my cock did pulse a little thinking of all this, but there was one real problem with the meal; the eggs. They hadn’t quite gone cold, but they were, at best, tepid. And I loathe cold eggs. It’s almost a hard limit. But no doubt she knew this and still presented me this meal.

“Thank you Ma’am. Thank you for breakfast” I said as I got down on my hands and knees and got on with eating. It wasn’t that bad, but that texture of tepid scrambled eggs. With tepid cheese… I wasn’t gagging but on the path.

She also set down a mug with a straw to give me some coffee. The straw was an incredibly generous touch by her. It sure beat lapping it up from a dish and I appreciated that.

She sat near me as I ate, her foot occasionally tapping my body in various spots as I ate and she typed and sipped coffee. When I finished, I moved to her and kissed her foot as a thank you and lay down on the floor next to her. A few minutes later I was grateful for the opportunity to use the bathroom before my shower. She removed the mitts, the collar and bade me shower. When I was done, she directed me to clean the dishes from the floor and the bucket in the mudroom, which I did. Then I dressed and we made our way to our respective jobs. My morning was good, I would reflect as coworkers wished me “good morning” – and I smirked as I did so.

“Good morning, indeed!” was my typical reply.

Cake (a plausible fantasy)

I got back from vacation earlier than expected so I was able to attend a friend’s birthday party. And I was able to help Madame with a chore she was saddled with – buying a birthday cake. Naturally, I went to one of the best bakers in town, where we’ve bought cake before and never been disappointed. It happens to be next to a place that makes the best Sicilian pizza slice in town, so I just curiously ended up there at lunch time!

I picked up a cake for a friend's birthday event.

I picked up a cake for a friend’s birthday event.

Got home, put the cake in the fridge and proceeded to unpack more of the car from the road trip vacation. And then I got a text. Naturally, having MADE a spot for it in the fridge and it being taped and secured and ensconced within the fridge, I didn’t want to take it out, untape it, open, picture, close it, tape it, restack the fridge, all of that. I mean, it’s a frikkin simple chocolate cake where I had them write “Happy Birthday Karen” on it. (Names may be changed to protect the guilty). No number of years, nothing out of the ordinary. It was a delicious chocolate cake from a known damn good bakery. No worries. Why did she need a picture?

But at 5:04 I was summoned to the driveway. *

“The bags in the back, in the kitchen” was what she started with. I opened the back of the car, grabbed the bags and started carrying. I wasn’t getting a “welcome home” kiss from her. “Put them on the counter, then get naked and kneel in the bedroom.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” was my reply. I did as I was told.

She was in the bedroom in short order and grabbed my by the hair. “Tell me what this sentence means. ‘Send me a picture of the cake’ ”


“What does this mean to you? SEND ME A FUCKING PICTURE OF CAKE?!”

I knew she was pissed. Was she really pissed? Or pretend pissed? It didn’t matter. I was really in trouble.

“You wanted a picture of the cake?”

“Yes, a simple request, I thought. And yet I didn’t get a picture of the cake, did I?”

“Ma’am, it was buried in the… ”

“Shut it. Shut the fuck up!

Stand. Hands on the end of the bed, present your ass.” I did as told, presenting myself to her. She walked by me, heading toward my belts. She grabbed the black leather belt and stood to the side of me. Her hand again in my hair, pulling my face to look at her. “It was not a difficult task, but all I got was an excuse. Now you’ll pay for a bullshit excuse. Do not fucking move or it will be much worse.”

She let go of my hair, walked behind me and I heard her swing the belt through the air as she doubled it, wrapped it around her fist and tested her distance. I braced.

She beat my ass relentlessly, all over my ass and thighs, working them hard. A couple times I crumpled down to my knees and she ordered me up to my feet again. The last time I crumpled she reached, grabbed my balls painfully and yanked me up from my knees. The last time I crumpled she put a foot on my back, shoved me all the way to the floor and just stood over my body and whipped my ass with the belt.

She fumed. She was angry. She did not like that I disobeyed, but I didn’t know it was an order like that. I suppose I should treat more of those queries as orders. I gave in, my body gave up, I succumbed and just fell to her whipping. I could not move, would not move, would not whimper, I was simply getting whipped raw by a belt and she continued. I could only tell that her breathing was heavy and she was angry.

Finally, she stopped. I felt the belt land on my back as she dropped it. She went to the corner of our room with a chair and flopped into it. She sat there and watched me. My red ass humped the ground I was laying on. She caught glimpses of my erection underneath my red ass. She rubbed herself. I was roused by hearing her touching herself and moaning. Minutes later, I cleaned her from her arousal and orgasm.

“Wash your face and get dressed. We have a party to go to.”

* This is the point where fact turns into fantasy…



Write or not…

Sometimes I think “Well hey, that’s a great idea for a story… ” and I login to the blog and start writing and then say “Well, are we just a wank fodder blog? I can’t write this. I’ll end up doing nothing but writing fantasies… ” and then I close the window and don’t write anything. But…. writing is writing. And damn it, I should write.

So, well, unsure. I know we don’t have a big audience, but I also don’t know what the audience wants. I’ve kind of done this as a “build it and they will come” thing, as well as a place to write out my thoughts, but I haven’t been doing all that.

Just unsure of where to go with it…


So, if you want to hear the fantasy spurred on by my visit to the nutritionist this morning, let me know! If you’re like to hear something else, tell me that. For now, I’ll just leave this tiny writing here in my indecisiveness.


This morning, I quipped something to Madame while I sat at the table, sipping my coffee and doing my typical morning wake up routine.

“Okay, mouth!” was her equally terse reply.

And that was it.

But then, my mind went elsewhere. In my mind, it continued more like this.

Madame soon returned into the dining room and stood in front of me. I looked up. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble. In fact, it has. Up! Now!” She pulled me by my robe to get me up, then moved her grip to the tip of my cock, squeezing it tightly and pulling me to follow her. My robe fluttered open and loose as she walked me, her feet stomping, into the bedroom. Releasing her grip on my cock she grabbed the back of my head, pushed me against the bed and bent me over. “Down there. Don’t fucking move.”

She walked out of the room for a minute and then returned, locking the door behind her. I stayed in position, bent over the bed at the waist, my head turned to the right as my left cheek rested on the covers. Her hand grabbed my hair roughly. “Open!” she barked. I opened and into my mouth went a bar of soap. “I can’t believe you need to be reminded so soon. Didn’t I just beat you for your mouth a few days ago? Did you learn nothing? I don’t have time to be correcting you every time. And the roommates sure as hell don’t need to hear this so you’re going to keep quiet. Don’t you dare scream, even if you want to. And don’t you dare move.”

She walked behind me and left me on the bed, the soap between my teeth. I knew she was grabbing a cane from the little niche behind the dresser.

She spoke quietly but sternly as she reminded me “You keep quiet. I don’t want to hear anything from you. And I don’t have time for this, so I’m just going to cane you as much as I damn well think is appropriate.” I whimpered.

Normally our canings are slow and steady, giving one’s body time to react to each of the strokes as they reverberate through the body. But this time, she would give me no such rest. She beat me, hard, and just whipped at my ass incessantly. I couldn’t even count as the fire of the cane went through my ass, I tried to grit my teeth but only got more soap for my efforts. I wanted to cry out, but could not. 10, 20, 30 swats, she just kept at it. I really lost track but I think she laid down 40 or so strokes to my ass. She did nothing to spread them out, they all landed solidly in the middle of my ass, all overlapping and raising some proud welts immediately.

She had finished, my ass was on fire, drool dripped onto the bed from the end of the bar of soap. She grabbed my hair and pulled me up off the bed, but only far enough to put me on my knees in front of the bed. She wrenched my head back. I coughed and sputtered with the soap in my mouth as the drool tried to slide into my throat. “Cry if you want, pup, but do not yell. Do not dare to touch your ass. Crawl over to wall, put your forehead against it and you just kneel there until I come back. And don’t drop that soap.” As I weakly crawled across the floor, she stripped me of the robe as I moved, leaving me naked and kneeling in front of the wall.


Okay, so that’s a fantasy, perhaps I came up with more as I wrote it, but the basic premise of her not putting up with my being mouthy is what was in my head. And whipping my ass rapidly with a cane, demanding my quiet due to roommates, and putting me “in the corner” or against the wall, was the end point. At the table with my thoughts, my cock swelled. But in the fantasy, up against the wall, my cock retreated, no signs of arousal. This was a punishment and minutes later, the fire in my ass would feel exactly like a punishment.

The reality is that we are getting ready to have time apart in the coming week. And we DO have roommates who have to be considered. And one of the roommates was in the bathroom, so the soap would have been an issue. And even being quiet, with the bathroom right next to our room, that would be an issue too. So we have these limits. But I wouldn’t begrudge her the idea of punishing me for being tart with her. Perhaps, reading this, she might see it and want to enact such a punishment in future infractions. Of course, I also don’t want to be her petulant child! Just her pet. ;) So, maybe we just talk more about it later. And maybe, the next time I’m short with her, I’ll find myself with a mouthful.

I know it’s fantasy…

I know that the “never cumming again” thing is fantasy, but I’m okay sharing that fantasy with Madame. This morning I mentioned that I was going to lock up while she’s away for a couple days because I’m not entirely sure I can trust myself to be in bed alone without her there. I told her I was too horny to trust myself. I also told her I missed cumming. She admitted that she also missed my cumming.

He's teased

He’s teased

So, sometime in the future, I’ll be cumming, but for now, I’m okay with playing the fantasy of “never again”. It’s still a fun story to tell and it gets me so highly aroused. Like this morning. When she teased my cock again. And again. And made me drip with my arousal.

And that’s more than okay. So, I’ll be locked until at least Saturday while she is away. Then on Saturday, I may unlock, as I have a two week time period where I will be in various living conditions and awkwardness may ensue. ;)

Best first stop along the kinky camp road

Happily naked before he is ordered to swim.

Happily naked before he is ordered to swim.

It was 2 weeks ago today…..this morning….that we were loading up the very last of what would fit in the car. Troy toy had come by to see us off. He would be flying down a 6 days later to join us for his ‘first-ever’ kinky adventure.

We left a few days ahead of time in order to make a social stop. We took the ferry from Connecticut and landed in Orient Point, Long Island, NY. It is the remote part of Long Island, a lot of Vineyards, windy roads, farm lands. Beautiful. Within 6 minutes of being there, my boy found a public access trail that lead to the cliffs of the north shore. Crystal clear blue skies, tall grasses blowing in the breeze, wild flowers everywhere. All looking out over sparkling waters and rugged islands. Spectacular.

We walked down that public path, realizing quickly that we were the only ones on it. We got to the end, looked up and down the beach, and saw a few people about 1/4 mile away. Perfect. Within moments, my boy was told to strip naked, and he did. It was wonderful to talk photos of him like that. Million dollar homes in the distant background, far off boaters in the distant foreground, and in the middle of it all, my naked slave.

It is moments like this that I love so very much, the calculated risks we take to get and keep our kink on. We go to significant lengths to not be discovered by others. That would be non-consent. But we certainly press our faces up against that particular glass time and time again. We have fucked in public more times that I can count or recall. We’ve fucked, made love, we ripped into one another, and we have lingered. All while the busy world continues to hum all around us.

Up next: the road to kinky camp continues!

2016 - 1353


New chain

Madame requested a chain from which to hang her key for a recent milestone in our relationship. She received it. And yet, it was too short. She likes wearing my key around her neck, but the 20″ chain she already owned was too short – as it put the key very high up and too prominent. The 24″ chain I bought her put it lower, but not low enough. It would have to be the only neck jewelry she could wear and she’s usually more decorated than that. So the 24″ chain I got her for the milestone was too short, but she likes it nonetheless. I ordered a 30″ chain which arrived Friday. Sadly, when I ordered, I sent it to the Post Office. WTH was I thinking? I don’t know. But I left work, skipped out to the post and came back with a nice new 30″ chain. This puts the key deep into her cleavage, enough so that people MIGHT see it, but not necessarily. And it gives her the option to keep the key very close, but not quite in people’s faces.

Of course, there’s a part of me that enjoys her wearing it right where everyone can see. And anyone can ask “What’s that key for?” and she can either tell them or not. But if the 30″ chain means she can wear the key more often, I’m fine with that. I’m more than fine with that. I wonder if she knows that many keyholders wear the key around their ankles…

And my little fantasy brain sometimes takes us to places where she’s wearing the key very obviously, we’re at a bar together, and some man hits on her, asks her what’s the key for and she tells him. And invites him to her bed… But… is that a fantasy only? Or is it a reality I want? Like many, I’m not sure how I’ll feel if/when it happens, but it’s certainly very arousing to think of.

When I’m on fire…..

I want to make a few comments on john’s post from yesterday, “Switching“.

For me, I thought it was hot as hell. I know that’s a very personal observation, and I am being purely subjective, vs objective.

It’s personal because when I took my first, terrifying, tentative steps into the world of BDSM, John was there. He was, and has been, my primary partner and my most trusted everything. I learned my entire platform of learning from him.

I started as a submissive, or, at least, I thought I was submissive. All of my fantasies….the ones that turned me on, the ones I’d reach under the covers and touch myself to when when I was a teenager…. all had me as the heroine in distress, where I was rescued, held captive, and loving tortured for the rest of my happy days. For years and years (like, 25!), those were my fantasies.

Then, I met John, and he was the exact embodiment of those fantasies, and I swooned.

I still swoon over this guy, and it’s been a decade.

We learned very quickly that there is nothing submissive about my personality. I simply can’t hack being submissive and being told what to do for more than about 9 minutes. But bottoming? I didn’t know there was a difference, but once I learned the difference between bottoming and submitting, I clearly knew that I was a dominant who liked to bottom on occasion.

Really….the absolute best of both worlds, if you ask me.

As I learned and saw more within the BDSM world, my fantasies became deeper and darker.  They became darker because I included things in them I didn’t even knew existed. Who knew you could actually apply  lots of fire to a human body and have it be sexy and amazing??  I didn’t know that at age 20 or even 25. I didn’t know until I did fire play….one of the nicest things ever! I’ve tried so many things, things I never, ever thought I would try.

I am also very content knowing that some things are much better left in fantasy than in reality but for the most part, so much of it is simply amazing!

So it goes.

But John was always the exact cornerstone of my fantasy base. When I met him, I lost 40 pounds because I forgot to eat. I am not kidding, at all. That is how much I was captivated.

So, about John’s post from yesterday, his dominant side: I know it is there. I know how turned on I get when I get to see it. It’s the best aphrodisiac in the world for me.

But reading it also make me realize something that was hard for me to admit. Sad, even.

What hit me when I read his post ‘Switching’ was that I am simply not brave enough to handle his deepest, sadistic side.

I really don’t think I will get to be that girl, because I just don’t think I can hack it. I don’t think I could handle what I know he could mete.



These are particularly deep, kinky places that we are talking about. They are not for everyone. I don’t know that they are for me, even.

I have  been in professional dungeons more times than I can remember, and I have seen everything I can think of seeing, including what I would call “the most extreme” while still remaining SSC (safe, sane, consensual). I really don’t know what John means when he talks about the deepest aspects of his sadism. I haven’t asked, because I don’t actually want to know. Because what if we did decide I could handle it, or try handling it? Then I’d know what to expect, and I don’t want to know those things, I don’t want to remember them. If I am able to have that experience with him, then I want it to be brand new to me.

Knowing that John loves me as he does, it makes my head tingle knowing that we can do these things to one another. How deeply, deeply sexy to create loving torture on the one we care about so much??  John could, if we played out that scene, do terrible things to me, but defining ‘terrible’ is in the eye of the beholder.

And if that were happen, I would want to be sexy about it. I would want to be tied and gagged and immobilized. I would want to be retrained from screaming and running away. Because, I have struggled to handle when he has been particularly hard on me, and with snot running down my face, I have tried to get up and run. Not very sexy at all. I dislike the mental image of that. In my mind, I am strong and stoic and sexy as I endure. In reality, I am a blubbering, sloppy, begging mess. Ugh. Very Unsexy to me.

But I also know that this  messy image is a turn on for others. Again, all in the eye of the beholder.

I just happen to be my own beholder, that’s all.

I don’t have to decide now. But we have not really talked about this level, this side, of his kink in years. Until, that is, he posted about it yesterday. And I smile, knowing we still have so many stones unturned, so many places we can still visit if we so choose.

When I get an itch to bottom, I will crave  him pull my hair, rough me up, spank my ass, boss me around, and fuck me hard and it is enough.  He can intimidate and scare me with his strictness, which I love (ok, it makes me verrry wet). He is a very strong guy, and he can literally do what he wants with me, if he is allowed to. It completely satisfies. And really, I can handle an evening of it, and the itch is scratched, and I am done. It is so incredibly interesting to me, because when nights like this happen, I can literally feel my dominant side (we call her Madame) standing off to the side, tapping her foot, getting impatient to return. I love that she is standing there, as though the bottom of me were getting its tires changes, and Madame is eager to hit the road.

I get that bottom fix, those tires changed, and I am done. Those bags are packed, and I am out the door, as quickly as I came.

Bottoming to me is like vacationing…..nice place to visit a couple of times a year, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

I love living in the land I do: where this female rules the roost, where I am queen of the hill, and where that complex, loving, submissive, loyal, sexy boy john awaits me. That is where I live.

It’s been nice posting about this, thinking about it, and getting roughed up a little bit by John as of late. Such a lovely vacation. Back to reality.

Reality is, it’s 9am, and my boy john is still sleeping, and I am itching to wake him.

<Insert evil smile here>

ISO update…picking

4771155337_9dd3712bca_zWell, this will prove to be a busy week. I got back from my trip and the emails continue. If you don’t know, a few weeks ago I placed an ad seeking an additional, submissive play partner for john and myself. This is something we have discussed many, many times over the years (and fantasized about), and finally, we feel that we are at a place in our world where we can comfortably seek this sort of thing.

I placed an ad in craigslist.

People often seem surprised when I mention this, as though craigslist has deteriorated so much in quality that I’d be a fool to seek anything from within its pages. Not true. I have rarely come across the fakes that others say infest the site. I am not denying that there is some of that out there, but I just don’t really come across it that often.

A few years ago, I corresponded with someone that I really liked, and I suggested a public meeting time and place. I heard back from him, and he was horrified. He admitted that he had been lying to me, toying with me, playing a game with me because he did not think I was real. When I asked about meeting, he realized I was indeed very real, and he was tripping over himself to apologize. I kind of liked him for his humbleness and honesty. No, I didn’t meet him;  when I learned his truth, he did not meet the criteria I was looking for, and I sent him away with his tail tucked, but I think we both had positive things we took away from the experience.

I simply have found good things out there. Good people.

I am meeting 3 of them this week. Short, easy coffee dates. One lunch date.

All are quiet different than one another.

I am wondering what it will be like when we actually meet. We have spent a fair amount of time writing, sharing, opening, revealing, asking, answering. These exchanges make us familiar to one another. We have grown to like and respect one another thus far because we have come this far.

But I also know that all of this very much has a lot to do with chemistry. If it isn’t there, then it’s probably going to go no where. It’s a two way street, this chemistry thing. Perhaps they are worried that I might not like them when I meet them. Well, guess what? I face that too. Although, I wouldn’t say I ‘worry’, but I dislike rejection as much as anyone else. Rejection is not easy. But it is a reality. When I say I don’t worry, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a bit nervous too, because I do. The bottom line is that I found john on craigslist because I placed one ad, for one day, 10 years ago. I got gold the first time I tried, and I never stop feeling lucky about that. I remember the fear of rejection, and how wonderful john was. He taught me things I carry with me to this day.

One of the ones that has emerged from the “ISO” ad is a lovely TG person I will call stephi. I was not expecting to find stephi, but something about her found its way to me. I think it is her writing; she is good at it, and that impresses me. She seems honest, caring, fun, easy, comfortable. It’s just a feeling I get. I think about meeting her, and I am wondering if I might like to keep her for myself. I smile wickedly and playfully when I think this. She is sort of like picking out what I want for dinner, instead of what we want for dinner. I know john’s taste, so I feel confident he’ll like the same things, but in this case, it is my pleasure that is coming first.

But truthfully, all 3 sound lovely. That is where I am for now. I think for another contender, I have built up a very high hope, and I am a bit worried about it being dashed. If if sounds too good to be true then it just might be. In this case, I am wondering if perhaps I am not what he seeks. We shall see. Starting tomorrow.

Oddly, I still get replies trickling in from that ad. I am amazed how far back in the CL archives some people go, but I am still getting a few replies. I don’t love this part; it’s a lot of writing and awkward beginnings. I like getting past the beginnings.

I am curious.

I am hopeful.

I am excited.

I am open.


Camp-Enchanted Forest


I will share in this post the tale about an enchanted forest of sorts. You’ll see what I am taking about in a moment. And it’s all real, it’s all true.

My boy loves a particular forest event at camp. I lead him on collar and leash and he is naked, sometimes blindfolded and loaded with a backpack that holds our supplies. I lead him down a path, around  a small pond and to the entrance of the woods. We will pass many people as we make our trek, and they will smile, knowing that something special is about to happen to my boy. Sometimes I will make my blindfolded and naked boy wear a sign that says “touch me please”, and many will stop us along the way, hands petting my boy all over his body. Most hands are gentle and soothing. A few are not. But these few are usually the hands of the friends we have made, and they take greater freedoms with my boy because I give the silent, smiling nod of approval.

We enter the forest where perhaps thirty other participants have gathered. I choose a station for my boy. It could be a fallen log, a place under a dangling rope hanging from a sturdy branch. It doesn’t matter, it’s just a spot. I will secure him there, hands often cuffed, sometimes feet too. I am his monitor and protector, and sometimes I have company in this task. I am there to approve what can happen to my boy, and what cannot.

I take him to this place because it is a wonderful opportunity for him to have playtime with other adult males. Lovely, sexy adult males. Women too….just as adult, just as sexy. But here it is generally the males I am after, wanting their attentions on my boy.

My boy knows not what will happen to him. But generally, this is what happens: My boy will be bound, naked, collared and silent as he waits for what befalls him. I will sit nearby, my poster board sign encouraging certain behaviors, forbidding others. The silence is good. I do not want my boy to hear the negotiations that often take place. I want him to hear only his own breathing, the inaudible whispering of his caretakers, the warm breeze in the trees, and the moans of the others who are just like him…..naked and vulnerable.

Imagine being this way… fully unaware of what is going to happen, so exposed, so nervous. And yet happy. Aroused. Curious. Hopeful. Afraid. And completely safe, inside and out.

My boys knows that I am never far. That I guard him fiercely. That we do this because we enjoy it, and because it makes us happy to be able to live out fantasies such as these. There is no point in doing it if it doesn’t have a happy ending.

My boy waits, his arousing anxiety building, and then it starts. A man will approach. Perhaps two men together. Or a man and a woman. They are sometimes wearing leather, sometimes just jeans. A few are naked too. They will approach my unassuming boy, take a look, and then read my sign, learning what is ok, and what is not. Like a hungry person at a buffet, they will circle him, looking him over, deciding which are his tastiest parts. A hand will caress an ass cheek. Or lift a leg so that cock and balls are fully exposed.  My boy will feel fingers under his chin, tilting his head upwards so they can get a good look at him. It takes a few minutes, this dance. And all the while, john is left wondering what is about to happen to him.

It doesn’t really matter what happens to him. I will leave that up the imagination. I will let john share if john chooses to share. Just know that he gets to spend a couple of glorious hours as a human statue…. being petted, caressed, spanked, flogged, used and ignored while many others around him are experiencing their own similar fates. When I have decided that he has had enough, he is walked to a nearby blanket that I have brought, somewhere near that little pond, and we lay together in dappled sunlight, my pet pressed against his Mistress, a soft smile of deep contentment on his lovely face.