Breaking Leigh Act III

(To read Breaking Leigh Act I or Act II)

“I am going to fucking break you tonight.”

The words stung me, even though I meant them with the same sincerity and feelings that are evoked when I tell Leigh “I love you.” And in a way I was telling her the same thing, only this meant spanking her exposed ass to the point of her surrendering uncontrollable tears of joy, pain, freedom and love. There was no alternative. It was either reduce her spirit to ashes or just kiss her on the cheek and go to bed early. Tonight would be the night she crossed her own kinky Rubicon, albeit standing up in that she wouldn’t be able to sit down for days.

“I love you so much baby” I whispered into her eyes as I cupped that timeless face of hers in my hands. “I want to set you free from the chains of reality and let you float away into the unknown.” I leaned in close and rested my forehead to hers, our eyes mere inches from each other’s. A shared smile as I paused to breath in the stunning beauty in my literal grasp. “I am going to push you further than you have ever been before. I’m going to say some very nasty things, call you vulgar names, insult you. I am going to beat that lovely ass of yours so fucking hard for so fucking long. I want to give you the gift of total and complete surrender. So please baby, please, just remember…”

I stabbed her eyes with my gaze at this moment…

“…that no matter where you are, how far you go inside yourself, how far and high you float away…that I am holding you on my lap. That I’m with you no matter where you are. That I adore you…”

The perfection that is her blue eyes welled up with moisture right then, so fucking beautiful my doll is…

“…and that I love you so much. Just please remember you are not alone as you fly. I have you. I’ll look after your body. When its time to let go…” and we both paused, knowing what that meant, “..its OK to let go of reality. Go ahead and release your grip on the edge of this world and fall into that black unknown. I have you. I’ll hold you. I’ll be here when you get back.” And I smiled. As did she.

A long, soft, gentle kiss followed. If there ever was a calm before the storm, this was it. On its break I went over the safe words for the evening. We use the “traffic signal” terms that are common place in BDSM. “Yellow” means “Slow down what you are doing. You are approaching a hard limit.” This tells me that she is genuinely concerned or in pain that is not enjoyable, but allows her to stay in scene. It also allows her to beg, plead, whine and cry for mercy such as “NO!”, “STOP!” or “PLEASE NO MORE!!” and I can basically ignore all of those in that its just her surrendering vocally. Of course, I am completely focused on her; how she is breathing, her body language, sounds, all of that. Many people who have never Topped before quickly learn how fucking demanding Dominating someone really is. I joke with Leigh that she has the easy job of receiving pain and torment, of one forced orgasm after another.

Then there is “Red”, which means “Stop everything.” This means the scene is over. And now. Neither of us want to hear her say this. For her, in essence, she is admitting defeat in the best case scenario. Worst case scenario is that I have either physically or, far worse, emotionally hurt her. We don’t play with such aspects as serious breath control, suspensions, piercing, rape, etc. that would constitute a more legitimate and proper format for “Red.” For us it would mean one thing primarily.

That I fucked up as her Sir.

That I let her down. Abused a trust. Got sloppy with some play or toys, maybe a technique. That my emotions took over and I was seduced by the heat of the moment. It may sound odd, but to give her what she needs I need to be totally selfish, a cold-hearted bastard who is using her various charms, orifices and fear for my own sadistic pleasure. Pleasure that many times has no obvious sexual impact or ramifications on me. No, I do not sport a massive, cunt tearing erection the whole time I am toying with her Trust. Sometimes I do. But it’s not about sex, at least for me. I do know that once she comes back from That It Is Where She Goes that Leigh will be hornier than a 13-year-old boy left unsupervised with an Internet connection and a bottle of baby oil.

If we were using gags we would establish hand signals (pinkies touching thumbs, if you must know) but in that the only gags planned this evening were her own on choked tears this was not required.

So with safe words and safe harbor established, it was time.

She got an excited glimmer in her eye, asked to be excused for a moment and disappeared into the kitchen. This gave me a moment to collect my thoughts, gather myself, focus on the task at hand (heh) and make sure everything was set for the scene. I placed the hair brush within arm’s reach of a chair that was going to be The Altar, if you will, of tonight’s role play. I rolled the black brush in my hand, the candlelight making distorted patterns off its highly polished backside (heh again). I told her I wanted it so clean that I could use it as a mirror if I so chose. Well fuck if it wasn’t so. Such a good girl.

The bedroom door softly closed and I looked up to see Leigh standing there, twirling a red, heart-shaped lollipop in her mouth. I grinned loudly, if that’s possible. Leave it to her to remember some stash of candy from a party or evening and that it would make the already perfect Catholic school girl ensemble over the top. No lollipop ever had it so good.

I stood from the chair, took one last deep breath, and walked over to her. It was starting…..now.

Breaking Leigh Act IV

The Dom Next Door Makes The Global Erotica Daily “Wet”

Heh…

My erotic poem “Wet” was selected to be in the #Sex section of the latest issue of The Global Erotica Daily! To say I’m extremely humbled and honored is an understatment.

I am very new to words as prose, so trying to capture my feelings and thoughts in this manner is virgin territory. To be acknowledged in any way, shape or format is truly flattering. The fact that others may get to vicariously experience Leigh’s precious ability this way is just icing on the cake. Hot, wet, sticky sweet icing squirting fucking everywhere but yeah…..

Now I want cake.

Thanks to The Global Erotica Daily again!

– Scot

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Leigh, that sweetie, bought me a gift the other day:

Seems she chanced across it on clearance at our local indie book store. Having an eye for a bargain as well as for opportunity, plus knowing full well this small gesture will come and come back to her multiple times (see what I did there?) she grabbed it.

Over 150 different knots. Oh my…

I swear one morning I’m going to call her place of employment and tell them “Leigh is all flushed. She looks and feels feverish. I don’t think she should come in. Oh, she can’t come to the phone….she’s a bit tied up at the moment.”

– Scot

Wet

Wet

 

thick as August air you

breathe in and gasp at

the way I dance inside your heat 

walls slick with honey drip squish sucking

me deeper into your eyes moist

with anticipation fearing the

moment you lose the will

to live in this world surrendering

with tremors quick and fast

hard painting your night spasms

in hues of crimson and over

and over and again you

cry out to your Wolf to

stalk your release tearing

through the forrest down

the valley and to the crest of

the waterfall as He

corners your liquid surrender

and grins through wet fangs

as you drown in your own fucking lust

– Scot

(inspired by the squirting wonders that are Leigh’s multiple orgasms)

Leigh Has A Busy Day

The Dom Next Door™ now has, between Twitter and WordPress, over 100 Followers. So this means that per yesterday’s proposition Leigh will be doing something, or having something done to her (in her? on her? with her?) that she has never done before.

You are some naughty, naughty minions. We thank you. Leigh thanks you….she thinks. And oh my fucking God do I thank you. For we already know what it is.

(insert evil pipe organ music)

But, as a bonus, TDND™ also had an all-time record number of views yesterday as well. So for those of you who have been Following for a while you know what this means for Leigh. For you new Followers it means this will happen today as well.

Leigh definitely thanks you all for that! I do as well. It gives me an excuse to put my lotioned hands on her.

A busy day indeed, and all thanks to you perverts.

– Scot

Breaking Leigh Act II

(To read Breaking Leigh Act I)

Candlelight never had it so good. And, at that moment in time, neither had I. I was spellbound at the vision that sauntered on patent leather Mary Janes from the built-in closet we, after removing its sliding doors, use for dressers, storage and a good deal of BDSM play

Clear your mind. Take that nasty, chalk filled, White Lung causing eraser on the edge of the blackboard that is your perverted imagination and wipe the slate clean. Erotic Figure Drawing 101 is now in session. Our model today is the delicious Leigh.

Once you finish sharpening your mind’s eye, draw this:

Start with shoulder length auburn hair done up in pigtails. They frame a lightly made-up face of the bluest eyes adorning a masterpiece of feigned innocence, complete with frosted pink lips. Leigh knows that a little goes a long way. She has a stunning canvas to start with when she uses make-up.  Just enough on the eyes to make them worthy of being registered as Weapons Of Mass Distraction. A lot of women would do well to heed her beliefs in this regard.

Now draw a white, button down cotton cardigan. Render it one size too small for the 44 DD breasts causing the tiny pearl buttons to bow outwardly under great duress from the  wonders hiding underneath. Wonders with pert and taut nipples, all freed from the restraints of a bra. The sterling silver teddy bear pendant I gave her as a gift gleamed in the soft glow of the candles. I swear I saw the little shit grinning at me from his vantage point in her amazing decollage.

The skirt should be plaid, of course. The pleats are crisp, the hemline easily above mid-thigh. Make it just long enough to be an actual article one would wear out if feeling mischievously naughty but not blatantly slutty. In short (bad school girl skirt joke) it’s not just for role-playing, but we use it that way.

Now is when the shit gets real. Knee socks. White, over the knee, lace edged, sheer socks. The amount of thigh showing, as a result, is not very much. But what you do see is alabaster white thighs framed between the too short skirt and the too long socks. This dichotomy makes a little skin look like a lot more, the sum more than its parts. The aforementioned Mary Janes finish the ensemble.

The *clip clip clip* of her heels on the old hardwood floor echoed in the night, or at least that’s how I recall it. I didn’t have a great deal of blood above my hips at that moment. My Maker gave me two heads, but only enough blood to use one of them at a time. Figure out who was driving at that moment….

She. Was. Radiant. Fucking beaming. I hope my smile echoed hers as I cupped her head in my hands and kissed her butterfly soft. “My fucking God you look incredible!” I whispered. “C’mon now, turn around, let me see all of you.” I reluctantly gave some distance in order to allow her to do a pirouette, at which point she flipped up the skirt to reveal Fuck! a pair of very plain, white satin panties. Nothing fancy, just as simple as could be. Just the fucking perfect finisher.

I could feel my eyes growing distant and narrower already. Oh yes. Oh fuck yes. I get to play with, undress and blister the ass of the goddess under the faux Catholic school girl get-up. Prayers do come true.

The fact I was nude except for a bath towel needed to be addressed and immediately. I was completely out of character for what we had planned, especially for how cock hardening she already looked. We made small chit chat and flirted as I assembled my wardrobe for the evening.

When we scene I almost always wear the same outfit. Leigh likes me in it, so I only wear it when we are going to play. It’s no where as elaborate or involved as what she was wearing. Matter of fact my outfit is very much in line with what I usually wear 24/7 with a few notable exceptions.

While not my norm, when we do scene I will often go commando under my faded blue jeans. It just makes things easier, plus she likes the unobstructed bulge. A pair of dark leather work boots with rubber accents is the footwear she prefers on me when she submits to my perversions. Typically I would wear old sneakers in everyday life. Apparently it is true that, at least in this instance, “shoes do make the Man.” I do like the added height (I’m easily a head taller than Leigh already) and the soft *clump clump clump* they make adds a nice dimension to our play. It would be difficult to Top her with any respect with frayed athletic shoes making that shrill gym floor *SQUEEK SQUEEK SQUEEK* sound.

The piece de resistance is The Shirt™, which is nothing more than a form-fitting black T-shirt. That’s it. The shirt’s cut hangs on me very well, like a bad dream you can’t escape. And I only wear it when we scene. When I am her Sir and she is my doll.

Aside from that I always try to shower and shave so I look and smell nice. Plus it’s just a common courtesy to her as well as makes me feel worthy of her submission. I clean up pretty damn good according to Leigh. I’d hit that if I saw what I see in the mirror.

After emptying ourselves (NO worse scene wrecker than a previously ignored bladder!) and turning on the ceiling fan to help the night air cool the bedroom (being rural does have its benefits) with the night breezes, it was finally time. A day of playing who can send the naughtiest text. Edging her pussy while edging the lawn. Fucking each other with our eyes in every room in the house. A Hollywood shower with enough groping to make prisoners blush. All leading up to this moment where I raised my hands to her head and cradled her face, my thumbs and pointer fingers on either side of her ears.

I took a deep breath, looked straight through those drowning pools of blue and said….

Breaking Leigh Act III

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol 1. No. 2

Well, for the second week no one emailed a question to Leigh or I. You can do more than peek through the keyhole, peeps. Really…

Now that that is out of the way, dawninflux did have a question in comment form to last week’s solo (heh) question regarding Leigh’s use of Kegel exercises. She was kind enough to allow me to delay replying to her inquiry until today. She asked :

“Hi, for her Kegel exercises, does she just squeeze her muscles, or does she also use any toys that are just for exercising?”

It was so odd that you asked this, Dawn (and thank you for the question). To answer it directly, no she does not use any toys. But the ironic part of your inquiry is that, as a part of the spending spree Leigh went on (read: she bought a bunch of sex toys) we not only spent some coin but also spent almost an hour looking at nothing but toys/devices/etc specifically for use in Kegel exercises. There are websites devoted to nothing but these, which was a revelation to us.

The style, design and various concepts of the Kegel toys was quite interesting. All of them, obviously, focus on giving the contracting vaginal muscles something to hold, work and get stimulation from. A number of them are either Ben Wa balls or inspired by the same. Some that caught our eye were hollow Ben Wa balls that had smaller spheres inside them. They sounded like kinky cat toys to be honest, but these are designed to arouse and be played with by a different type of pussy.

The idea is, as the vaginal muscles contract and force them together, that simple physics causes the smaller balls to move and vibrate inside the larger ones as they bounce off the interior walls of the larger balls. Do the math. I think Leigh would be bouncing off the walls herself after a few hours of this kind of old school vibe, if you will. Don’t think that a new take of a repeat performance of her using the large anal plus as a defacto vaginal vibrator while astride the riding mower for three hours hasn’t crossed our minds.

So no, she does not use any toys to assist her Kegel exercises.

Yet…

I shudder at what the perfection is that is her pussy could be like after a month of these.

– Scot

 

With 5 You Get…

The Dom Next Door™ is, between Twitter & WordPress, at 95 combined Followers. We would like to reach a Benjamin by the time the sun sets. To that end (foreshadowing heh) Leigh has graciously agreed to do something she has never done before if TDND™ achieves the century mark by then. Of course you’ll will get to read all about it but….

…its all up to you guys….

– Scot

Away Games, Act Finale

(Click to read Away Games Act I, Act II or Act III)

That first, balls deep stroke is the best one. There is no sensation to compare it to. While I can imagine for you ladies the inverse, or receiving, of this inaugural penetration all the way to the reaches of your cervix is equally as sweet, being on the penetrating end is amazing. It’s then when you grasp the fucking bathroom wall genius of “velvet vise”. And when said handywoman’s tool is literally seeping its nectar like a Vermont maple during thaw? Her slick, sugary, warmth engulfed my painfully rigid cock like a bad reputation.

I had already decided to fuck Leigh as slowly as I possibly could, but as my balls kissed her outer folds with a sloppy *shmack* I quickly realized that my POA (Plan Of Arousal) was not just for her exquisite torment but also would be crucial to my surviving more than a few minutes inside this vaginal Nirvana. No. Fucking. Way. I would last any longer than that if I just fucked her brains out, especially while she was totally helpless, secured, bound, gagged, distressed and aroused beyond description. And as obviously aroused as she was, I also knew it would not take long, even taking my fucking sweet time, to make her cover me in cum.

That’s right. Not a typo. “..to make her cover me in cum”.

Her eyes screamed obscenities at my slow pace, her taut and straightened arms twisted in the leather straight jacket that was my everyday belt. Nipples like rock candy danced and reached up, begging for me to abuse them atop the full mounds of her heaving bosom. She was breathing harder and faster than I was fucking her, although not as deeply, which added to her frustration. I was already drunk on her cunt’s perfume, which was getting worse (better?) with each long, slow, pulsating stroke. Toss in some eye rolling squeals and moans from under the gag that was her own nightie and…

….well, lets just say she was a picture of carnal lust incarnate.

I repositioned my arms just a few more inches up the mattress, taking care to make sure to gather the crook of each knee firmly in the inner bend of my elbows. This simple gesture insured at least another 1/2″ of penetration. She knew this and whimpered feebly in not so innocent protest as she braced her soul for what was about to happen.

That next stroke, touching rock-fucking-bottom of her cunt, was the beginning of her end in this reality for the next 15 to 20 minutes. We both knew it. My eyes roared in evil laughter as hers moaned almost as loudly as she did through her satin gag. I couldn’t resist leaning in close to her, placing my forehead upon hers. We must have looked like some obscene origami this way. I fucking love to spread her like this and dance cheek to cheek, if you will. The best of both worlds is mine. I get to feel her stretched open to the point of ripping while I get to watch her soul twist in the flames of her gaze. Delicious.

“Awwww, so open.” I commented. “So fucking open.” All the while moving my glistening erection with a pace that would infuriate even the oldest of Sunday drivers. “You’re such a damn cock slut…”

It was then that her eyes flared. Breathing became an Olympic event. Sucking sounds greedily amplified through that which was her saliva soaked top. Her inner folds squeezed my cock with fury and hunger, gripping it tightly. Shrill cries bordering on primal night music. Pre pubescent gasps from that first time a foreign hand reaches second base behind the not-to-be-locked bedroom door. Fingers frantically clawing at some invisible savior to release her from this Heaven of Hell. Hamstrings pushing my arms with almost hydraulic force. Her form shuddering like she had been out too long in a January freeze.

“You fucking love this, don’t you slut?” was all it took.

Leigh’s body arched off the bed like a gymnast, every muscle she fucking owned contracted and braced for that wave. She groaned deeply with a sound that could best be described as a death gasp, her face a contorted and extremely flushed masterpiece entitled “Squirting Orgasm #1 In Another Bed With Bound Hands,” the first of at least a twenty piece commission by yours truly. I’m quite the collector of her squirting self-portraits. I must have well over 300 of them in my private collection. And this was one of her best works yet. Dare I say a seminal piece?

And she fucking squirted all over my impaled cock. Hot, wet liquid enveloped both of us. With each stroke another stream of unconsciousness…literally. The sopping sounds were insane, the sweet perfume that is female ejaculate a perfect accompaniment to the aromas of cunt, sweat and lust.

She was in big trouble now and knew it. For once she starts…

…well, you can finish that sentence. Just make sure to finish it about nineteen or so more times, each time wetter, each time more intense, each time more frantic. You can read faster if you want, for that’s what I did after about the first five squirtfests. I. Fucked. Her. Brains. Out. While she was bound helpless and her own damn nervous system did the same thing to her body – took control of it and turned her into a soaked, panting cum slut covered and slick in her own fuck juices.

This could have gone on for much longer, but the sign of a true artist is knowing when to put the brush down and sign it finished. I did just that with a few minutes of body rigid thrusts into her splayed form as she sobbed, unable to distinguish from when one orgasm ended and the next one began. I’m basically doing violent push-ups into the recesses of her anatomy and psyche, the only part of my body touching hers being my steadily lengthening and engorging cock as my impending releases builds to a crescendo. This swelling drives her fucking insane in that she knows my end is near, which throws gasoline on the excitement that is her lust inferno. It also just feels better, so of course she comes. Again. Harder. Toss in some growling and she doesn’t stand a chance.

I usually ride my own orgasm to as long as I can stand it. Typically I could have covered her in hot, sticky semen about 10-20 strokes earlier than I do. But when I do….

…I haven’t shot into her open mouth this way (yet) but I’ve hit her in the face, or ruined her pillow. Her chest is definitely a frequent recipient of my load. As is anything else within a one yard radius of the spitting cobra my cock becomes when I climax.

I growl-screamed as I came. I am not sure if growl-scream is a word. I really don’t fucking care. My ragged breath played under the growl-scream in a jazz like eight beat, some longer, some slower. Semen was flying all over her arched, sweaty, squirt soaked form.

I held her legs open for a few minutes as time stopped and we began a whole new chapter in our lives. A chapter whose 2nd page would be written the following morning when we woke up and she…..

– Scot

Breaking Leigh

Secrets are best left as such if you have no hope of dreaming.

I honestly had no fucking idea that what I wanted to share with her was, in fact, a fantasy she had harbored in silence for years. One that Leigh was very reluctant to admitting to as well as a reality I was not sure I could deliver.

I wanted to break her. Crush her spirit. Destroy the walls that she had built around her so thought limits. Fucking reduce the woman I love more than any other to a heaving, sobbing mass of quivering, alabaster hued flesh… with the sole exception of her cherry red hot ass from the beating it just received from my hand and her hair brush.

In short, I wanted to spank her to frantic tears in the dark. Who knew that she secretly craved this? I sure as fuck didn’t. But I did now.

And it was going to happen. Tonight.

The seed for this had been planted earlier that morning prior to my leaving for work. After the wonderful scene of her own suggestion – a day long orgasm denial, an hour of playing and then forcing her bound, spread eagled cunt to as many orgasms as I fancied (apparently the tickled number for my fancy was something over 30) – this evening was my turn. I told her as much as I kissed her. “Tonight is my night. Your ass is mine.” and left it at that. And to clean that hair brush so well I could use it as a mirror if I chose.

We’ve scened spanking before and its always been great. But this was going to be different. Tonight was not going to be about spanking, but rather spanking was going to be the medium about which we would break her boundaries and set her free.

The foreplay started with a sext that, had I not been standing behind a counter, would have been extremely embarrassing due to the tent it pitched at Camp Crotch. My ass buzzed, and upon taking my cell phone out of my rear pocket I was greeted with:

“Stuffed that fat, pink plug into my pussy, turned it on and mowed for 3 hours. I need a straight jacket! O.o”

“That fat, pink plug” is a large vibrating butt plug. And when I say large I mean wince large. As in it takes a LOT of dedication to get that bulbous monster past your involuntary sphincter muscle. To the point that we use it for other things like, oh, say vaginal insertion while riding a Sears riding mower.

Rather than regale you with the witty & blatant sextathon that followed I’ll cut to the chase in where I made mention of her being naughty, to which she replied:

“Like tonight. How yummy its going to feel with your hand on my ass. Hot and sharp and delicious”

After that we segued into about 30 minutes of discussing whether or not the pile of clothes I had dumped on the bed to free up the clothes basket were in fact dirty or clean (they were dirty….dirty dirty clothes) How’s that for sext?

I should have mentioned that much earlier than day, after *SMACKING* my open palm with the hair brush, I commented on how much fun it would be to use on her. She reminded me that her mother, when she was a girl in school, used similar tactics for real corporal punishment and as a result she had baggage with the like.

My selective male hearing locked in on “school”, “girl” and “spank”. What a fucking beautiful idea – a naughty school girl being disciplined. She already had the outfit so…

Oh, what’s that. You want to hear more about the outfit? Bear with me. In time. Patience is a virtue.

The drive home gave me ample opportunity to finalize my plans for the evening. That and to think about what I was going to say to her as part of our pre-scene discussion. This was not going to be just “I won’t tease the boys again, Mr. Hardwood!!” role play. This was going to be Leigh being pushed further than she had ever been so before.

As her Sir I have a lot of fucking responsibilties. First and foremost to her safety, both inside and out. I was fairly confidant the  delicious space under her panties would absorb the ass beating fine. It was the space between her ears that I was most concerned about, as well as that space that she was going to occupy in her soul. I mean, how do you tell someone you’d give your life for that you love them so much that you want to viciously blister their ass to the point of reducing them to fucking fragments?

I came home to a beaming and extremely aroused Leigh. She was sopping wet, had been for hours. Masturbating for 180 minutes while edging near the pine trees as you wave to the neighbors walking their dog will do that to a woman. We could putt on the front yard if we wanted to.

A great dinner of cast iron seared haddock, Spanish rice, scalloped potatoes (all from scratch, thank you) and her company was a nice start to the evening of pain awaiting her. We discussed all kinds of BDSM topics like others discuss a grocery list. A quick, hot shower with plenty of good, clean groping followed. She got out first (naturally since she had all the water oh do not even get me started on this travesty of bathing sexual harassment) and headed downstairs to dress. After washing up and just some time to *ahhhh* under the hot, steamy jets I exited as well, dried off and headed down stairs to join her.

The vision that greeted me as I turned the corner into our bedroom will, I am sure, be among the last 100 or so images I see as my life ticks down to game over when its time for the dirt nap. I gasped out loud. She laughed. I grinned and said “Fuck baby” about 17 times, which ironically is also the age her outfit made her look…

Breaking Leigh Act II