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


The Dom Next Door blog broke 1000 views since its inception yesterday! Of those almost 800 have been in the past week or so. Leigh and I are SO pleased that, by sharing our thoughts, views, experiences, scenes and selves, you perverted sickos are picking up on our naughty attempt to dispel long held dogma about hard core kink in the middle class bedroom.

You all have inspired us to explore further and share more. Leigh just ordered a bunch of new toys you will be reading about in the upcoming months. And who knows what else may happen along the way? So sit back, relax, place one hand on the mousepad and the other……well…..

I promise you’ll enjoy the ride. I know Leigh does, as do I 😉

To the next 1000 views!

– Scot

We Interrupt This Kinky Blog So I Can Jump Up & Down On Oprah’s Couch

This morning was incredible.

The night before it was amazing.

The evening before that was soulful.

I…. am refalling in love. Hard. And that’s not just a clever euphemism.

Leigh & I have history, a path, a sojourn. We’ve seen rainbows and weathered thunderstorms along the way. We have little scars. We’ve laughed to tears and sobbed to the same. We share coffee. That right there speaks to our connection. A connection that has grown and, after a cold winter’s fortnight, has recently bloomed into the most amazing white lilies and blood red roses.

I am going to say I a lot over the remainder of this post. I like that I get to.

I am fucking blessed. I get to rediscover her. To feel again what my heart did all those years ago when we first met. I’m so 9th grade smooshy inside right now. I am fighting the urge to pass her a note.

I drive quite a bit to and from work. This morning was agony. I was wet eyed from missing her and it had not been an hour or so since she left for work. I ached inside.

So I did what any self-respecting vile, perverted, sadistic BDSM Dominant would do. I drove to her place of employment, walked right in, found her, felt my heart skip a beat and, right there in the hallway outside her office, laid a kiss on her that would have made Burt Lancaster’s wave drenched, sand coated liplock on Deborah Kerr in From Here To Eternity seem like a kindergarden playground dare.

“I LOVE THIS WOMAN!!!!!” (insert image of ruggedly handsome, black T-shirt clad Dominant jumping up and down on a talk show couch like a kangaroo after 10 Red Bulls)

We now return to our regularly scheduled posts about forced spankings during role play and squirting multiple orgasm anal sex.

– Scot

Where’s Weirdo?

If that title made you *groan* my apologies. I have not yet been sufficiently caffeinated.

But I’m rectifying that as we speak, er, type….read! The same way I did yesterday with Leigh. I’m at a local coffee shop. Isn’t it funny how free WiFi has become defacto for these type of establishments? Answer me this – would you PAY for WiFi at the same place you stagger in for your fix of Indian Monsoon Malabar and a cinnamon roll that’s oh so light, yet not sickly sweet?

I thought so. Pull up a chair. I don’t bite….well, here at least.

A gentleman about 20+ years my senior did just that a week or so ago. I was at another local favorite haunt of mine to get my daily java, smackerel and kinky blog fix. I call it A Latte Au Pain. The seating is limited and, when seats are at a premium, patrons are expected to share their tables with strangers. I have zero issue with this, actually its nice to meet someone and exchange pleasantries this way. I am a people person, much to Leigh’s chagrin.

Oh, but if this wayward soul had any idea what I was typing about as we chit chatted. Hell, he even bought me a coffee for allowing him to sit across from me! If you have been paying attention to what I get off on (mind fucks) you will appreciate the Cheshire grin that appeared in the dark corners of my soul at this. Delicious, with traces of coffee hues on the finish.

I do some of my best work (no, not THAT) in places just like this. If you’re a writer odds are you have a haunt or haunts just like this. Perhaps you’re reading this at your coffee oasis right now? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?

If, per chance, you are do me a favor. Stop reading this. Pick up that mug of coffee that’s likely gone piss warm from neglect as you perused the smuttier blogs and sit back. Take a nice long sip, look up from your screen and survey the human landscape you are privy to. Go ahead, I’ll wait… *sip*

(imaginary elevator music playing)

Told you I’d wait. I’m very patient. Ask Leigh…

So, where’s Weirdo? Which one of the people sitting around you is kinky as fuck?

Who is the pain slut? Is it the girl fidgeting in her seat from an ass full of purple welts administered to her soft cheeks from the firm, demanding hand of her Sir or Madam? Maybe she’s into self-spanking and gives new meaning to DIY? Is she sitting with Them right now, sharing the scene debriefing and memories of screams in the recent evenings? Or perhaps that business man, the one reading the Financials or finalizing, heaven help us, a Powerpoint presentation for yet another 1:30 post-lunch meeting. Think he enjoys going home to his wife, taking the boys to practice, picking up some milk and toilet paper and at day’s end being secured tight while Suzy Homemaker pegs his ass with a strap-on that would make a Brahma bull say “DAHHHMNNNNNNNN!”

Coffee never tasted better, huh?

Prior to Leigh and I sharing some rare daylight time alone yesterday over coffee we had lunch at a local sandwich shop. Leigh & I are adamant locavores. We either eat what is grown around us, or when we do eat out we patronize the local mom and pops, never McRestaurants. The kind of places that have regulars, where first names are enough. Nothing spectacular. Every town has at least one. Italian subs, turkey wraps, pizza from fresh dough, awesome 1/2lb cheeseburgers that when you add fresh-cut fries makes it a basket. There’s brownies wrapped in plastic next to an actual cash register where some blue haired senior is lamenting that the neon blue haired high school summer help is more interested in Tweeting than writing up orders. You know the place.

I was dressed as I usually am in a T-shirt, faded jeans, white sneakers, some cheap discount store sunglasses atop my head in that we are inside. I’m not that douche bag who wears them all the time because you can never be sure when a freak solar flare might happen in JCPenneys. Not two booths behind us sat two guys eating lunch, of which one was dressed head to toe in black. A shimmery, moisture wicking blank tank top, black denim jeans, boots…black. He had a shaved head, earrings and was covered in tattoos (none colored, all…..well you know) of varying kinds. A kanji on his left shoulder. Some huge ass script in a Gothic font across his traps. What looked like an eagle on his chest. And many more. At least his dark sunglasses were off.

So, at first glance, who would you think is the practicing Dominant who just the previous night beat the backside of his submissive lady so severely for 30 minutes that she was left in a shattered pile of broken, sobbing pieces (more on that evening will be coming) as well as runs a blog on which it will be detailed in excruciating detail for his legion of perverted minions?


Well, my coffee is almost empty, but before I go a most wonderful exchange literally just happened as I typed about the thrashing Leigh’s beautiful bent over my knee ass received. A father walked up to my table carrying the most adorable child in his arms. There is a large mirror on the wall directly behind where I’m sitting. He was using its mystical powers to entertain the tot while waiting for his cappuccino to go. I’m not entirely sure if the kid was a boy or a girl. The outfit gave no clues, nor did the haircut. But was cute as button, regardless.

I love kids. I get along with them very well. I’ve coached youth sports. I interact with them on an adult level. In short I treat them as adults, but have the expectations of the age they carry. So when this child looked at me I of course smiled right back. Who wouldn’t? The wondrous grin I received in return was the second most precious thing I’ve seen this morning (You can use your imagination as far as what won the gold medal) But the two of us, this precious, innocent soul of a 18 month old and the dark, demented psyche of The Dom Next Door shared a few lovely seconds in time. And both smiled fiercely as a result of the exchange.

If only the dad knew….

Who knows, maybe he is just like me?


– Scot

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol. 1 No. 1

This is the inaugural post of what will be a weekly feature on TDND™ – Interview With A Submission Vampire. In short, this is your chance to ask Leigh or myself anything you want. We’ll answer it to the best of our abilities. There is more information about this opportunity here.

Sadly, I must take my legion of minions to task. Not one question submitted via the proper channels this past week. Not even vanilla ones…

But, earlier in the week, mikey2ct did ask the following question in the form of a comment reply to Away Games (which, by the way, will be reaching its climax (heh) this week) so I will repost my reply with a little more information. He asked:

“Does Leigh do Kegel exercises?”

The answer is “Oh fuck yes, oh yes, oh, oh, oh my fuck yes!!!”

If Webster’s ever decided to add the phrase “velvet vise” to the formal English vernacular they need look no further than the hoo ha owned and operated by Leigh for the image that would accompany the description. Her vagina is worthy of lusty Viking songs of heraldic praise. She keeps it so fucking tight that, when extremely aroused, she can complete envelope and squeeze with firm, luscious, soft, wet, slick, sticky sweet pressure a single finger, let alone my cock.

Tight is an understatement. And Kegels are a main way she keeps it that way. Now I must admit she was born with a pussy worthy of building temples to as well as sacrificing vast amounts of coffee to its muse, and I’d like to think the regular exercise I provide it helps. But she does not rest on her orals, or aurals even. She works it….hard.

She does them while sitting at her desk at work, or while driving in the car. During sex she really does them as an active part of our fucking, especially on the out stoke. Toss in the ubiquitous “Well, why didn’t you say you had to go when we passed that rest stop 11 miles ago?” and her vagina basically does a kinky form of interval training on a regular basis. The irony that those many short bursts of energy will result in a few hot, long, sticky bursts of …..energy….from me is delightful.

There are even entire websites devoted to Kegel style toys and devices.

So, if you are reading this and do not currently do or use Kegel exercises I can, as a highly satisfied repeat customer, vouch for their effectiveness. Oh. Fuck. Yes.

Hopefully this answered your question Mike.

Now excuse me, I need to go work out. No pain, no gain…

– Scot