Here is a note from Leigh:
Dear Peekers™,
Please excuse Scot from blogging this week. He is trying to write naughty fiction for not just the first time ever, but also under a deadline. As much as he loves Peeker™ Nation he simply cannot have two Masters at one time.
In the interim, please feel free to reread or discover any of the contents of The Archives.
He will return to blogging on Monday, September 17th.
– Leigh
As far as Selfish Sundays™ go, this one is downright evil.
Leigh and I got away for an evening. Not a vacation per se, just a chance to escape a lil’ further than a few hours. Now, before you ask “So Scot, is there going to being a sequel to Away Games?” I will, with a very large grin, let you know.
No.
Disappointed? I hope not. As much fun as we have playing with each other, its not us to be like that all the time. Every evening is not one filled with candlelight and cuffs (note to self – that would make a great story title). I’ve said this before and will repeat that its not German opera 24/7.
We got away. Shared some quality time, laughs, each other’s company. Had a lovely meal. And woke this morning in a bed we had never slept on before.
And that’s that. No kinky activities or stories of violating societal norms or local decency ordinances. Matter of fact, we did something that was extremely naughty.
Slept.
That’s right. Not even someplace else sex, let alone some D/s or BDSM. Chocolate with sprinkes sex? Caramel? We didn’t even have a single scoop of vanilla sex. And it was nice.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Or I least I hope you aren’t. Which segues perfectly into this week’s question.
Long time Peeker™ Jayne Ayres wanted to know this:
“How would you react if Leigh truly did not want to be submissive in the bedroom anymore? Pretend that it was real and true to her and she said it had to end because she didn’t like how it felt anymore. What would your reaction be?”
Great question Jayne, and one I have made allusions to answering before in musings like Building Pyramids Upside Down.
What would happen is that I would be married to my best friend. We would laugh, share, talk, have amazing sex, get away on Sundays, spend time in the kitchen, worry about bills, go antiquing, watch our favorite television show. She would give me hand jobs that would sell for hundreds of dollars, blow jobs that would cost more. I’d fuck her within inches of her life, make her squirt like a broken fire hydrant and still try to get to play with her belly button. A man can dream…
We’d still be kinky ass mother fuckers in all sorts of ways, plus have so much else to share.
D/s is not a deal breaker. We explore it because we both enjoy it. But it would not be the elephant in the room with its absence.
Would I miss it? Fuck yeah! Would I feel any resentment towards Leigh? No. I make no secret that I enjoy it, but I do not need it. It does not define me or us. We define it. It is not who we are, it’s what we make it.
I hope my answer surprises and disappoints Peekers™. Some may smile, others frown. That’s great. As I always say TETO – To Each Their Own.
This is why I’m so glad our pyramid isn’t upside down. I’d lament its absence, but it would such a minor impact on who we really are that it would be missed about as much as the hole left in a buckle of water after you removed your hand from its depths.
I love her for her, not for her submission.
– Scot
Welcome to the third installment of what is hopefully now on its way to becoming a more regular feature of TDND™ – Unchained. Not more than a week or so removed from just the second, I get to introduce the third. And what a story it is.
Unchained is what many refer to as guest blogging, but with a twist. Rather than inviting a blogging peer to write something on or about a particular subject, Unchained has a theme:
Discourses, thoughts and reactions on any of the various offerings found on The Dom Next Door™ and how they were affected by them.
It might be in regards to a story, or perhaps a random BDSM musing. Maybe some poetry struck a chord. Or simply the blog in general.
So link by link, the Peekers™ forge their chain of tales. Stories that are at the core of what this blog is really about – the demystification of the stereotypical D/s persona and dynamic, as well as helping Peekers™ find their inner Dom or sub.
This one started with a simple, polite message thanking me for saving something. I don’t want to get ahead of myself and spoil her story so I’ll stop at that. It is a tale months in the making, both literally and figuratively. But, as you will read, it was well worth the wait, effort and strength it took to write.
Not ashamed to say my eyes moistened the first time I read it. Humbled is a word I use frequently. Many comments and reactions make me feel that way. But this was different. As in swallowing (stop it…perverts) hard as I read it. Whatever the next level of being humbled is, this did it.
It is my humbled (see?) honor to Unchain Anabelle:
You have no idea how many times I’ve tried to write this thing. I promised it to Scot months ago, and yet I couldn’t really get to it until now. I suppose that admitting my inability to express how I feel about this topic may mean that it’s bigger than words, but still deserves to be explored.
But let’s start from the beginning: there was a boy and a girl, and they’ve been together now for almost 6 years. There was a decision, 2 years ago, and the girl left the boy behind, without breaking up, thinking that they were strong enough, that they could deal with the distance, that they would be okay living in different provinces.
But then, after 6 months, they realized they weren’t okay.
So the girl makes another decision, decides that she should come back, because her relationship is more important than a degree. She spent some time in the dog house, in another city still, but closer. So finally, after a year and a half of separation, she comes back to him, hopefully to start a good life together, to start over, but for real this time. No more leaving.
But then, even after she’s come back, something seems to be missing. The spark in bed is not always there. The sex is infrequent, good but not often enough. There’s a part of her, the kinky part that she’s known about since she was 14, that isn’t fulfilled.
And then, one day, she finds The Dom Next Door. It was on Twitter, through some other writers she follows. And then she starts reading. She reads it at work, spends most of the day reading and not working. And the next day, she is still reading and not working. She knows this is what she wants, this is what she needs. Not Scot and Leigh’s relationship, exactly, but a kinky relationship of her own. Committed, real, meaningful. And she wants it with him, of course, because he is the love of her life and she could not imagine herself without him, ever.
I’m not sure I’m getting my thoughts through here. What I mean to say is: TDND saved my sex life.
After two weeks of reading, lurking and thinking, I wrote my love a long email telling him how I felt. I told him how much this meant to me, how much I needed to share this with him. I told him that it’s how I connect to him, that it’s how I express my love, that it’s how I want to live my sexuality with him.
Scot always emphasizes the importance of communication. Without this email, I would have remained frustrated and unsatisfied. And without TDND, I wouldn’t have realized that I needed to tell him, so very, very badly.
My honesty opened up our relationship. We purchased a dining table so we could talk. Have you ever lived with your significant other without a dining table? There’s nowhere to sit down and talk, face to face. What did we do? Couch, TV. Yeah, not much conversation there, I know. We are closer, not only sexually, but emotionally as well. I am hopeful for our future together, and I am enjoying the present deeper than I ever have before.
So no, there’s no kinky story here, no opening the door to my bedroom. Our kinks are our own, and I want to keep it that way. I admire Scot and Leigh’s courage to share this with us; I’m sure it has helped countless people, not just me. But I did want to share how their story changed mine. Thanks to them, I have a model to look up to, a couple to emulate. We are not the same people, of course, but I want us to be together like they are. Because beyond the kink, beyond the sex and the bedroom door, there is their connection, there is the way they communicate so fully and honestly with each other. Because, it seems to me, they are happy.
And isn’t happiness the meaning of life?
– Anabelle
Words escape me, Anabelle. Thank you beyond my means to do so for sharing this with me as well as the Peekers™.
– Scot
200 posts.
Hard to believe that, as of last night, we reached this milestone so quickly. Still hasn’t sunk in. It does not seem like just over four months ago that I came to Leigh with a crazy idea and a single blog post introducing myself. If memory serves me I believe our first day we had 8 views. We went over 30,000 total earlier this week.
So in honor of this momentous occasion I am sleeping in Saturday. The words you read right now are, with the assistance of a celebratory 24oz Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, being keystroked Friday evening.
Its been an amazing ride so far. And its only going to get better. Thank you all.
If you’re a first time Peeker™, welcome! You are invited to peek through the keyhole. We strongly encourage you to view all of the established Pages, which can be viewed by selecting any of the tabs at the top of this page.
The Archives are an inclusive, running version of every post of note on this blog. If you have not read any or all of the stories, random musings, poetry, etc linked from The Archives by all means please grab a seat, perhaps a drink (the 24oz Pale Ale may need to wait until later in the day) sit back and enjoy.
So saluté! It’s time to Peek Back!
Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.15 – Longtime Peeker™ Ms. D wanted to know if moments like Breaking Leigh were life altering.
A Coffee, Cricket And A Dom Walk Into A Monday – A very laid back, touching Labor Day induced Monday musing.
The Butterfly Chains Act IV – In short, I fuck Leigh fast and hard. One of the most well received Acts of any story I’ve written. Peekers™ went gonzo over this one.
I Had No Idea – My stunned reaction to the above, plus an announcement about a new blog feature. It involves me coming.
The Looking Glass Act II – A very special memory begins, complete with soundtrack. This one is personal on many levels.
Butterfly Chains Are Making Noise – The aforementioned Act IV that everyone freaked out over got republished!
Seek And Go Hyde Act VI – The final Act in this story. Hyde takes over. It gets intense, a bit wild…and very messy.
WII Is WII – Has nothing to do with video games and everything to do with defining WIITWD. Curious? Read on.
Chain Of Rules Act VII – After two Acts of nipple abuse, it’s time to add spanking to Leigh’s chained misfortune…or is that fortune?
Pretty – A poem because sometimes you just want to fuck the pretty girl you wake up to.
For My Leigh – For the 200th post on The Dom Next Door™ I wanted to do something special. I did.
Just tiptoe on the way out…..ZZZZZZZZZZ.
– Scot
This marks the 200th post on The Dom Next Door™.
I have been thinking all week as to what I wanted to do with this. And aside from thanking all the Peekers™ for the love you have shown Leigh and I, and if its alright with everyone… I think I’ll ask my doll to dance.
This is us.
– Scot
I should know by now that
sleeping with an angel whose
wings furl inside cotton and
lace of the curtains gently
kissing you good morning as
I do love the sight that greets
my eyes blink rubbing sand from the
murky five o’ clock corners of
our bedroom the temple to
silence shattered with crickets and
cries in the night long ago
it was minutes hours years that we
share with me your
skin awash in morning blue as
your eyes of the same
blink rubbing sand from the
murky five’ o five corners of
the fact it is not always chains or
leather that snaps stinging biting
your nape my luck our
bodies fumble stiff crack laugh with
me as you and I become we
fuck slowly at first morning’s light of
another chance to be with
the pretty girl I wake to
– Scot (recalling a few mornings ago where Leigh and I had wonderfully hot morning sex for the sole reason she looked so damn pretty)
(To read Chain Of Rules Act I, Act II, Act III, Act IV, Act V or Act VI)
As soon as my hand caressed the gentle slope of her ass cheek, Leigh knew she was going to be spanked.
Closing my eyes I can still see her the small of her back gracefully sliding into the curve of her backside. From the side the view is breathtaking. As much as I lose my mind when she places her shoulders flat and raises her hips, the lateral view of the female spine is, without question, geometric perfection. No other curve in nature even comes close.
We were made for each other. My hand reaches her sweet spot…
Oh, yeah. The sweet spot. Every woman has one, and not the one located under her clitoral hood or hiding inside her up under her pubic bone. No, each and every woman has a spot on her ass that, when struck, makes her eyes glaze over with thoughts of more. Each woman is different in this regard. For some its all over her ass. No matter where she’ll beam. Actually they want all over. Spanking in the same spot repeatedly is what heightens endorphin production.
Others want the fleshy mass struck. Some crave what is actually upper thigh, which really stings like a mother fucker. Not many seem to like the upper cheeks near the back, which is perfectly understandable as well as advisable. Never, I mean never, strike a submissive with any force or impact play there. Their kidneys thank you.
Leigh’s sweet spot is on the underside of each ass cheek, right above the crease where the thigh starts. That’s my target. I need to hit there repeatedly, accurately and often. If my hand strays I can tell by the sound. That’s also how I can tell if the force is right. Once I am dialed in muscle memory will allow me to spank each cheek in the exact same place a thousand or so times.
But, as I was saying, my hand reaches her sweet spot when she stands next to me. It’s a perfect fit. It’s easy on my shoulders and back, which is nice as well as convenient.
It means I can spank her longer.
Leigh arched backward into my hand, the cleft of her ass flaring open as an invitation to explore its secrets. By doing so her chest thrust outward in the opposing direction. The effect on her silhouette was …
“Fuckkkkkkk!” I exclaimed at the erotic perfection now at my mercy. The curvature of her spine was exaggerated to such a degree it took my breath away. Her full breasts provided a perfect counter to her round ass.
“My God baby you look fucking amazing” was my offering to her as my hands explored the gifts being presented. With a hand on her breast, another clutching her ass, my mouth inhaling her neck she was in heaven. As was I.
The next few minutes were spent in worship of my chained angel. I explored as much of her nude form as I could. No curve was left untouched, no part of her neck unlicked, no orifice unexplored. Except that damn belly button. Someday…
Nipples were gently tweeked, collar bones nibbled on, ass cheeks made to ripen with goosebumps. Her torso painted with feathery touches, the nape of her neck grazed upon, her cunt and asshole teased with fingertips.
The way my hand circled her ass cheek should have been a hint.
SMACK!
Leigh was so far into being touched that she purred at the introduction to being spanked. The ritual that we share as far as touch-spank-other cheek-repeat began. The room filled with smacking sounds, only broken by her sighs and deep breathing.
Yeah, she was into it.
The pinching of a nipple elicited a sharp breath. This was the first time I’d ever had the opportunity to abuse her breasts and ass simultaneously. Playing one off the other was exquisite, but no where as striking (bad spanking joke) as her reaction to one or the other, better yet both. I could feel her confusion at how to weather this dual front storm. Normally she could just focus on spanking or nipple play.
Now she had to do both at the same time. While chain bound.
The steady rhythm of smack smack smack smack escalated in frequency as I tried to bring her to a plateau. My other hand continued to work those already raw nipples over with more attention. Her breath grew ragged, her torso twisted in a sad attempt to evade my hand. That only made my spanking more likely to SMUCK instead of SMACK when she moved the target.
I take a lot of fucking pride in my ability to administer a good spanking. I do not take well to hearing SMUCK when its not my carelessness causing it.
“Hold still” I ordered. As much as I adore her squirms (she is a world class writher) they were beginning to piss me off mildly as far as all this SMUCKING.
Leigh exhaled with one of her “HhhhhhhmmmMMMM” pouts. I love that fucking sound. It says “I don’t wanna!!!……but I will.”
Yet again she found herself practicing self-bondage through forced posture. That made me smile.
Once properly posed it was easy to play her like a first seat would their cello. Now her noises were more from duress, her arousal from pain not pleasure. Again and again I took her ass and breasts through their respective paces. The smacks grew louder, harder, her nipples tugged on longer and tighter.
By the time her panting signaled she had reached a new level I backed off to allow her to acclimate to her new altitude. The aroma of female arousal filling the room made me content.
Content to finish her off in style by enjoying that wet cunt of hers.
No, this has nothing to do with a popular gaming console. I’d mention the manufacturer, but then the Search Engine Term results would undoubtedly reflect that false advertising. Hate to get a guy’s panties in a bind that there might be a BDSM video game.
No, WII is the first part of WIITWD, aka What It Is That We Do. It’s an acronym commonly used by those who participate in BDSM and/or D/s (are two / in a row allowed?).
As part of my self-education into WIITWD I read a lot. Granted, there is no substitute for first hand (heh) experience, but reading other’s thoughts help. I have a lot to learn, and I make no secret of this. If the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, I can still see the starting line from where Leigh and I stand now.
But its good. Fucking great, actually. As with so many other married couples we discovered that, in order to do WIITWD, the communication and trust required flowed over into other aspects of our lives. Both of us have found recesses of our psyches that, prior to D/s, we either did not know we had or, more likely, cared to admit were. Leigh grapples with love of good pain and the desire to be forced. I wrestle with Hyde and how sadistic a fuck he is. Sometimes he and Leigh’s inner Cock Slut play with each other. Things get…interesting.
So I read. Study. Learn. Try to grasp new philosophies, explore different avenues, acquire new techniques and skills. Learn what not to do instead of what to. Which leads me to the focus of this musing.
In my quest to learn I have noticed an overwhelming need on the part of Dominants to quantify everything. So many times while perusing blogs or web pages the phrase “What is..” comes up. Over and over to ad nauseum. Be it a defining statement or a leading question, it seems one cannot escape these two words while exploring the topic. Submissives are guilty of this as well, but not to the degree Dominants are.
Truth be told I learn a lot more about how to be a better Dominant from (pardon my adjective) lowly submissives than most if not all the Dominants put together. Submissives share their feelings, thoughts, kid’s illnesses, desires, experiences, recipes, YouTube playlist, poetry, pictures of their cat, toys they long for, toys they fear, reactions to what Sir or Madam has said, pout, emote.
Dominants, for the most part, read like an instruction manual or Intro To Sexual Psychology 101 course text. There are exceptions, for which I am glad. Without the Dominants who own cats and like YouTube I’d be frustrated beyond words. But even a great deal of their discussion about WIITWD has no life. It’s as dry as yesterday’s toast. Many times its merely pre-existing literature (I use that term very loosely) that has been reformatted from elsewhere. Sad to think the quote “Look, it’s a submissive and her Wiki” is not unreasonable. They trust their bodies, minds, hearts and souls to someone who thinks Google and not for themselves…
Am I frustrated? Not really. I’ve realized how good I have it with Leigh and that, even though I’m very wet behind the flogger in terms of experience, I’m alright as a Dom. I can definitely get better and damn well know I could be a lot worse.
The one thing that does rub me the wrong way (ironic coming from a Dom, huh?) is the apparent desire to define everything. I suppose it stems from the need within a dynamic to explain and set parameters, but still it feels all too syllabus like. No, I am not going to say there are (gag) gray areas. Even I have my standards.
Even with the acknowledgement that this phenomenon most likely is an outgrowth of expectations, there is a concrete quality to them. Cement is cold, impersonal and dull. Its even gray (heh).
So what do I think Dominance is? What makes a good submissive? What is submission?
That sentence right there will result in some Search Engine Terms finding us. Guaranteed. So when they do stumble across this page I want them to read this:
WIITWD stands for What It Is That We Do. It’s a term often used in reference to those who practice BDSM and D/s.
The We is you.
The kink community uses it. But that second W is referring to the set of eyes reading this, and the second set if my humble thoughts are being honored by a Dominant and their submissive at this moment.
It’s what you define as BDSM or D/s. That is what WIITWD means. Be it decades of experience in the lifestyle or planning to try it for the first time, you define kink. Your views on Domination are the ones that matter. How much submission you choose to explore creates the correct definition. Please, for the love of all things leather, do not feel that because what you read sounds like a graduate level Philosophy text makes it right. No, you make it right.
You’ll also make it wrong. It’s OK.
Experience is the cruelest teacher in that it gives the test first, lesson second. You’ll learn more from that than you will any other. That’s not to say just go explore shibari and flogging without some due diligence. Use a little common sense.
A number of you reading this will laugh and think I’m a fool. Fine with me. I’ll see you later, further down the road of this journey, still holding Leigh’s cuffed hand. TETO – To Each Their Own.
I own my kink because it’s mine, which makes it right.
– Scot
(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act I, Act II, Act III, Act IV or Act V)
I admit I was not thinking straight. Or sanely.
By the time Leigh’s body had been racked with a second sadomasochistic orgasm that left us both drenched in her vaginal fluids I was gone. Just not there. Hyde had taken over.
Content with how destroyed Leigh was physically and emotionally, he craved the one thing she had left.
Her pride.
And he was determined to not just have it but fucking devour it.
It feels odd to write in this tense in that it was me. It is me every time Hyde comes out to play. But it isn’t really me. Or that’s something I just say as a means to rationalize the sadistic evil that is my alter ego.
(for more about that sadistic evil comment, you may want to read Torn)
I’m honesty not sure if I should write the remainder of this in first or third person. Tell you what. I’ll toggle between the two. Myself and Hyde. If its confusing, join the party.
Leigh had given me everything I asked of her, yet that wasn’t enough. He wanted more, plus it was now my turn to be the one screaming through an orgasm. Tired, soaked, pissed off for some fucking reason, still the proud owner of a rock hard erection. Enough of this punish her shit. It was time to abuse my cock with drenched cunt.
She was a mess. No other way to put it. Her timeless beauty was awash in sweat, her own ejaculate and the aura that oozes from a woman’s pores after she has multiplied. She looked feverish, flustered and uncertain. Matted auburn locks painted her face like a Japanese ink print.
Her face? Devastated. Not from external blows but from within. Disheveled is being kind. When Leigh’s baby blues become china doll blacks…
“Hold them open,” he growled. Hyde didn’t give a fuck about any of that. And, at that moment, neither did I. As her Sir I learned very early that Rule #1 of being the best Dominant I can be for her was this:
I must be selfish.
It sounds incredibly uncaring, cold and shallow. It’s actual the opposite. By focusing hard on my own needs I address her desire to be completely dominated. I can’t give her that while being concerned about her. But by the same token I am completely focused on her, reading her, listening.
Its fucking hard to Dominate someone! Any submissives reading this, try it sometime. You’ll see.
“No, here” I said. My hands gripped Leigh’s Achilles tendons firm. Now she understood where and why.
With a staccato whimper she replaced my hands with hers. I had spread her legs as far as anatomy allowed. No bent knees or drawn in thighs. Straight out, wide open. Nothing had changed in that regard, except Leigh was the one holding them that way.
Hyde roared at the thought she was being made to abuse her own flesh a final time. The sweetest part? Her hands were no where near the soft parts that were going to suffer.
Drawing my face nearer to hers I grinned, then proceeded to try to choke her with my cock via her cunt.
Vicious. Brutal. Each stroke bottoming out. They would have regardless with how wet she was, but holding herself that wide open? Fuck.
My hips slammed into hers, the spray from her cunt going everywhere. At this angle both our faces were doused. Slapping sounds of soaked flesh rammed into the same filled the bedroom. Leigh frantically tried to hold on as her labia were bitch slapped over and over. It would have been painful by itself, but as engorged as she was made it even worse. Her voice was…well, I’ll just say she was speaking in tongues, which I suspect is Hyde’s native language.
Again and again I fucked her as hard as I could. My toes curled, hips tightened, that familiar cramp all too welcome. I started to build. With my impending orgasm in its infancy I started to growl. Mouth closed, guttural, animatistic. If you have even heard a cornered predatory animal, that’s what it sounded like, each one a little louder from deeper inside.
Now it was I who grew frantic. Blood raced from every corner of my being to my groin. I grew light headed being asphyxiated by my central nervous system, my ass cheeks locked in an attempt to force myself inside out.
Faster. Harder. More yelling than growling, yet the same. The way Leigh stared at my face hinted at the contortions that seized it. She was completely caught up in my delirium. I felt a knot start deep inside me. Tighter. Push. Harder. So. Close. So. Fucking. Close.
When the inevitable became reality I seethed through clenched teeth “DON’T MOVE YOUR HANDS!!” then withdrew from Leigh, reared back onto my knees, grabbed my cock with my right hand and…
…exploded.
I came with the same force I just fucked her stupid with. Semen roared through my cock. Upon its release I went to scream…and couldn’t. No air. None. Splurt after splash of hot cum went fucking everywhere. It felt like I was being strangled. The colors were pretty in there as my eyes rolled back. Within seconds I raced towards unconsciousness.
I saw Leigh turn her head to her left. That’s about all I recall as far as my surroundings.
Stars. Fireflies. The smell of semen filled my nostrils, Leigh’s fluids spewed all over my thighs and waist without stop.
Then the air came back. I screamed. Again. Roared. Again.
Remember how your grade school music teacher always wanted you to sing from your diaphragm? I came from mine. With the oxygen came blood back to my brain. That’s when things got fuzzy, but I was too busy growling and snarling to appreciate the head rush.
My orgasm lasted well over a minute. I about died.
Collapsing onto my haunches I looked at Leigh. Her body was awash in cum, yet she wouldn’t move. Her hands still clung fiercely to her ankles. But it was her head cocked to the side with eyes closed that caught my attention.
Apparently that first massive load didn’t just hit her in the breast but bounced off it and splattered all over the side of her face. Semen dripped off her cheek like a candle gone mad.
I smiled. Or was it he smiled? We smiled? I’m still not sure.
– Scot & Hyde
And waves as well.
I admit that the words flowed differently when I wrote Act IV of The Butterfly Chains, directly due to having finished On Writing by Stephen King not hours prior to starting it. They came from a different creative place, and to be blunt I wasn’t sure it was a good one. It was certainly not where I had been for the previous 190some blog entries.
To paraphrase Haley James Osmet in The Sixth Sense, “I see dead words.”
So I edited quite a bit for me. Often I’ll try to add words. Now I looked to remove the ones that were dead wood. Then did that some more.
It was with trepidation that I clicked “Publish.” It is with pride that I announce that, aside from being so well received by Peeker™ Nation as well as a host of others, it was chosen by R. Brennan as a Feature Adult Story in the latest issue of the Book Nook News ePaper.
A date with some fictional characters looms in the immediate future for me. Things like this give me some badly needed confidence opening that door.
Thank you R. Brennan!
– Scot
The Dom Next Door 