Seek And Go Hyde Act V

(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act IAct IIAct III or Act IV)

Abusing Leigh’s nipples is like dialing 1-800-WET-CUNT. Operators are standing by.

(note – I just made that up. Please don’t call that expecting us to answer)

She squealed with erotic displeasure at my request, knowing full well that not just tweaking and pulling her nipples would make her already sopping wet folds literally brim with her own secretions, but the fact that she was forced to do so to herself made the faucet run even faster.

Sopping, slapping sounds filled the bedroom with obscene clarity. The aroma of a woman who has not so much enjoyed but more like suffered through a series of forced orgasms this way is unmistakable. It’s not the musky scent of growing arousal but rather a sweet smell, almost a perfume, that even a blind and deaf man would recognize in a heartbeat. Perhaps its the way it mixed with the pheromones of her early wetness, or maybe how my own sweat became an unintentional recipient of the spray ejaculating from her depths, two becoming one chemically as well as physically.

“Pinch them hard, bitch” I growled while plowing her deeply with my still extremely engorged erection. I swear it can smell the same things I do. For when she squirts I swell. When I swell she squirts more, which makes me swell even…

… well, you get the idea.

And with such ease! It was no effort to reach her cervix with each stroke. I love how that small bump French kisses the head of my cock when she becomes a human fire hydrant. Plus it makes it a lot easier on me physically. No need to work hard when I’m that hard and she is that wet. Allows me to fuck her a lot longer. Much longer.

And that bastard Hyde knew this. No wonder I was growling deep, low, primal. I even hissed.

She just lay there, her legs wishbone wide in my iron grip, her face grimaced with beautiful agony and perverted lust at how her own fingers ravaged the tender points so hard and high atop each breast. Pinching them hard, then rolling each back and forth, tugging violently and releasing them to snap back.

And all the while our eyes stayed as locked as our groins. Mine in hers, hers in mine. But truth be told it really wasn’t me leering at her with perverted lust, an evil smile coldly coursing across my face like fissures in January ice. No, it was Hyde. He was in charge. The smell of sweet female ejaculate didn’t as much bring him out to play with my doll but try to devour her with my eyes, thoughts, words and cock. A bloodlust for a different bodily fluid seethed in my veins like black venom.

I wanted her to come like she was going to fucking die from it.

I know that sounds harsh, brutal, cold and uncaring. You all know how much I adore Leigh. I’d take a bullet in a New York second for her. But at that moment all that mattered was to feel her squirt, watch her spasm, hear her lamentations as well as admit that she was, indeed, a fucking pain slut.

“That’s it, cunt,” I practically spit through clenched teeth in the guise of a snarled directive, “rip those fucking lil’ points right off your tits.”

The amount of fluid that poured out of her wide open cunt resembled a stream. While it’s not the sexiest sound to try to verbalize shlap is pretty accurate, accentuated by a hint of suction when our soaked hips met. It was vulgar and nasty and oh so much fucking fun! Damn she felt good!

The pace at which Leigh’s fingers ripped at her nipples matched the same of my cock inside her. Faster and faster, yet still as deep, as effortless as could ever be imagined. Absolutely no resistance to my raging efforts to gut her with my cock.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you bitch?” I mocked at her, my eyes ablaze with the impending wet inferno that, based on how thick her labia had swollen, was mere moments away. “Don’t you dare fucking come without saying what you are!”

The utterance of that started the inevitable. I could feel it. See it. Fuck, I could taste it.

Hyde was practically crawling out of my skin. It’s an odd sensation to feel one’s head grow warm, full, hot with internal fever so suddenly. My eyes felt as if they would ignite.

A subtle shift of my hips lower, a sudden retching of her legs wider and her G spot was mine. My pace quickened to almost that of a boxer working a speed bag, the shlap shlap shlap shlap echoed like wet thunder.

“May I please come, Sir?” Leigh rasped, her face contorted crimson with the impending release she not so much needed as was being forced from her.

Hyde grinned.

“Not yet,” he said.

Her face was almost purple, her eyes just the blacks.

“Wait,” he said while fucking her relentlessly, “wait……………….wait………………..”

“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.

She had never said anything like that before. Nor has she since. The room grew death silent, save for our labored breathing and hearts pounding. We stayed locked, cock in cunt, covered in her fluids for a minute or so, recouping ourselves from that primal exchange.

That’s enough, I thought.

Now it was my turn to come.

* note – I know the use of that term/phrase is a sensitive one for some Peekers™. Please know it was said at the zenith of passion, that everything was consensual, and that I have never, EVER lifted my hand to Leigh in anger.

Seek And Go Hyde Act VI

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A New Monday, Same Ol’ Java

It’s fan quiet here.

Leigh and I awake early. Not by choice but still we are up with the sun. And before you all smirk yes, very often that means three of us if you count a certain appendage of mine.

It’s a chance to groan, stretch, snap and crack, snuggle, doze, grope, mumble, giggle, sometimes fuck, occasionally be manually or orally uncramped. Very often a hour passes as we delay the inevitable reality of the day.

But, either post snuggle or after cleaning up the mess with hand towels, the sound of coffee beans being ground, egg shells cracking, butter sizzling and smart ass commentary being made fills the house. JD will stagger in from the couch (not too spoiled) looking as if he could use a cup of java himself. Scones (the cat) has already been in the bed with us and now wants breakfast as well.

Cabinet doors squeak, voices strain as sttttrreeettcchhhhh the day’s first stumbled steps occur, lunches made, plans for dinner discussed, random topics bantered about.

Often I will sing. Badly. Off key. Flatter than last week’s root beer. And with a zeal that makes Leigh wince yet smile, all the while thinking to herself “WHY did I choose this one? WHY???”

In other words, the same morning that I will bet happens in countless millions of households every Monday. When the coffee and its life-giving fix of caffeine become demigods worthy of sacrifices. Or at least that’s what I say to Leigh. “But the coffee gods would be pleased if we fucked!” I mean, what self-respecting religion doesn’t require the giving of something precious as an appeasement to its deities?

After that some alone time. And it’s so quiet right now. As I said, “fan quiet.”

Enjoying a second cup of religion in the calm of The Pingback Chair™ located in our sunroom. A reading nook now offers it safe harbor. Tucked away in the corner of the room, a wall mounted light directly over my shoulder to read by, a nearby antique plant stand serving as the altar for the magic elixir we both worship, or in the evenings a stem or pint of liquid I like. The only sounds discernible are the grasshoppers singing to the new day as the heat rises with the whirl of the blades of a ceiling fan on percussion. It may be like this for hours.

When we first moved here the silence was so deafening at night I couldn’t sleep from the tympani of my own eardrums pounding along with my heart. But now I adore the silence, a rare treat in today’s world. And its even better with coffee.

And with it some musings:

– The growth (stop it) of the blog continues to amaze me. August has seen us crack 10,000+ page views in a single month for the first time. I believe it took us May, June & part of July to reach our first 10,000 views. Now we have received that many in three weeks. I cannot even begin to thank you all for the love, support, comments and overall debauched pervertedness you bring.

– Along those lines I also cannot express how much we both appreciated the reactions and comments to the latest Interview. To be honest I fully expected the potential for backlash as well as people choosing to no longer peek through the keyhole, which would be fine in that’s their right and own choice. Your positive and even heart-warming comments (especially you Mrs. Soft Bottom) made what could have been an awkward exchange a pleasant one. Again we thank you for understanding and respecting our choice.

– Leigh bought me a copy of Screw The Roses Give Me The Thorns as a gift. From just flipping through its pages I can assure you all that it will be a gift that keeps on giving. And taking. And flogging.

– Is anyone else been enjoying the height of summer’s harvest at their local farmer’s market as well?

– If you have access to locally grown produce and still buy your vegetables and fruit at some Super Duper Mart…bad Peeker™! Bad!

– I Unfollowed a number of Twitter accounts this past week. If you are one of them it’s because having three Tweets in a month isn’t  going to make the cut, nor is constantly shilling, RTing or posting quotes not yours. And don’t get me started on people who lives exist to collect Followers.

– This week my second attempt at erotic fiction will begin. I’m going to submit (no, not like that) to Avon for their New Year’s Eve anthology. The storyline is set, characters are talking to me (this is why you writers are all batty, huh?) and even doing some research (not what you think). Leigh likes the storyline a lot, and thinks it may not be able to to be told in novella (<20K words) length. We’ll see.

– Leigh has undertaken a unique challenge from me. She is just over halfway through it and if the first four evenings were any indication it will be make for great reading. So much so that…

– …Leigh & I shared magic a few nights ago. Almost beyond description for me. I was honored to be a part of it. So you will be reading the first Act of The Looking Glass this week, as well as additional acts for Chain Of Rules, Seek And Go Hyde and The Butterfly Chains. We received more blogging awards so, yes, more Scot Trivia. I should be finished rereading The New Topping Book and have a review, Leigh will get a poem, the flogger should make an appearance, probably a random kinky musing and, last but certainly not least, a new Unchained is in the works for the end of the week.

And the sounds I mentioned earlier? The only ones I heard while writing this, aside from the emptying of my coffee mug. So cue the sounds of footsteps on hardwood to remedy that.

– Scot

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.14

Another Selfish Sunday™ for Leigh & I.

You may think you notice that blog posts & updates decrease in frequency over the weekend. If you did notice such you are correct. I’m selfish with my time and my lady on the days between Friday and Monday. There may likely be a story update or a musing, and I do try to do so with regularity. But given the Saturday AM Peek Back post plus Sunday’s IWASV™ there is typically room for just one more, if that.

It’s possible that I may write 10,000+ words over a typical seven day stretch for the blog. At least in the high thousands for sure. I refuse to word vomit for the sake of page views or an update, as well as try very hard to not do any of the following:

  • Treat the blog like it’s Twitter or tumblr. A photo with a thirteen word caption or the like a few times a day is not my style.
  • Flood a posts with images, especially animated GIFs. Again, not what I consider blog material for my tastes.
  • Vent. My life is my life. With it come problems, just like all of you. They are not your concern, nor do I want to force them upon you.
  • Reblog. What has been said by others is just that. Adding a few lines of commentary to someone else’s 1000+ word effort is not something that interests me.
  • Copy/paste. A number of blogs rape Wikipedia and other online sources, than add a few hundred words to make easily found web content “theirs.” Not my cup of blog. Sorry.

If any of that rankles or pisses anyone off that was not my intent at all. Please note that these are just my views on what I want to present on TDND™ and are in no way meant as a dig, slam, etc to those who may employ any or all of the above. It’s your blog, you get to post what you want, how you want, when you want. That’s totally cool with me. I just choose not to do so.

Which leads us to today’s question. It’s not from anyone in particular, but has been asked numerous times over a variety of media. So to once and for all answer it (as well as give me something to reference when it invariably gets asked again in the future) I will address this commonly requested piece of information:

“Do you and Leigh have any children? And if so, how does that affect your D/s and BDSM?”

First, it’s a legitimate and valid question. Many blogging peers, especially the married ones who also partake in WIITWD, are parents and acknowledge as much. A great many Peekers™ are as well. So I can see the interest in not just knowing but also the potential for advice and information.

The answer to this question is this:

It is a hard limit for us. So I say Red. Scene over. Now.

A great deal of a very private aspect of our lives is shared with energy, enthusiasm, honesty, openness and with full acknowledgment of what we are doing. I do this on a regular basis, and I love it. The blog and what it has spawned has been nothing short of amazing. Not only are Leigh and I having a torrid affair with each other’s spouse (shhhhhhh, don’t tell my wife) but many others have benefitted from what we have shared, my musings, etc. Spouses have shown their significant other my musings and stories on the blog as way to broach similar topics in their own lives and marriages. That’s fucking humbling. The outpouring of emotion, reaction, concern and compassion from all of you has been overwhelming. Thank you one and all.

I’m sure a number of you will, by the fact I am drawing a line in the blog, draw your own conclusions as to whether or not we are parents. That’s your prerogative. We very well could just be a man and a woman rediscovering each other after years of same old same old marriage. Or we may have a house full of small faces and little feet that do not belong to the canine or feline species.

Could be we’re empty nesters enjoying the rediscovered peace and perversions allowed when Junior goes off to college.

Or its possible that, after years of trying and thousands of dollars spent in the process, we still haven’t been able to conceive and its a very sore issue that we don’t know the joys of a 2AM feeding that many of you do. And finally, it’s not out of the question that after years of trying we finally did succeed…only to lose the baby. So yes, we might be a little touchy about it.

So just as I choose to not blog in certain ways, I am sure you will choose one of the aforementioned as your belief. That’s fine, pick one. Or more. Maybe its all of them. Or not. I have no power what you choose to believe, but I do have some over what you will know. And I politely ask your respect and consideration of our wishes to make this topic a hard limit.

If you feel any less of us for this I totally understand and completely respect that. You are more than welcome to Unfollow us. But I hope you all stick around. We like you perverts a lot.

– Scot

A Peek Back 8-25

Someone found the blog by keyword searching “breaking leigh d/s.”

Twice.

I cannot even begin to describe how humbling that was to see. If you follow me on Twitter you know on a regular basis I share some of the phrases people use in search engines that eventually led to their peeking through the keyhole. And I’m fairly certain that, baring some incredibly kinky coincidence, that those two words in conjunction are unique to my story about spanking Leigh to tears.

Typically the search phrases or keywords are obvious. Many times they cause me to scratch my head in a “what the fuck?” Occasionally they shock and sadden me in the cold reality of how fucking sick some people are.

But more often than not they are amusing. Downright humorous, bordering on hysterical. Which I enjoy. I’ve joked about creating a unique page as a The Dom Next Door™ Search Engine Submission Hall Of Fame. It’s probably going to happen, it will likely become one of the most popular pages on the site and its content will, ironically, result in even more funky phrases finding our kinky lil’ corner of the internet.

But they better bring their A game. “Belly button squirm” is a tough act to follow.

If you’re a first time Peeker™ Leigh and I welcome you to peek through the keyhole. We strongly encourage you to view all of the established Pages, which can be viewed by selecting any of the tabs at the top of this page.

The Archives are an inclusive, running version of every post of note on this blog. If you have not read any or all of the stories, random musings, poetry, etc linked from The Archives by all means please grab a seat, perhaps a drink (if its coffee pour us both a mug, please) sit back and enjoy.

With all that searching, its time to find this week’s Peek Back:

Chain Of Rules Act V – Leigh’s chain bound form screamed for nipple abuse. Leigh screamed as well.

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.13 – Peeker™ surrenderedone wanted some advice on how to get to that special place in a spanking scene.

Oktoberfest Thirty Begets Coffee Monday Morning – The Monday morning java musings after the Sunday evening beer fest.

We Interrupt Writing Seek And Go Hyde Act IV – The cliffs – Leigh. Magic Oil™. I mean, c’mon!

Seek And Go Hyde Act IV – Don’t read this unless you like sadomasochistic forced orgasms, and who among us doesn’t?

Hyde Gets Wild – The story right above this got republished in an erotic newspaper. No living with Hyde now!

BDSM On A Budget – The Chains™ – The long hinted at and anticipated post. Here’s how you too can have professional quality chain bondage in your bedroom.

Embers – A very special erotic poem about a very special lady and a very special evening. It’s not always cuffs and floggers.

The Butterfly Chains Act III – How hot is this Act? I had to take a cool shower after writing it. Shit you not.

If Crayola Made BDSM Crayons – Pretty much what it sounds like. Yeah, I’m sick this way and I like it.

Let the belly buttons squirm!

– Scot

If Crayola Made BDSM Crayons

Earlier this week, while penning (typing?) Act IV of Seek And Go Hyde I made the following observation:

“The sight of my glistening cock splaying open her labia, flush with primarily her own secretions, was surreal. I’m not sure if there are colors worthy to describe how the hues of purple and pink played with each other. Perhaps Crayola can come up with a BDSM themed set?”

Yes, this is how my twisted brain works. At the height of one of the most intense, rough fucks Leigh and I have ever shared, the thought of blunt, brightly colored wax pencils crossed my mind. Men truly are simple, stupid fucked up animals.

A Peeker™ commented on how badly that line made her crack up while in the midst of reading about a brutal forced fucking. Which in turn made the whole idea into a brainworm. You know, a thought that just won’t go away.

So later that evening, armed with coffee, a sick idea and access to instantaneous digital communication to all who Follow me on Twitter, I started musing my own The Dom Next Door™ BDSM themed Crayola crayon set:

  • Safeword Yellow
  • Flogging Fuschia
  • Ball Gag Red
  • Leather Black
  • Engorged Purple
  • Swollen Pink
  • Black And Blue
  • Gorean Green
  • CBT Blue

I then challenged Peeker™ Nation to come up with their own BDSM themed crayon colors, with the promise that the best ones would be posted on TDND™ with attribution.

Well! It cannot be said the Peekers™ are not a creative, imaginative bunch of perverts. The fact that a large majority of them are erotica/romance authors certainly helps. So without further adieu the BDSM crayons used by the Peekers™ to color in the naughty images of the pages of their vivid imaginations:

Shayna York – Panting Pink, Balls Blue, Blindfold Black
Midnight Maiden – Crimson Clamps, White Whips, Magenta Manacles, Violet Veins,  Lilac Latex, Silver Shackles, Golden (she blushed right here), Red Raw
Jessica O’Brien – Spank Me Silver, Orgasm Orange, Bend Me Over Black, Rope Me Red, Tie Me Up Tan, Flog Me Fuchsia, Beg Me Blue
Elise Brooks –  Puckered Purple, Lickable Lavender, Beaver Blush, Hog-Tie Teal, Leather Belt Brown
Winsome Wench – Fire Play Vermillion
Kristi McGill – Submissive Silver

And in case you’re wondering, I forbade the using of certain shades of any Gray color.

– Scot

The Butterfly Chains Act III

(To read The Butterfly Chains Act I or Act II)

The erotic irony…

Leigh was the one whose nude, chain bound, spread eagle form was helplessly pinned to the bed, whereas I was the clothed one hovering defiantly over her and that completely vulnerable, wide open cunt. Guess who was the real prisoner?

Guilty as charged.

I was completely prepared for what I had planned for the evening. The same cannot be said for how the sight of her bound, candlelit body cast a spell over my intentions.

I had to have her. And now.

My flesh was awash in the light of her radiant submission, with certain parts of it more aglow than others. She was oozing appeal more than other more obvious fluids, the aroma making her all the more intoxicating with each drip from not just her cunt but also the candles on either side of the bed. Time ceased to have much meaning.

I lowered my face to hers, our noses touching playfully in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. She smiled at the gesture, but the fire burning in her eyes shamed the same candles that made them so beautiful to drown in. She wanted it as bad as I did.

Keeping my face mere inches from hers, I braced my planked position atop her enough to allow my left hand to gently traverse the length of her side on its way to the gold buckle of the black leather belt I had on. A few motions and the belt was no longer a concern. My eyes never left hers as the sound of a very distressed zipper being opened permeated the night, the rush of cool air a welcome reprieve to the humidity contained within.

Exhaling slowly and shifting my body weight just as fast allowed for the opportunity to snake my thumb inside the open waist band of the faded denims I wore. I smiled as the irony of my own fingers teasing the sensitive flesh of my lower abdomen in my subtle attempts to shift the jeans over my hips one-handed.

Perhaps someday I’ll be a smooth enough operator to be able to do that one-handed while her lips remain within kissing distance of my own. But not yet. With a huge smile I leaned back onto my knees and, now that both hands were free, slid my faded jeans and black boxer briefs down to my thighs.

My cock literally lept out of its denim prison. Thick, hot, with traces of pre-semeinal fluid already anointing its head. It pulsed with fervor to get inside Leigh’s velvet folds. I took a few seconds to slowly stroke its length with my right hand while doing the same to Leigh’s labia with my left. She purred and moaned in appreciation, her slickness coating my fingers with their own version of Magic Oil™.

The night air was as thick as my erection. Between the humidity, candles, body radiance and the heat of the moment the bedroom was almost liquid with intensity and emotion. Leaning forward I placed my arms astride her torso, bringing the head of my cock directly in line with her open cunt.

It was a perfect first stroke. Perfect. The pillows beneath her hips, aside from keeping her back free from the chain connecting her wrists, also raised her hips to the same height as mine. There would be no need to work the length of her, as fun as that sounded and may have been. With the most subtle motion forward I felt her labia open and accept their fate willingly, inch by inch.

It was if a hot, hungry mouth was there instead of her cunt. Every vein, each ridge, the splay of my cock’s head, the sensitive frenum, inch by fucking inch her cunt absorbed me, engulfing my erection in wet heat and silken friction so beautiful it made my eyes ache.

For you ladies you know the sensation of having yourself spread extremely wide, how the pressure on the sides feels different, how what usually rubs just enters. The way your cervix is brought into proximity with a lover’s cockhead. How effortlessly it slides in and out due to the stream of fluid seeping out of you. All of this producing the most delicate sensations to, on and around the most sensitive aspects of your sexual anatomy. Not to mention the mental masturbation of being so widely splayed for fucking.

Now add in the fact you are helplessly bound wide enough to embarrass a gynecologist. The leather of the bondage cuffs on each ankle gently digging a furrow into the tender flesh of your ankle and lower leg. You try to move your legs, but to no avail. Your arms are pinned beneath you, the only recourse you have being the ability to open your hands and move your fingers.

A man feels the same things you do but in reverse. The identical sensations to yours are his but opposite. It’s just as insane to us to fill as it must be to be filled.

My eyes never broke her gaze the whole time I entered her. The way her pupils dilated wider and wider as she was stretched the same was incredible. How her nostrils flared, hungry for air to accommodate her rapidly increasing pulse. And her mouth? Fuck! A silent scream was never as ear shatteringly absent of noise as the way Leigh’s mouth pursed open wide in pornographic astonishment as she was filled completely while completely open.

By the time our hips met I swear I had grown longer and thicker in the thirty or so seconds that first stroke took. And there is no sensation to rival the way a woman’s taut ass cheeks kiss your hip bones when you are completely inside her.

I lay atop her, my arms like steel girders aside her arched torso supporting the whole of my being, aside from one rock hard aspect of it. The only things touching Leigh were the tensed muscles of my inner forearms, the entirety of my painful erection and my hips. Holding that position I just pulsed my cock in her depths, much to her arousal and approval based on the way she was gasping and struggling for air.

Sometimes the best plans are the ones derived spur of the moment. This is what I wanted. Her total acceptance of me, and I mean all of me.

Now it was time to pin the butterfly’s wings.

Embers

Dark softness invading my thoughts

through my fingertip dance of

skin like midnight velvet surrounding

the chance to touch feel caress

you stoke from the raw 

embers of our last dance in

the moon’s kiss a ghost

upon your alabaster flesh I

fucking worship the ritual of how

when clothes hit hardwood

before breasts breathe in the

night air around us grows thick

with lust sigh squirm giggle

laugh with my cock in

your fingers stroke me

I must be inside you

slick wet hot oh fuck

so slowly as

inch

by

inch

gasping deeper sighing

further straining against my

need to choke your speechless

depths filled tonight you will

be mine once more

my love for you grows

hotter harder rigid 

hands gripping silken

thighs wider than my

eyes at the climatic scene of

my role of a beggar’s fool for

love when I am but one

stroke from release from

you arch to receive in on you

I spurt thick hot desire

whose lava embers will forge 

tomorrow night

– Scot (a feeble attempt to capture how making love slowly to Leigh last night came to be)