The Dog Next Door

Scot should know better than to leave his MacBook alone when he’s “blogged in” wagwagwagwagwagwagwag

Forgive me if there are any typos. Its difficult typing on these fucking little black keys SQUIRREL!!!! I’LL GET YOU YET YOU BUSHY TAILED MOTHER FU..wagwagwagwagwagwag with your nose. Although after a few ales I’ve seen Scot try! WAGAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAG


I’m the Dog Next Door! WAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAG!!!!  Yup, that’s right. I’m the only one in this house who Scot has collared…literally. I wear it proudly. Its red.! I love red. And pizza crusts. And bacon! WAWAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAG!!!!!

My name is JD. But my friends call me JD. Did I say I like bacon yet? wagwagwagwagwagwagwag

I have to type fast so I can Publish this before THAT FUCKNUT SQUIRREL TEASING ME GETS HIS OWN NUTS HANDED TO HIM ON A FUCKING SILVER PLATTER!!!! wagwagwagwagwagwagwagwag Scot comes back.

I call Scot Daddy. No, not like that. Pervert. grrrr And Leigh is my Mommy. wagwagwagwagwagwagwag When I’m not napping between meals or asking everyone to feed me I watch them.

You heard me, bitch. I watch them. Yes, like that. Pervert.

I’m writing a tell all book. Its going to be called Scene From The Floor. Clever, huh? I thought of that all by myself! WAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAG Oh, the things I have seen and heard and watched and waited until the screaming stopped so I could sleep or get breakie!

I love breakie. I use my manners. That’s right. I sit patiently, starving, while Scot or Leigh get my bowl full of breakie. I will not go near it until they say “OK”, OK? Scot calls it using my manners. He is big on manners. He has Mom use hers all the time. I don’t know where she goes in the bedroom. It’s not very big. But she is always asking if she can please come. I mean, Scot tells me to come all the time and I do come….running across the backyard to get back in the house.

Mom must run across the backyard twenty or more times a night, I swear! wagwagwagwagwagwag Wonder if she ever sees THAT FUCKJOB SQUIRREL??? wawagwagwagwagwagwagwag

I come every morning. Right from the couch into the bedroom. Mom is often in the backyard in the mornings as well. I wait until all the moaning and breakie manners are done. When I hear it get quiet or Scot moan loudly, I know it’s almost breakie time!

When I see Scot I stretch like us dogs do. Scot says I’m bowing to his awesomeness. Mom has a different word for when I stretch at Dad. She calls it delusional. I don’t know what that means, but apparently it involves rolling her eyes.

Mom wears chains. I don’t even wear chains! WAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAG Mom also has a collar, but she doesn’t wear 24/7 like I do. I like my collar. Its red!

Mom and I do have one thing in common. I like to be spanked! I get all worked up and run around like a banshee on meth! WAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAG!!! Mom just moans a lot and begs to go to the backyard again and again and again. It’s a nice backyard. I love to run in it and CHASE THAT FUCKING SQUIRREL but Mom really loves it. She’s always in the mood for Dad to play with her backyard. Or is that backside?

She asks to come a lot!! wagwagwagwagwagwagwagwag

My book is going to shock everyone. I’ve seen things that would make your tail stand straight up. Actually Mom’s tail is like that a lot. As are parts of Dad. He has a big…..tail. He’s the Alpha dawg. Word…

I love Scot. I love Leigh. They saved me. Now I have a beautiful home, a food bowl, couch privileges and A FUCKASS SQUIRREL TO DISEMBOWEL WITH MY BARE TEETH!! backyard to run around in and poop.

I have to come. Quick, Publish! Hi Dad!! WAGWAGWAGWAGWAGWAG

– JD


Seek And Go Hyde Act II

(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act I)

There is a reason she calls it The Magic Oil™. It is.

It’s actually a “super concentrated body glide” called pjur. We use the original. I had no fucking idea what that meant until I checked out their website. Who knew it comes (heh) in light, gel, aqua, male, female and even repair (repair?) versions of this magical elixir?

What I do know is that when it comes out, invariably I am going to come like Old Faithful – a loud, hot geyser of semen spewing high and repeatedly into the night like clockwork, hence its mystical nickname.

And the way Leigh was using her hand like a wet silk glove on my almost blindingly thick erection was not helping my efforts to retain control. Honesty ladies, sometimes we literally can’t see straight when it’s like that and you are liking that. When she mixed in the barely whispered excuse of touching with the pace of a tortoise on vacation I about died.

To help you all better visualize the beautiful agony that was Leigh’s expertly oiled hand, allow me to describe what it was like:

I writhed like a frustrated snake, which is not meant as a double entendre analogy but so be it. My squirming was involuntary, as  were the noises escaping from my throat between gasps and sobs of torturous pleasure via exquisitely expert teasing. Moans low and lush, accentuated by the aforementioned attempts to breathe, with some shrill intakes of night air for good measure. It was my turn to be the one who was whimpering “mmmhhmmMMM” between huffs and sighs, my turn to grip the underside of the headboard for dear life.

The headboard is nailed right into the bedroom wall’s studs. On more than one occasion I’ve torn the bottom loose when she does this to completion.

Every now and then an “Oh fuck” or “Shit!” would escape. My toes wrinkled and curled, my legs kicked out against the scruff of the linen sheets against some unforeseen adversary, like Father Time and how long he would allow me to stay like this. Oh yeah, he was not the one milking the granite that my cock had transformed into with the touch of a butterfly’s wing dipped in honey.

Leigh knows damn well how much I enjoy being tortured this way, and I know damn well she delights in doing it. It was so fucking painfully sweet I honestly felt the lifeblood draining out of the corners of my body and pooling around my hips. I got  light headed at the ferocity of not just how fucking thick and long her manual efforts made me but legitimately concerned that the skin may actual rupture before my seminal glands did.

Then she did the same thing I did just minutes earlier and with no warning. Soft stroke, caress the by now bulbously grotesque head, down the shaft, repeat while holding the base firm with her left hand, over and over and…

…then she bent it down towards my feet.

My eyes rolled back into their sockets as my body lurched taut with the most intense sensation of being in the process of blacking out from pleasure.

“Fuccccckkkkk!!” I moaned loudly through the fog of lust enveloping me.

That’s when the hissing started, when the first growl escaped. In hind sight that is when she probably woke up Hyde.

Her chuckling and soft “Oh my…” either really helped or really didn’t poking him while he slumbered, depending on your vantage point. It was if my cock grew an inch longer and thicker with a single deft move of her wrists. A quick release of the vise grip her left hand had on its base to allow a surge of new blood to enter the by now almost comical displays of veins mapping the underside of my cock’s surface, then squeeze! as she stroked the full of its new length with its oily twin.


Trapped. Both the blood and me. And nowhere to go.

It wasn’t helping (there I go again on the vantage point) that my right hand was still exploring her soft skin, curves and available openings, particularly one small, tight one. She knew that made the matter at hand (heh) even worse, or better.

See? Even recalling it makes me delirious with confusion! Imagine what it was like to be there! Regardless of Whomever or Whatever you chose to believe in as the reason we are all here, I am convinced that They gave men two unique heads but only enough blood to operate one at a time. And I was Exhibit OMFG right then.

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, my eyes the same as a blind man’s. Teeth clenched, spit hissed, snarling sounds, the random “Fuck!”, muscles tightened and started to ache, almost cramping from the involuntary contractions being forced upon them.

It was now or never.

I noticed how she whined and made wincing sounds when my free hand groped her sore ass cheeks. She even pouted out loud that she was being a good girl. And she was.

But I wanted more than the orgasmic hemorrhage I knew her hand would likely produce in a matter of time. I wanted her orgasms, her sounds of distress, to tease her as she had me. To make her the one writhing in sweet pain with the frantic look on her face.

And, looking back now, I think Hyde had a say in what happened next.

I lurched up off the mattress and, in one motion, grabbed Leigh’s left arm and threw her in my grave. Another second or two of jockeying for position and I had her right where I wanted her – on her back beneath my kneeling form, her legs wishboned straight  out and as wide as they would stretch from the death grip my hands had on her ankles…

…and a very slick, oily, angry as fuck monster of an erection pointed at her helplessly wet cunt like a kinky divining rod.

Our eyes met. Mine were narrow, tight, hot. Hers were wide with arousal, confusion…and fear. And with good reason.

The hunted was about to go hunting.

Seek And Go Hyde Act III

When Words Die

Where do the words go to

die when you leave me as

you take what is yours by

right now come bitch in

the dark stars align wet

dreams of linen soaked with

dew drops rain splash squirt

fuck me again so raw its

rare to feel so free so fast so

what I want is for

you better fucking thank

my will to force you to come

again you come again

come with me to

find the words before they

die when you leave me to

wait until you

come back to me

– Scot (just thinking about the evening that inspired Seek And Go Hyde)

Breaking Leigh Act IX

(To read Breaking Leigh Act IAct IIAct IIIAct IV , Act VAct VIAct VII or Act VIII)

It was music to my ears.

Between the intoxicating CRACK of my hand on the bare, exposed flesh of Leigh’s cherry red ass, the way she construed feigned protest via a whimper sharp enough to cut glass, and the static of her fingernails clawing the hard wood floor in some pathetic effort to escape the inevitable…

…it was hauntingly symphonic.

There was a new sense of urgency in the air, a palpable excitement. I could smell her arousal amidst the sweat and the night air. It made for an aroma grotesquely sweet in arrogance and innocence. The feel of skin on skin as the ritual began anew. One circular massage of an ass check, a CRACK delivered to the sweet spot on its underside (right above her thigh line), then repeated on the other cheek, then start all over.

“You CRACK just CRACK won’t CRACK fucking CRACK listen CRACK” I said to her with little if any flexion in my voice. She whined, squealed (fuck I love when she makes that little girl squeal), even kicked her legs in protest. The sound of the toes of the Mary Janes on the floor just fueled my fire. I could have cared less. She deserved what she was getting.


Even I was a bit taken aback at how cold I had become in the heat of the moment. To say I was in character was a gross injustice to the icy bastard that was intent on making her cry rivers of tears from just spanking. In hindsight perhaps ol’ Hyde himself decided to come out and, very surreptitiously, take my place for a while. He’s sneaky like that, and a sick fuck as well.

The spanks at a level four that started the ritual picked in pace and fervor. That’s how I do it. That’s how I build a fire in Leigh’s velvety ass cheeks. Start low, pick up the pace until she hints at distress, back off with some small talk and massage, then back again but now at a five. Repeat until she makes The Noise™.

The staccato of my hand increased steadily. One CRACK every few seconds gave way to a CRACK about every second. Which in turn forfeited to CRACKS every second until I delivered a barrage of them with such repetitious intent that one almost sounded like the echo of the previous.

Leigh’s focused, labored breathing hinted at the work she did to focus, to stay in the moment and not lose it. To just be. Just survive. She found a place deep inside herself. It might have been a physical spot somewhere in her line of vision. More than often she employed a kinky form of meditation as my efforts increased in either pace and/or force. Or both.

She went deep inside herself, her breathing and sounds of arousal my only audio cues as to where she was in relationship to pain, good pain and too much pain. Pain is the starting point, always. She’ll work through this with my help to get to good pain. This is where having your wife as your doll and your slut comes in handy. I know what she sounds like, acts like, feels like when she is in that special place, where the sting of each spank delivered to her the sweetest agony to savor.

That is when I earned the title Sir. I needed to keep her right there, twisting in the winds howling through the midnight that was the abyss she peered into as CRACK after CRACK rained down on her ass.

In other words her soul. More specifically the bottomless pit she had to take a leap of faith into off of the ledge of Reality. To float, fly, be totally free of what held her here by totally surrendering her body, mind and said soul to my trust for safe keeping while she drifted away into subspace.

I read her like a fucking maestro did sheet music. Her body language, breathing, sounds, muscle tension. I absorbed every ounce of what she emitted and reacted accordingly. When she tensed up I slowed the pace some, when she got quiet and limp I made CRACK! the spanking gradually more intense. If she winced I more than likely fucked up as far as a missed blow, typically lower and on her upper thigh. Or got lazy or tired and my fingers wrapped around a cheek’s curve like a flogger’s tails, and with the same painful effect.

But when she was relaxed and breathing in rhythm, when the CRACKS sounded fucking identical, when my arm’s efforts shifted into reflex and not react, when we were both in perfect sync?

It was fucking beautiful. A dance like no other.

I kept her there as long as I could until she once again went silent or, as the case was, she started to build towards The Sound™.

This is when she starts to become overwhelmed by the spanking. The hundreds of stinging blows, slowly building in both force and rate, begin to take their toll. In other words, she starts to redline.

The “eeeehhhHHHH” and “hhhhmmMMM” come faster, her breathing breaks stride, the squeals and moans are replaced with mild hissing and obvious distress via her muscle tension.

It’s actually a lot like when she is building to an orgasm. They look, feel and sound almost the same. To someone unknown they likely would look the same. But I can tell.

And I could tell she was capable of more than she thought she was. Even after twenty some minutes of steadily increasing in severity spanking. So when my hand became a blur on her ass, raining down solid sixes in effort at a clip of three every two seconds, the fire there spread wildly throughout every aspect of her person. CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK over and over and over until she made it.

The Sound™. In her mind, heart and soul she was there. At her zenith.

I spanked her viciously for two minutes after that, only offering a terse “Breathe” or “Focus”. And she made it.

My fucking hand was raw. She was a mess of emotions, gasping, gulping air, all mixed with wincing noises and the sound of sweet relief. But she made it.

“Good girl” I panted to her, mopping the sweat from my brow on my left arm, then rubbing her back with its hand, all the while my right hand gently attended to what was left of her ass.

What was left was to use the hair brush on it in a way that would ensure she sobbed like a baby.

Breaking Leigh Act X

Happy International BDSM Day!

I honestly had no idea that there was a BDSM day of observation that has nothing to do with voyeurism.

I’ve Christmas shopped on December 24th, which was an exercise in masochism, but I honestly didn’t know there was a recognized day for all those who do WIITWD.

From what I’ve been able to learn, the International BDSM day was created by one of owners of Barcelona’s BDSM club Rosas 5, who came up with the concept of celebrating BDSM on the calendar date that corresponded to 24/7 back in 2003.

That’s cool. If Pi Day can be on March 14th (3/14) and the 20th of April can be for those who think it’s always 4:20 somewhere, why not have a day for those chose to beat to the rhythm of a different drummer (see what I did there?).

So….what to do? Is whipped cream an appropriate food item to enjoy? Do submissives get a new collar? I can definitely see lighting candles so that the melting wax could be….

… well, you get the idea.

In all seriousness, again from reading various online sources, here are some suggestions on how to observe this day:

  • Educate yourself. Take some time to learn more about WIITWD.
  • If you are fortunate enough to have access to a formal organization or group, a munch would be a great idea, or perhaps getting together to “play.”
  • Take some time to be with your other or Other and just talk about your relationship, the dynamic, ideas, feelings, etc.
  • I suppose, if it so strikes you (heh), you could get an appropriate gift for that other or Other in your life.
  • Spread the word among your BDSM peers about the day.
  • And, of course, it would definitely be an appropriate day to “play” with that other or Other. Perhaps a special scene, toy, activity, etc.

In other words, just take some time to celebrate the wonderfully kinky pervert you are, be it publicly or privately.

I plan to continue to reread The New Topping Book (no, it’s not about ice cream), spend some time talking with Leigh about the wild ride that the past three months have been, where we are, where we want to be, any concerns and how can we keep the magic flowing. She will also receive many compliments from me in regard to just how fucking awesome she is.

And I am hopefully of a 21 spank salute later this evening. Fireworks to follow.

– Scot

Seek And Go Hyde

It was an erotic act of self-preservation that, to her chagrin, went totally wrong.

Just one night removed from not only having her arched and taut ass blistered by my hand but also her pouty little nipples twisted, sucked and tweeked, Leigh chose to be pro-active behind the bedroom door via one of her infamous oily hand jobs.

The fact that her cunt had been pounded viciously that fortnight only fueled her efforts to show her appreciation in a most delightfully tactile manner. She figured, knowing how much I adore her expert ministrations of my cock with her slick hand, that I would also be appreciative and show some mercy on her various sore orifices, protrusions and fleshy parts that delight in being spanked.

And to an extent she was right. As in right then her right hand felt oh so right.

I can’t help myself. She’s too tempting to just take. And I was in the process of doing just that through the exploration of her curves, still debating exactly what the fuck I was going to do to her, with her, on her, in her. She was receptive, her under the sheets ass grinding making a crow bar out of the flesh of my cock. As I have stated previously, there are erections, then there are Erections, and every now and then there are ERECTIONS.

I was ERECT. And it hurt so fucking good. When you have to briefly entertain the thought that the amount of blood trapped in your cock may actually cause its skin to rip from the pressure, that the veins are throbbing so hard you can take an accurate pulse…that is good pain. And the velvet that is her milky white skin had me downright giddy with the ache.

Leigh purred (I adore when she gets that way) as my hands traversed her curves. But the way she jumped when fingertips brushed nipples or made that short, shrill gasp of air when the same raked her ass cheeks with fingernail claws hinted at her conundrum of being very sore, yet also becoming extremely aroused.

That’s when she took matters into her own hands. Literally.

Sliding out of bed I just assumed she was going to the bathroom. Her bladder is the size of a sweet pea, I swear. Many erotic evenings start with the echo of a flush in the background. I’ve come to accept this, although she knows I don’t particularly like it. It’s a mood breaker, but better to have a small wet blanket thrown on the fire now than have a king sized wet blanket 27 minutes later when her bladder explodes.

My job during all of this is simple – keep the ERECTION. This requires a trick I am sure all you ladies are well versed in as far as maximizing the girth and length of the erection you are playing with – bending it downward. And while I profess to not knowing the biological mechanics of such a move, I do know it makes whatever state of arousal I am in that much more intense as well as painful. Painful as in suddenly my cock felt like it just grew an inch in both directions.

When Leigh does this its exquisite in its agonizing intensity. When I do it it’s merely a kinky life-preserver. What is there stays there. So as her naughty ass sauntered to the commode my right hand went into a zone defense to keep this once every so often hard on as hard as I could.


Not the most romantic sound, I admit, but by now I’ve almost become Pavlovian when I hear a toilet flush late at night. I swear my cock twitches as that water swirls, knowing full well in less than minute she will be back, empty, horny and ready to play.

The door opens, the light from the bathroom momentarily bathes the dark bedroom, the dull whirrrrrr of the fan now more obvious. With a click night once again swallows the room, rendering only shadows visible. Cock in hand I watch a curvy silhouette cross moonbeams from the windows at the foot of our bed. The sound of bare feet padding across a hard wood floor mixed with window and ceiling fan blades droning is, aside from my pulse thumping in my temples and grip, the only sound audible.

pad pad pad pad pad sssccrreeeeeek

What the…

Oh, The Drawer™! Leigh decided to raid our stash of sex toys in her top dresser drawer. Most likely it would be Papa Smurf™ the mini vibe coming out to play. My cock pulsed at the thought of what could be done with that.

Some awkward fumbling sounds, silence, then sccreeeeeeek

pad pad pad pad pad pad pad pad

What the…

Ohhhhhhhh, I know! She has a handful of The Magic Oil™!

Handjob! Fuck yeah!

I moved over to give her room to sit on my side of the bed. With a flick of her left hand the sheets were tossed askew, then with the same hand she relieved me of my erection watching duties.

The next few seconds are among those which I freely admit to coveting. Waiting for that palmful of lubricating oil to be gently poured all over the head and length of the erection in her stranglehold. Then….

Bliss. Nirvana. Heaven. Free Coffee. You name it. It’s all that plus a slice of layer cake when that now empty yet extremely slick hand makes that first stroke of my glistening erection.

I groaned loudly as my hips tensed and rose to receive this anointing by an angel. Her fingers barely touched the skin of my cock. It was deliriously intense to become so aroused, so swollen, so slick so fast yet so slow.

She rolled her hand at the top of each stroke to ensure the by then almost purple head got full attention, taking much delight in the way her palm and fingers caressed the frenum over and over and over with the grace of an angel but the intent of a demon.

My breath got ragged, my hands gripped the base of the headboard as I held on for dear life. I moaned loudly with each eye rolling stroke. They grew firmer, yet still so fucking slow. I thought I was going to pass out.

She thought she was getting off easy by getting me off hard.


Seek And Go Hyde Act II

Chain Of Rules Act III

(To read Chain Of Rules Act I, Act II)

I just have to smile at the irony of adding links to a story about chain bondage.

Now where were we? Oh yes. Leigh was nude, cuffed, collared, stretched out tight and open for my viewing and manipulative pleasure.

The visual aspect of a chained and for all intents suspended nude female is something to behold. And I planned to be holding a lot of what I was drinking in with my eyes.

That first sip they took was of her face. She radiated helplessness, her eyes glistened in the warm candlelight. Auburn hair glowed as if a halo had fallen from its perch above her angelic features. Lips full with passion lightly parted dryly, searching for some unforeseen assistance to her unfortunate predicament. I swear she looked as if she was already one step into her flight just from being restrained so prominently, so proudly.

The next drink was the way the lovely valleys defining her nape, collar bones and shoulders were both relaxed yet taut with forced tension. When my gaze strolled up her arms to the black cuffs high above her head, it delighted in how her hands slowly opened, twisted, danced within their leather prisons. It was almost serpentine, practically hypnotic.

Then back down to her torso, especially her breasts. There is nothing like a pair of magnificent breasts being thrust out and made taut with stretching. I fucking adore this, almost a craving. To have Leigh’s body in such a position that she has no choice but to make her breasts tall, firm and aching to be touched drives me crazy.

Her nipples, all wrinkled with arousal, jutted teasingly into the night. The shadows they cast left no secret at the fire building deep inside her. Soon enough I would stoke those flames into an inferno.

I savored each sip I took from the way her stomach cascaded smoothly into her hips and the luscious valleys of where her thighs began. From there it was only a short drive to Heaven.

Her shaved cunt.

Fuck! how pouty and puffy her soft, smooth as a baby’s bottom mound looked. And from how wide I had her legs secured I had no trouble seeing the soft edges of the folds lining the sticky sweetness within. I’ve told her she could get a tattoo of a dripping honey pot with a few bees buzzing happily on the mound of her mons pubis. I could then get a very naughty looking Pooh Bear holding a dipper in a corresponding place on my anatomy so that when we fuck Pooh could dip his dipper in her honey pot, all the while exclaiming “I wasn’t going to eat it! I was just going to taste it.”

The fidgeting from left to right and how the chains keeping her legs wide went tunngggg every time she shifted her weight brought my eyes down her silky white legs to the same stark contrast of cuff on joint as her wrists enjoyed.

I smiled. What a vision. A totally helpless vision. And in stereo thanks to the mirror on the wall celebrating her back and ass cheeks.

I closed my eyes in silent prayer for the gifts I was about to deceive.

Upon opening them, I was in a different place inside myself. A hunger spoke, demanding proper entitlement and satiation. My eyes displayed this in no uncertain terms as well.

Already visually intoxicated off that evening’s vintage of her chained beauty, it was now time to feed off Leigh’s helpless submission.

The first course was her underarms. This is not just a particularly sensitive area of Leigh anatomy but also a major erogenous zone. Using my fingernails like paint brushes, I softly applied a first coat to those sensitive spots by dragging them backhanded up the length of her upraised arms. She jerked and tugged on the chains when they met the underside of her forearms, another erogenous spot.

I adore teasing her this way. Back and forth the backs of my fingertips grazed the lengths of her chained arms. Over and over they danced on a kinky cobblestone path of goosebumps and dewy hairs on end.

“HhhmhmmMMM” she groaned, her twisting gyrations eliciting a chorus of tuunngg tunnggg from all the chain lengths. She tried to lift her knees. “HhhhhhmmMMM.” Attempted to pull down out of the wrist cuff’s furred lined vise grip. “EhhhhhHHHH!” A sharp, twisting snap of her entire body from one side to the other was met with tuunnggg and “HhhmmmMMM!!”

She knew there was no fucking escape. I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to do.

Reaching high above her my fingertips danced across her own. She froze as sixteen fingers and four thumbs played a naughty game of Eensy Weensy Spider above the leather restraints.

I leaned in close, my face inches from hers. Our eyes locked as our fingertips danced. With an evil smile on my face and my breath slow and hot in her ear, I traced over her palms, then across the cool leather and rigid stainless steel rings, down the underside of her forearms, stopped for some deliriously fun circles on her elbows (a vastly underrated hot spot), continued to slide down the back of her upper arms before coming full circle back in her armpits.

Her breath came in ragged gulps, interrupted by sighs, squeals, pouty sounds and short, shrill huffs at the frustration of it all.

I just stood there silently, towering over her forced submission to my feathery touches via those stainless steel links and black leather cuffs and just slowly breathed. In her. On her. Inhale. Exahle. Hot on the nape of her neck, her ears, the side of her face. My rhythmic breath became her soundtrack.

I’m sure your thinking “You had a nude woman bound helpless with chains in a spread eagle…and you just played with her arms, nape and mind?”

Fuck yeah I did. For starters.

You don’t start a fire with the biggest pieces of wood. You start with tiny pieces of kindling. Get those aflame and the larger pieces start to smoke and smolder from the heat. I knew exactly what the fuck I was doing.

And the best was yet to come. Literally.

Chain Of Rules Act IV