The Dom Next Door Unchained – Gina West

Welcome to the second installment of what I hope will become a more regular feature on TDND™ –Unchained.

Unchained (not literally…geeze) is what others refer to as guest blogging, but with a twist. Rather than a blogging peer being invited 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.

In other words, an outlet for the voice of Peeker™ Nation. Could be in regards to a story, random BDSM musing, poetry or the blog in general.

Eventually it is my hope that the entirety of all the Unchained submissions (heh) will weave a lovely quilt, each square or patch as unique and beautiful as it’s stitcher. When they are combined into a rich tapestry of experiences, thoughts and opinions, they metamorphosize into something greater than the sum of its naughty parts, their main delineator of TDND™ being the thread that makes them one common voice.

Yours.

So link by link, we are forging a chain of such tales. Stories that are at the core of what this blog is really about. No, not coffee. But rather the demystification of the stereotypical D/s persona and dynamic, as well as helping Peekers™ find their inner Dom or sub.

This Unchained link started with a simple, innocent  (stop smirking Gina) Twitter message regarding the BDSM On A Budget series. When a Peeker™ says  “About The Chains™? Um, thanks. Yeah…” it sure sounded as if someone had a positively naughty experience as a result of the blog. Which is everything Leigh and I stand (kneel? lie down? arch?) for. And it also screamed (seriously, just….stop it) potential for a perfect Unchained post.

I was right. Holy shit was I right. You’ll see.

So without further adieu The Dom Next Door™ Unchains the aspiring romance/erotica novelist, mom, wife, avid reader, student of classical guitar, seeker of knowledge and wisdom and introvert (Ha!) Regina West:

My husband and I read and discuss nearly every TDND™ post. Like Scot and Leigh, we have been married for many years and have embarked on a similar sexual journey. I won’t say what drove us to explore BDSM because it’s almost cliché at this point, but I will say that we are definitely exploring and that we are brand spanking (pun intended) new at this. So far, we’ve found ourselves adopting more of the BD aspect than the SM. Some might consider that plain old vanilla, maybe French vanilla, and that’s fine. I refuse to participate in a pissing contest about it. We like what we like.

Which leads me to the latest TDND™ post that kindled a fire in our household.

After reading Chain Of Rules Act II, I admit I was having visions of cuffs and eye bolts and chains (oh my). I found myself dreamily staring at doorways, wondering if anyone would notice if we put eye bolts at the four corners. The wooden rafters in our basement suddenly seemed like the perfect place for an entire bondage set-up leaving plenty of room for a Dom to circle his prey . . . um, I mean sub.

Then when Scot posted BDSM on a Budget – The Chains™, he mixed the two best words in the English language – chains and budget – and that was our cue. The next day, my husband went to Lowes and came back with a variety of chain lengths and a pack of snap hooks, all for around $30.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t launch into kinky home remodeling right away, nor could we use our BDSM-unfriendly bed. Years ago when we bought it for its minimalist look, we weren’t considering its bondage possibilities. The headboard is one huge slab of wood with no legs around which one might wrap a chain, and even the mattress, a Tempur-Pedic which is fantabulous for sleeping, doesn’t have handles on the sides. What’s a horny married couple to do? Improvise, that’s what.

By the time we could ditch the kids and have some alone time, I’d already been thinking about those damn chains for hours. Then my sadistic husband decided he needed a shower. More waiting, and worse, he ordered me to touch myself until he was done. Thank God he takes quick showers. Once he joined me, it only took maybe four nasty twists on my nipples to send me skyrocketing.

But I’d made a mistake. I hadn’t asked if I could orgasm (another thing we learned from TDND™). I swear I meant to ask, but I’d teased myself into a frenzy and then he did all the right things to my body and . . . well, you try stopping a speeding train!

After that, he ordered me to stand up, spun me to face away from him, and pushed me down onto the bed on my stomach. With my wrist and ankle cuffs already in place, it only took a moment for him to bind my hands and feet behind my back with the one-foot chain. Hog tied, boys and girls. That’s right. If you’ve never tried it, you are seriously missing out.

Flat on my stomach, arms and legs bent behind me, completely immobile.

He positioned himself between my legs and slid into me, reminding me once again that I had come without his permission. He then grabbed the flogger, and I paid for that error with several lashes. When he decided I’d had enough of that, he took hold of the chain, the handle he would use to manipulate my helpless form, and yanked. My back arched, my arms pulled up behind me. His fist wound through my hair and tugged my head back, and he pounded into me with enough force to bruise my hips.

Heaven help me, it was glorious!

I was completely at his mercy, the chain his leverage. He muttered filthy things while he doled out this most pleasurable punishment for my disobedience.

The pounding reached its peak, and we were both moaning when he gave the final push. You know the one – when he buries himself so deep in you, you wonder if you’ve become one being. With a final roar, he held himself in that place for a long moment before he collapsed over my back and pressed his cheek between my shoulder blades. Gasping for air, the chain still twisted in his fist, my husband said the first words that came to mind. “Holy shit!”

My sentiments exactly.

This is generally how it happens in our house. We read something on TDND™ and let it percolate in our minds until we have no choice but to try it. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. But it’s been a blessing to have as a guide the blog of two regular married folks who approach this with caution and knowledge but without brutality. I look forward to many, many new adventures.

– Gina West

Anyone else need some fresh air or a cooling shower? Damn! And to think the blog played a role in this? (does that make this role play?) Humbling.

Thank you Gina for sharing that very personal and extremely erotic moment, one I hope is just the first of many more for you and your Sir.

– Scot

Someone Shared Our Secret

And it wasn’t me.

What?

Since we are talking about secrets, I do not make it one that of all I write my poetry is the most special to me. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the stories or the musings, but the poems are about, for and meant for an audience of one.

My Leigh.

So when others appreciate my very neophyte (I am extremely new to any form of writing) prose it heartens me. And if they deem it worthy to feature it in their own digital publishing? Well, that is humbling.

I know, I know, I know. I use the “h’ word a lot. But it’s true.

So when I found out that Athame Morrigan thought that my poem Our Secret was good enough to be featured in the latest issue of her ePaper The Switch Daily I was extremely H Word™.

So imagine how I felt when I discovered that she is also a professional Domme AND Switch! That’s right. She gets paid to play.

I’m very glad I tidied up around the blog before going to bed last night and didn’t leave any unwashed posts in the sink. Whew, that was close!

Thank you Miss Athame.

– Scot

Chain Of Rules Act VI

(To read Chain Of Rules Act IAct IIAct III,  Act IV or Act V)

She had to hold very still, lest the finger flogging her nipple catch the skin of her upper breast, which would really fucking hurt, and not in the good way.

I know, its bad enough that I cuffed and chained her standing like that, defenseless to my perverted means and inclinations. As if that wasn’t enough restraint, now Leigh was forced to administer the same to herself, but from within.

It was all part of the mind fuck, and she hates to admit that she loves when the space between ears becomes more engorged with lust than the space between her thighs. But its true. When I push the envelope on a mental, spiritual and verbal level she practically soaks herself.

So, after that excruciating flick that made her scream I…

…what’s that? No, I did not continue to do that repeatedly. Once was enough to not just excite but drive her to Franticville. It’s not the what you do, but the how. Not how many, but when. Not when you do but when you don’t. This is what kept her sharp, focused, alert and constantly on edge.

Sure, I could just have just reared back and repeatedly flicked her nipples raw, which would have allowed her to focus all her energy on one tiny aspect of our play instead of flicking them violently once, then making her wait for if and when it would happen again. One play puts her in short term survival mode, the other in long term defense mode. One puts her on her toes for a few seconds, the other keeps her on them the entire time.

Think about it. Which is worse – knowing steady pain or the anticipation of it’s impending, sharp arrival…or not?

I thought so.

But that didn’t mean they were going to get off Scot free (heh).

“Shhhhhhhhh,” I whispered from behind her, her nude gyrating form a quivering mass of neurology gone mad.

“Hold still. Hold,” I grabbed her right breast fully with my left hand,

“very,” squeezed it firm as if she was going to be milked,

“still,” while I placed the extended pointer finger of my right hand inches above its nipple, so proudly thrust outward as a result of my grip.

Leigh froze, her feet a fidgeted blur of activity against the chains, bracing herself motionless as best she could. The breath from her nose was short, shallow and hinted at her growing anxiety over what she knew was about to..

thwack

Down came my pointer finger like a flogger’s tail, thudding against the protruding nipple with a delicious amount of force.

“AEEEEHHHHH!!” Leigh winced, her body lurching violently against the restraints. The tuunngggg of the chains echoed…

thwack

“OoohooOhhhOohh” …her breath a vain, feeble and frustrating attempt to…

thwack

“EeeeeehhHHHHH” …keep the spit from flying out of her…

thwack

“UhhhUHHUHhuuhhUHHH” …clenched teeth as her nipple hardened to an…

thwack

“MmmmmmHHMMMM!!! … engorged nub the size of which rivaled the…

thwack

“UhhhuhhuhhuhhHHH!!!!” …width of the finger causing it all the discomfort. The irony.

She snorted as if she had been a thoroughbred put away wet and unwashed after a day of wild running. Short, ragged, pulsing gasps punctuated by long, slow, drawn out shrills. It was exquisite to listen to, let alone be able to control the volume and tempo of with just one finger.

I could smell the arousal dripping in rivulets down her leg. The scattered drops of the same painted the hardwood floor with a patina of lust.

She whined, her pouted lips aquiver when my hands changed roles to apply the same attention to her other breast. Her reactions were no less arousing, perhaps even more so in that she knew what was coming. This continued for a few minutes as I alternated each breast with the same sadistic attentions. She seethed and cried, tugged and pulled at the chains, whimpered, moaned, soaked herself and our surroundings with her wetness.

By the time I stopped and began to softly massage her breasts, my fingers feathering across their entirety with the force of a butterfly’s wing, she was a sopping mess.

“Good girl,” I whispered to her slack form. My touches and voice became a port of refuge from the storm of the chains, “such a good girl.”

So it should not have come as a surprise when

FLICK!

My coiled middle fingers exploded from the trigger my thumbs provided. The violent, sudden contact with the ends of each nipple was quick, brutal and done with. And just as before, Leigh screamed.

I told you. It’s not the what you do, but the how. Not how many, but when. Not when you do but when you don’t.

With that I stepped out from behind and took a position aside her. My legs straddled the chain running taut from her left leg to the door frame behind me, a 3″ stainless steel eye hook insuring that it or Leigh were going nowhere. Both my hands surveyed her tight skin from knees to neck and everywhere in between. The left hand enjoyed her thighs, hips, cunt, stomach and breasts, its counterpart her hamstrings, ass cheeks, back and neck.

So soft, so vulnerable, so beautiful. I couldn’t resist leaning in to allow my teeth the same privilege, grazing the sloping skin of her nape and shoulders with an obligatory bite on her very hard nipple.

Leigh cooed at the touches, purred with each stroke. She had been a very good girl and, aside from giving her a much needed chance to catch her breath it was a reward of sorts. Plus, on a purely selfish level, I just fucking love to touch the alabaster velvet her skin is when its so taut.

And besides, I had a very good reason for standing on her left side. This position placed my right hand behind her.

You know, the hand I spank her with.

Chain Of Rules Act VII

Our Secret

Rather than vainly fumble at

the obviousness of it all

seemed so dreamlike to be

in the shadows watching

your arousal feeding my

thirst for the moment when

the words flow from your

mouth like a waterfall pouring

your secret

no longer kept

my secret

shared with the floor and

the night flowed down

your legs rigid eyes wide mouth

hungry for more and

the puddle a testament to

how fucking beautiful you

really are you know

that I love you

pour into my eyes through

the looking glass the

silent witness to

our secret

– Scot (recalling what it was like to embrace Leigh from behind while she masturbated to our reflection in a candlelit mirror)

The Looking Glass

(Note – If you wish, you can listen to the same song that Leigh & I did while the following occurred. Just open the link in a new window)

“I have an idea.”

And with that simple statement by Leigh so began one of the most amazing sexual experiences of my life.

Odds are that the majority of you will find the following downright vanilla, to which I will think no less of your thinking “Really Scot? This was a Top 10 moment?”

It was.

But allow me to let you decide for yourself as I dim the houselights, raise the curtain and close the bedroom door.

The scene began in a darkened bedroom, illuminated only by a few select candles, two sets of burning eyes and one heartbeat. Our heroine, Leigh, was in the midst of a challenge proposed to her by her husband and Sir, Scot. Her objective? To masturbate to orgasm in front of him once a night for seven consecutive evenings.

At first she was a bit apprehensive. For all her sexual prowess and adventures Leigh, like so many other women, does not see herself the same way I do. She is always quick to notice flaws. A bulge here, a not as dramatic curve as she wishes there. And regardless of how excited at the sight of her nude form I become, no matter how often I profess to her in no uncertain terms that no woman has ever been more beautiful, in spite of all that we have shared romantically and sexually, she still all too often sees the half empty Leigh instead of the one full with my erection.

So I came up with a challenge to her. Not only would it be fun as hell but, hopefully, it would allow her to witness first hand (bad masturbation joke) how magnificent she really is by sharing with me and for me the one aspect of her sexuality that is her most private – her own satisfaction. Literally.

We fuck and role play and use cuffs and collars with chains. I can spank her exposed ass to a cherry red, abuse her nipples to the point of hysteria, even flog her into subspace. Anal sex, ejaculating in her mouth, half a hundred squirting orgasms in a single evening? Done all that.

But when a woman masturbates just for you, that’s fucking special. It’s the sexual equivalent of meeting her parents. Its as personal as it gets.

Not only is she baring her flesh but herself. There’s a difference. Big fucking difference. She is sharing with you something that, most likely, was her first way of exploring her sexuality. She probably discovered that women get wet when aroused while masturbating. And its a safe bet that this was how she discovered the ability to orgasm. Its extremely private and intensely personal.

Sure, many women grow the confidence and security in themselves, their sexuality and their abilities to not just share this secret from teen years gone, but use and employ it in their partnered sexual lives. No better way to make sure that everyone has fun than to bring your own.

But at its most basic it is still hers. Which is why I thought it would be a special way to share something erotic with Leigh. She would be forced to be at her most naked. No chains, no cuffs, no spanking, and so on. Just her and her sexuality.

The first evening she propped herself up on her side of the bed as I lay across the bottom of it. With Papa Smurf™ (aka a mini-vibe) as her preferred method of arousal she spread her legs wide and, over the course of about ten minutes, teased herself to the brink of asking me my favorite question:

“May I please come, Sir?”

The almost two minute long orgasm that racked her body rigid with lust was exquisite. The primal fucking session that followed produced a second one for her as well as my own.

And a side note for all you fellows – you can learn a LOT about your lady by watching her get herself off. Which hand? Where? How? Clockwise? Back and forth? Insertions? Speed or lack thereof? Direct contact or not? Did her torso tighten? What sounds did she make, and when? Her breathing patterns? You’ll save yourself a lot of time, grief and both of your’s frustration if you ask her to do this for you.

And for the ladies? Ditto on your guy. Just sayin’.

But back to our challenge. The second evening Leigh had me sit in the Pingback Chair™ in the sunroom while her naked form draped over our large recliner. A single candle she brought from the bedroom flickered on a nearby plant stand, just allowing me to make out the faintest outlines of her face as it contorted under Papa Smurf’s buzzing of her clit. Now I got to savor more of the non-physical. The sounds she made when becoming aroused, how her mouth contorted, the way her breathing changed. And once again she begged to come. Once again she spasmed for well over a minute. And yes, once again we fucked like wild animals afterward. That chair is big enough for two to lie across we found out. And her rug burns from finishing violently on the floor weren’t too severe.

How wild did it get? I left my socks on (no rookie to toe top rug burn here) and spun one around 180 degrees! As in the bottom was on the top of my foot!

The third evening she got creative and, while astride me, used Papa Smurf to make herself come with me inside her. I think the head of my cock was somewhere around her larynx from how deep I was. I know she was having trouble breathing during it all.

Which brought us to her saying “I have an idea” on the fourth night. And with that she stood up, got out of bed, moved a candle to the dresser in the adjoining open frame closet and stood in front of the 3/4 length mirror hanging inside it.

“Come stand behind me” she whispered as her pajamas hit the floor, leaving her in all her nude splendor.

Still fully dressed I complied. The view over her shoulder was exquisite. My arms coiled around her, hugging her tight. Our eyes met  in the mirror.

The click of the vibrator in her hand coming to life told me what her idea was.

The Looking Glass Act II

Soundtrack To The Looking Glass

On Monday’s coffee infused ramblings I made allusion to the fact that, over the weekend, magic happened within the candlelit confines of our bedroom.

One of the most amazing experiences of my sexual life transpired.

Tomorrow I will write the opening Act to it entitled The Looking Glass. Read into that what you will.

Anyway, as part of this slightly atypical scene I asked Leigh if she would like some music, an offer that was eagerly accepted. In that we still do not have a playlist  we both agree with, I’ll often cue up Pandora’s Ambient feed. Aside from the possibility of the occasional sounds of bird chirping and surf breaking on the shore (which apparently is a Pavlovian sound to Leigh’s lentil sized bladder) the music very often fits both our tastes.

At the height of the aftermath of the scene, right as we finished (do the math) a particularly haunting song played mournfully in the background. It fit perfectly to what had just transpired over the course of the evening.

So as I attended to a completely exhausted and spent Leigh (meaning I fetched the sex towels) I glanced at the screen to see what song had just serenaded us with soulful, beautifully seductive sounds that dovetailed so lovely with our lust filled activities.

And I about fell over from shock.

“You are not going to fucking believe the name of this song and the album it’s from!” I exclaimed to Leigh.

Can you believe that? Seriously?

So I share this with all of you this evening in that, for the first time in the blog’s short history, there will be a soundtrack to a story. As you read each Act of The Looking Glass I’ll ask that you play this so you too can share what we did.

Until tomorrow.

– Scot

The Words Of Power

I know, it should be “The Power Of Words.”

And they are powerful. Physical wounds will mend, but the ones caused by verbal cutting? They linger, cripple, haunt. The scar that never quite heals.

I thought of this last night as I wrote the climatic ending (pun intended) to Act V of Seek And Go Hyde:

“You may come.”

And with that Leigh exploded in a primal grunt all over me, her hands practically tearing her nipples loose in the process. They were almost cartoonish in how far their delicate skin stretched from being pulled so violently. But nowhere near as violent as the drenching orgasm that consumed us both.

With a massive gush Leigh screamed “I’M A PAIN SLUT I’M A PAIN SLUT FUCK I’M A PAIN SLUT.” She was practically hysterical with lust, the waves of each multiple crashing into her repeatedly, their damage measured in how badly her swollen cunt leapt out to suck in my cock.

The spray from her ejaculate hit me in the face. I licked my lips at the shock.

Told you it was sweet.

All the while she kept repeating her kinky mantra over and over, each time more guttural, deeper from within her, until out of nowhere she literally screamed at the top of her lungs:

“I. LOVE. WHEN. YOU. FUCKING. BEAT. ME!!!!”

And with that collapsed into a seething, panting heap on the bed.

Yes, she actually screamed that. And I can assure you that was Leigh as about as raw as I have ever seen her. The physical duress she was enduring via being forced to countless squirting multiple orgasms was brutal. But it was my insistence that she verbalize what she hates to admit that, I feel, pushed her to a point where she screamed what she did with the conviction of an executioner.

This is part of the beauty of D/s, especially when heated to a melting point in the forge of BDSM. I experience it as well. For everything Leigh and I share behind that closed bedroom door, for all the perversions, sadistic pleasures, sweet pain, there is one thing that I crave more than her vaginal fluids soaking through multiple layers of bedding all the way to the mattress.

Her manners.

I am addicted to hearing her beg permission to orgasm. And that pales in comparison to when she thanks me after each one.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The physical is amazing. Ironically in a post about the power for words I am at a loss for the best ones to attempt to describe how fucking intense all of this is. Which I guess speaks to the strength of our D/s dynamic. It’s more powerful than words, which is really saying something that can’t be said with words!

What?

I need more coffee. Un memento, por favor.

And my favorite part of when we share each other’s dark side? The aftercare. When she is so far gone inside herself that it’s my turn to drown her in sweet nothings. And often all she can say is a meek “Thank you Sir” through a doll’s eyes before she goes away to the land of floaty floaty.

Right there. Looking in those empty pools of blue, when she says three words to me. That’s when I start to soar, my wings full on the wind of her beautiful submission. And I fucking fly into Topspace.

But that night, when she threw that one raw statement at me like a dagger, that was different.

Sitting here, right now, coffee within reach, it just occurred to me that when Leigh screamed “I. LOVE. WHEN. YOU. FUCKING. BEAT. ME!!!!” that Hyde had an orgasm.

(For you virginal Peekers™ a little history about Hyde)

Of course he can’t actually come. I do that. But in his own sadistic, perverted manner, forcing Leigh to that admission at the height of a brutal squirting orgasm was his own release. Whatever the chemical biology of satisfaction and its counterparts are, imagine that multiplied 100x. Now detonate that inside your soul like a kinky roadside bomb.

I came without coming. And it stopped me fucking cold. After that it was my turn. You’ll read about that later this week. But the fucker wouldn’t let me come until he did. All over both of us. Inside my head, soul and spirit, and out of Leigh’s mouth. The saturated mess around us both was just icing on his cake.

And, sadly, there are also the way in which certain words will forever be raw, open wounds to some. A few Peekers™ know this too well, including a special one that is near and dear to a number of us who blog in the darkest corner of the WordPress basement. For them, Leigh’s statement yelled at the height of consensual arousal conjures up bad memories, feelings and emotions. Very bad. Not consensual. Or asked for.

I pondered sharing what Leigh said, but ultimately decided to allow you all to react as you will. I did feel strongly about adding the * disclaimer at the end.

BDSM has been long thought of in a similar manner. And given the phenomenon of that certain neutral hued book series interest in WIITWD is likely at an all-time high. It’s important that those who have been here all the while be careful with how we present what can easily be misunderstood as sexual assault, or worse. They need to know that the key is communication.

Or, in other words, words. Just like the written ones above.

– Scot