Here is a note from Leigh:
Dear Peekers™,
Please excuse Scot from blogging this week. He is trying to write naughty fiction for not just the first time ever, but also under a deadline. As much as he loves Peeker™ Nation he simply cannot have two Masters at one time.
In the interim, please feel free to reread or discover any of the contents of The Archives.
He will return to blogging on Monday, September 17th.
– Leigh
As far as Selfish Sundays™ go, this one is downright evil.
Leigh and I got away for an evening. Not a vacation per se, just a chance to escape a lil’ further than a few hours. Now, before you ask “So Scot, is there going to being a sequel to Away Games?” I will, with a very large grin, let you know.
No.
Disappointed? I hope not. As much fun as we have playing with each other, its not us to be like that all the time. Every evening is not one filled with candlelight and cuffs (note to self – that would make a great story title). I’ve said this before and will repeat that its not German opera 24/7.
We got away. Shared some quality time, laughs, each other’s company. Had a lovely meal. And woke this morning in a bed we had never slept on before.
And that’s that. No kinky activities or stories of violating societal norms or local decency ordinances. Matter of fact, we did something that was extremely naughty.
Slept.
That’s right. Not even someplace else sex, let alone some D/s or BDSM. Chocolate with sprinkes sex? Caramel? We didn’t even have a single scoop of vanilla sex. And it was nice.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Or I least I hope you aren’t. Which segues perfectly into this week’s question.
Long time Peeker™ Jayne Ayres wanted to know this:
“How would you react if Leigh truly did not want to be submissive in the bedroom anymore? Pretend that it was real and true to her and she said it had to end because she didn’t like how it felt anymore. What would your reaction be?”
Great question Jayne, and one I have made allusions to answering before in musings like Building Pyramids Upside Down.
What would happen is that I would be married to my best friend. We would laugh, share, talk, have amazing sex, get away on Sundays, spend time in the kitchen, worry about bills, go antiquing, watch our favorite television show. She would give me hand jobs that would sell for hundreds of dollars, blow jobs that would cost more. I’d fuck her within inches of her life, make her squirt like a broken fire hydrant and still try to get to play with her belly button. A man can dream…
We’d still be kinky ass mother fuckers in all sorts of ways, plus have so much else to share.
D/s is not a deal breaker. We explore it because we both enjoy it. But it would not be the elephant in the room with its absence.
Would I miss it? Fuck yeah! Would I feel any resentment towards Leigh? No. I make no secret that I enjoy it, but I do not need it. It does not define me or us. We define it. It is not who we are, it’s what we make it.
I hope my answer surprises and disappoints Peekers™. Some may smile, others frown. That’s great. As I always say TETO – To Each Their Own.
This is why I’m so glad our pyramid isn’t upside down. I’d lament its absence, but it would such a minor impact on who we really are that it would be missed about as much as the hole left in a buckle of water after you removed your hand from its depths.
I love her for her, not for her submission.
– Scot
200 posts.
Hard to believe that, as of last night, we reached this milestone so quickly. Still hasn’t sunk in. It does not seem like just over four months ago that I came to Leigh with a crazy idea and a single blog post introducing myself. If memory serves me I believe our first day we had 8 views. We went over 30,000 total earlier this week.
So in honor of this momentous occasion I am sleeping in Saturday. The words you read right now are, with the assistance of a celebratory 24oz Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, being keystroked Friday evening.
Its been an amazing ride so far. And its only going to get better. Thank you all.
If you’re a first time Peeker™, welcome! You are invited 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 (the 24oz Pale Ale may need to wait until later in the day) sit back and enjoy.
So saluté! It’s time to Peek Back!
Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.15 – Longtime Peeker™ Ms. D wanted to know if moments like Breaking Leigh were life altering.
A Coffee, Cricket And A Dom Walk Into A Monday – A very laid back, touching Labor Day induced Monday musing.
The Butterfly Chains Act IV – In short, I fuck Leigh fast and hard. One of the most well received Acts of any story I’ve written. Peekers™ went gonzo over this one.
I Had No Idea – My stunned reaction to the above, plus an announcement about a new blog feature. It involves me coming.
The Looking Glass Act II – A very special memory begins, complete with soundtrack. This one is personal on many levels.
Butterfly Chains Are Making Noise – The aforementioned Act IV that everyone freaked out over got republished!
Seek And Go Hyde Act VI – The final Act in this story. Hyde takes over. It gets intense, a bit wild…and very messy.
WII Is WII – Has nothing to do with video games and everything to do with defining WIITWD. Curious? Read on.
Chain Of Rules Act VII – After two Acts of nipple abuse, it’s time to add spanking to Leigh’s chained misfortune…or is that fortune?
Pretty – A poem because sometimes you just want to fuck the pretty girl you wake up to.
For My Leigh – For the 200th post on The Dom Next Door™ I wanted to do something special. I did.
Just tiptoe on the way out…..ZZZZZZZZZZ.
– Scot
This marks the 200th post on The Dom Next Door™.
I have been thinking all week as to what I wanted to do with this. And aside from thanking all the Peekers™ for the love you have shown Leigh and I, and if its alright with everyone… I think I’ll ask my doll to dance.
This is us.
– Scot
I should know by now that
sleeping with an angel whose
wings furl inside cotton and
lace of the curtains gently
kissing you good morning as
I do love the sight that greets
my eyes blink rubbing sand from the
murky five o’ clock corners of
our bedroom the temple to
silence shattered with crickets and
cries in the night long ago
it was minutes hours years that we
share with me your
skin awash in morning blue as
your eyes of the same
blink rubbing sand from the
murky five’ o five corners of
the fact it is not always chains or
leather that snaps stinging biting
your nape my luck our
bodies fumble stiff crack laugh with
me as you and I become we
fuck slowly at first morning’s light of
another chance to be with
the pretty girl I wake to
– Scot (recalling a few mornings ago where Leigh and I had wonderfully hot morning sex for the sole reason she looked so damn pretty)
(To read Chain Of Rules Act I, Act II, Act III, Act IV, Act V or Act VI)
As soon as my hand caressed the gentle slope of her ass cheek, Leigh knew she was going to be spanked.
Closing my eyes I can still see her the small of her back gracefully sliding into the curve of her backside. From the side the view is breathtaking. As much as I lose my mind when she places her shoulders flat and raises her hips, the lateral view of the female spine is, without question, geometric perfection. No other curve in nature even comes close.
We were made for each other. My hand reaches her sweet spot…
Oh, yeah. The sweet spot. Every woman has one, and not the one located under her clitoral hood or hiding inside her up under her pubic bone. No, each and every woman has a spot on her ass that, when struck, makes her eyes glaze over with thoughts of more. Each woman is different in this regard. For some its all over her ass. No matter where she’ll beam. Actually they want all over. Spanking in the same spot repeatedly is what heightens endorphin production.
Others want the fleshy mass struck. Some crave what is actually upper thigh, which really stings like a mother fucker. Not many seem to like the upper cheeks near the back, which is perfectly understandable as well as advisable. Never, I mean never, strike a submissive with any force or impact play there. Their kidneys thank you.
Leigh’s sweet spot is on the underside of each ass cheek, right above the crease where the thigh starts. That’s my target. I need to hit there repeatedly, accurately and often. If my hand strays I can tell by the sound. That’s also how I can tell if the force is right. Once I am dialed in muscle memory will allow me to spank each cheek in the exact same place a thousand or so times.
But, as I was saying, my hand reaches her sweet spot when she stands next to me. It’s a perfect fit. It’s easy on my shoulders and back, which is nice as well as convenient.
It means I can spank her longer.
Leigh arched backward into my hand, the cleft of her ass flaring open as an invitation to explore its secrets. By doing so her chest thrust outward in the opposing direction. The effect on her silhouette was …
“Fuckkkkkkk!” I exclaimed at the erotic perfection now at my mercy. The curvature of her spine was exaggerated to such a degree it took my breath away. Her full breasts provided a perfect counter to her round ass.
“My God baby you look fucking amazing” was my offering to her as my hands explored the gifts being presented. With a hand on her breast, another clutching her ass, my mouth inhaling her neck she was in heaven. As was I.
The next few minutes were spent in worship of my chained angel. I explored as much of her nude form as I could. No curve was left untouched, no part of her neck unlicked, no orifice unexplored. Except that damn belly button. Someday…
Nipples were gently tweeked, collar bones nibbled on, ass cheeks made to ripen with goosebumps. Her torso painted with feathery touches, the nape of her neck grazed upon, her cunt and asshole teased with fingertips.
The way my hand circled her ass cheek should have been a hint.
SMACK!
Leigh was so far into being touched that she purred at the introduction to being spanked. The ritual that we share as far as touch-spank-other cheek-repeat began. The room filled with smacking sounds, only broken by her sighs and deep breathing.
Yeah, she was into it.
The pinching of a nipple elicited a sharp breath. This was the first time I’d ever had the opportunity to abuse her breasts and ass simultaneously. Playing one off the other was exquisite, but no where as striking (bad spanking joke) as her reaction to one or the other, better yet both. I could feel her confusion at how to weather this dual front storm. Normally she could just focus on spanking or nipple play.
Now she had to do both at the same time. While chain bound.
The steady rhythm of smack smack smack smack escalated in frequency as I tried to bring her to a plateau. My other hand continued to work those already raw nipples over with more attention. Her breath grew ragged, her torso twisted in a sad attempt to evade my hand. That only made my spanking more likely to SMUCK instead of SMACK when she moved the target.
I take a lot of fucking pride in my ability to administer a good spanking. I do not take well to hearing SMUCK when its not my carelessness causing it.
“Hold still” I ordered. As much as I adore her squirms (she is a world class writher) they were beginning to piss me off mildly as far as all this SMUCKING.
Leigh exhaled with one of her “HhhhhhhmmmMMMM” pouts. I love that fucking sound. It says “I don’t wanna!!!……but I will.”
Yet again she found herself practicing self-bondage through forced posture. That made me smile.
Once properly posed it was easy to play her like a first seat would their cello. Now her noises were more from duress, her arousal from pain not pleasure. Again and again I took her ass and breasts through their respective paces. The smacks grew louder, harder, her nipples tugged on longer and tighter.
By the time her panting signaled she had reached a new level I backed off to allow her to acclimate to her new altitude. The aroma of female arousal filling the room made me content.
Content to finish her off in style by enjoying that wet cunt of hers.
(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act I, Act II, Act III, Act IV or Act V)
I admit I was not thinking straight. Or sanely.
By the time Leigh’s body had been racked with a second sadomasochistic orgasm that left us both drenched in her vaginal fluids I was gone. Just not there. Hyde had taken over.
Content with how destroyed Leigh was physically and emotionally, he craved the one thing she had left.
Her pride.
And he was determined to not just have it but fucking devour it.
It feels odd to write in this tense in that it was me. It is me every time Hyde comes out to play. But it isn’t really me. Or that’s something I just say as a means to rationalize the sadistic evil that is my alter ego.
(for more about that sadistic evil comment, you may want to read Torn)
I’m honesty not sure if I should write the remainder of this in first or third person. Tell you what. I’ll toggle between the two. Myself and Hyde. If its confusing, join the party.
Leigh had given me everything I asked of her, yet that wasn’t enough. He wanted more, plus it was now my turn to be the one screaming through an orgasm. Tired, soaked, pissed off for some fucking reason, still the proud owner of a rock hard erection. Enough of this punish her shit. It was time to abuse my cock with drenched cunt.
She was a mess. No other way to put it. Her timeless beauty was awash in sweat, her own ejaculate and the aura that oozes from a woman’s pores after she has multiplied. She looked feverish, flustered and uncertain. Matted auburn locks painted her face like a Japanese ink print.
Her face? Devastated. Not from external blows but from within. Disheveled is being kind. When Leigh’s baby blues become china doll blacks…
“Hold them open,” he growled. Hyde didn’t give a fuck about any of that. And, at that moment, neither did I. As her Sir I learned very early that Rule #1 of being the best Dominant I can be for her was this:
I must be selfish.
It sounds incredibly uncaring, cold and shallow. It’s actual the opposite. By focusing hard on my own needs I address her desire to be completely dominated. I can’t give her that while being concerned about her. But by the same token I am completely focused on her, reading her, listening.
Its fucking hard to Dominate someone! Any submissives reading this, try it sometime. You’ll see.
“No, here” I said. My hands gripped Leigh’s Achilles tendons firm. Now she understood where and why.
With a staccato whimper she replaced my hands with hers. I had spread her legs as far as anatomy allowed. No bent knees or drawn in thighs. Straight out, wide open. Nothing had changed in that regard, except Leigh was the one holding them that way.
Hyde roared at the thought she was being made to abuse her own flesh a final time. The sweetest part? Her hands were no where near the soft parts that were going to suffer.
Drawing my face nearer to hers I grinned, then proceeded to try to choke her with my cock via her cunt.
Vicious. Brutal. Each stroke bottoming out. They would have regardless with how wet she was, but holding herself that wide open? Fuck.
My hips slammed into hers, the spray from her cunt going everywhere. At this angle both our faces were doused. Slapping sounds of soaked flesh rammed into the same filled the bedroom. Leigh frantically tried to hold on as her labia were bitch slapped over and over. It would have been painful by itself, but as engorged as she was made it even worse. Her voice was…well, I’ll just say she was speaking in tongues, which I suspect is Hyde’s native language.
Again and again I fucked her as hard as I could. My toes curled, hips tightened, that familiar cramp all too welcome. I started to build. With my impending orgasm in its infancy I started to growl. Mouth closed, guttural, animatistic. If you have even heard a cornered predatory animal, that’s what it sounded like, each one a little louder from deeper inside.
Now it was I who grew frantic. Blood raced from every corner of my being to my groin. I grew light headed being asphyxiated by my central nervous system, my ass cheeks locked in an attempt to force myself inside out.
Faster. Harder. More yelling than growling, yet the same. The way Leigh stared at my face hinted at the contortions that seized it. She was completely caught up in my delirium. I felt a knot start deep inside me. Tighter. Push. Harder. So. Close. So. Fucking. Close.
When the inevitable became reality I seethed through clenched teeth “DON’T MOVE YOUR HANDS!!” then withdrew from Leigh, reared back onto my knees, grabbed my cock with my right hand and…
…exploded.
I came with the same force I just fucked her stupid with. Semen roared through my cock. Upon its release I went to scream…and couldn’t. No air. None. Splurt after splash of hot cum went fucking everywhere. It felt like I was being strangled. The colors were pretty in there as my eyes rolled back. Within seconds I raced towards unconsciousness.
I saw Leigh turn her head to her left. That’s about all I recall as far as my surroundings.
Stars. Fireflies. The smell of semen filled my nostrils, Leigh’s fluids spewed all over my thighs and waist without stop.
Then the air came back. I screamed. Again. Roared. Again.
Remember how your grade school music teacher always wanted you to sing from your diaphragm? I came from mine. With the oxygen came blood back to my brain. That’s when things got fuzzy, but I was too busy growling and snarling to appreciate the head rush.
My orgasm lasted well over a minute. I about died.
Collapsing onto my haunches I looked at Leigh. Her body was awash in cum, yet she wouldn’t move. Her hands still clung fiercely to her ankles. But it was her head cocked to the side with eyes closed that caught my attention.
Apparently that first massive load didn’t just hit her in the breast but bounced off it and splattered all over the side of her face. Semen dripped off her cheek like a candle gone mad.
I smiled. Or was it he smiled? We smiled? I’m still not sure.
– Scot & Hyde
(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)
To read The Looking Glass Act I
“So when the sun goes down
And those nights grow colder,
I will be there
Looking over your shoulder. “
– The Deeper The Love, Whitesnake
I couldn’t help but hear David Coverdale’s voice as I looked over Leigh’s shoulder. The sun had gone done, and the nights had grown colder. And there I was behind her.
Our eyes gazed into one another’s through the mirror’s reflection, a precursor of what the next fifteen or so minutes held for us. My face, only partially visible, floated above her left shoulder. There was a macabre quality to the way the candle illuminated my features with drama, some areas almost void. My right arm draped across her chest, the left around her stomach. Candlelight makes my forearms damn impressive, if I say so myself. It looked like a muscular snake had coiled around her nude form.
Leigh, on the other hand, looked like a goddess.
If you have read any of the stories I’ve shared, you know that candles are de facto to our play. The sputter and hiss of wicks singing anew are often the first part of the ritual, usually followed by the bedroom door being shut. Leigh and candlelight go together like peanut butter and jelly. They were made for one another, the sum greater than their parts. She glows under their flickering gaze. The blank canvas that is her alabaster skin becomes a masterpiece of erotic theater. Hues of pale tangerine and warm cream hint at its texture. Aside from the pale blue of the first light of day, she never looks sexier than she does when awash in candlelight.
Having a candle not even arm’s length from where we stood made her skin torturous. I wanted to devour her. The mmmmmmmmmmm of the vibrator’s RPMs would more than sufficiently do the same. In time.
“You,” I said trailing a kiss down her nape, “look incredible.” More dry bites, my eyes on hers in the mirror, my hands on each breast in the reflection. To feel her nipples harden under my touch, but see her whole body’s reaction to the same, was exquisite.
“So,” scraping my teeth across her arched neck, “fucking,” taking the opportunity to use my tongue on the same, ” beautiful.”
“Look at yourself” I exclaimed. It wasn’t an order, nor begging. It was shared excitement at the vision in the mirror, and I wanted to share it.
She looked into my eyes, not the reflection as a whole. The vibrator constantly hummed while a soulful melody filled the room.
“Not at me,” I said, “at you. Us. Look at how fucking beautiful you are.”
Her eyes left mine and joined her own in the mirror. She finally saw herself. Us. It.
Standing with legs slightly spread, her hand moved in slow, steady circles, each one a lap of her clit with the mini-vibe. Again and again the mmmmmmm faded slightly, each echo another tease. From behind, thick forearms enveloped her torso, their hands kneading each breast.
Leigh’s face was angelic in its slow surrender to her own manipulations. The music haunting us from across the room seemed all too perfect. Delicate, drawn out, the repetitious melody grew in intensity as the minutes passed. Her eyes closed as she sank back into my chest, each breath an escape. It was more prayer than seduction.
I really hope you chose to listen to the audio option provided to you. Perhaps you’ll get a small taste, a fleeting glimpse, a faint echo of what I was privy to as the first moans escaped her throat. If you chose not to, that’s your right and I respect it. I think you’re a fool, but at least a respected one.
The gestalt of the scene enveloped me in a hypnotic spell. Just as Leigh seduced her body with her hand, I succumbed to her siren’s song. Not one of lyrics or verse, but rather of spells and hints.
Leigh exhaled in drawn out sighs, indicating she was becoming aroused. It wouldn’t be long until they were replaced with moans or purring.
My eyes played leap frog. Mirror. Over her shoulder. My hands. Back to the mirror. Her breasts. My hands on them. Back on her face. Now at her face. Down to her hand on her clit. Then her arm using the oak dresser as support.
“Be careful,” I said, while moving the candle mere inches from where she gripped the dresser’s edge, “we don’t need to be explaining the kinky burn pattern to the EMTs when they arrive.”
She laughed, drawing some much needed levity.
“Yeah, it would be difficult to explain how I got burnt there…and there…and there” she replied, all the while the mmmmmmmmm of the mini-vibe kept perfect time.
Now it was my turn to laugh. We both smiled at each other’s reflection. Our eyes met.
Her moan brought us both back to the matter at hand. Literally.
I trailed my fingers down the length of her left arm, with which she held the dresser. Goosebumps leapt from her skin, their shadows easily discernible in the candle’s glow. As my fingertips danced across the thin flesh of her inner forearm she purred loudly. The vibe purred louder as well.
A nipple grew rigid between my fingers. My lips greeted her offered throat. We danced as lovers, not moving a single step, yet completely in time to the rhythm of the moment, a vibrator steadily agitating her clitoris. By her own hand. At that moment neither of us could imagine the lengths to which we were going to need to go to get to where she needed to be.
We were about to find out just how far that was.
(To read The Butterfly Chains Act I, Act II or Act III)
There are times when I just know that, regardless of how long I may want to fuck Leigh, it’s going to be fast, hot, sweet and intense.
Not a quickie, mind you. That’s different. Quickies are spur of the moment volcanic tremors of lust that appear without warning, leaving in their wake unplanned sweat, gasping and various bodily fluids. No, this was just going to be over long before I wanted it to be. And there was not a damn thing I could do about. No amount of recalling names of baseball players or envisioning Ernest Borgnine in briefs was derailing this train.
The sounds of passion coming from Leigh were guttural, raw, raspy. And by that I meant her mouth. I could write a kinky thesaurus on the ones her cunt was making. Slick, oozing, full of secretive juices and suction. It was bad enough that the physical sensations had me on the clock, but when combined with symphonic sex like that? I was a dead man fucking.
So I made the few minutes I knew I had count. If I was going down fast, so was she.
Buttressing my arms against her sides, I rose up on my toes and put myself in a pure plank. The only part of my anatomy touching Leigh, aside from traces of forearm, was my cock. That would be all that would touch her for the duration of the fucking portion of the evening’s activity.
Leigh’s eyes widened in attention. She knew what this posture meant, as well as how it was going to feel in the position she was chained into.
“Oh fuck…” she said as she stared at my cock head positioned just inside her folds.
And with that I buried it balls deep inside her. Hard. Fast. Repeatedly.
The squishing sounds echoed off the candlelit walls, the shadows we made danced wildly to the aforementioned symphony. Only now I had added a percussion section.
I love sex sounds. Adore them. They’re arousing beyond words, exciting to every sensorial capability. They are to an impending orgasm what a gallon of gasoline is to a bonfire. Leigh’s squeals played off the way her fingernails scratched the bed sheets. Her sobs of helplessness mixed with the frantic tunnggg of the chains as her legs pulled against them (to no avail). Her cunt’s juices squirted and flowed with each stroke. Our breathing became more ragged with each thrust as it built in tempo. The crescendo of it all bombarded my ears with relentless teasing.
I tried to fight it as long as I could. Leigh could tell I was there, but not the in the way you may obviously think. My cock swelled in every aspect. Her eyes grew even wider. As my orgasm neared the rate of my fucking increased to a blur, which trapped her own liquid excitement deep inside her.
My eyes grew tight, nostrils flared, arms rigid as steel. Rising off my hands I made each a fist and filled them full of linen. My toes dug deep into the same as my hip and core muscles started to sense the impending explosion building inside me.
Tight. That is how it feels when it starts. There is a tightness that resonates from my groin to my testicles as if my muscles are, one by one, surrendering to orgasm. It draws closer, firmer, squeezing tighter and harder with each stroke in and out of Leigh. At this point it could go either into auto pilot or an aborted landing. One stroke more the right way and its inevitable, but say in the heat (and lubrication) of the moment I slip out. That alone will almost invariably require a “do over.” Go back to Start, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Or cover your chain bound wife in semen.
So fuck yeah, I focused. Hard. And all of what I just described? Totally masturbated with perfection every one of my senses.
Step away from the bonfire. Cue the gasoline. In three. Two. One. More. Stroke.
The first explosion of semen was as my cock withdrew from the hot silk of Leigh’s cunt and anointed its mound with what can best be described as globs. Not the sexiest of terms but certainly the most accurate. It fucking rained cum all over her pubic arch, shot after pulse. I was too busy examining the interior of my skull with my eyes roll backed to see all of this, but I could feel it as well as Leigh reacting to each spurt.
I growled, roared, whatever animatistic sound you can envision I made it. If its possible to seethingly hiss I did that too. A lot. As much sound came out of my mouth as semen spewed out of my cock, both all over Leigh’s convulsing form. She was not immune from all of this. Oh no. For my cock had been a kinky cork keeping all of her own secretions bottled up. Upon that cork’s sudden removal, combined with the sensation of my frenum fucking her clit as I came, she gushed like a fountain. Again and again her wetness sprayed my hips, the bed, innocent bystanders, you name it.
This lasted for well over a minute. I typically rate the intensity of my orgasms by a complicated formula involving duration of ecstasy multiplied by how close I came to passing out, carry the two, then divide by the diameter of the wet spot. And this one was downright Noble Prize worthy. Holy shit…
With my cockhead still oozing drops of semen upon her mound I gazed down at the aftermath. Or more accurately an industrial accident that required a HAZMAT team to properly clean it up. I’m not one for taking pictures, but I admit it may have been a Kodak moment, where something just looked so fucking insane in its sexiness that a quick JPEG or twenty would have been nice.
My arms ached, my fists were white and my hips were cramping. Without even thinking I pushed back from Leigh, bent my knees and kneeled at her waist. The sensation of blood filling my relaxed arms was nice.
With my first deep inhale I smelled it. Or more accurately us. For not an inch from my face was all the chaos. The carnage of the scene of the crime of passion in all its gobular, dripping glory.
And my mouth mere inches from where I had wanted it all along.
And without a hint of warning the rabbi yelled “SECULAR?” I BARELY KNOW HER!!!”
No, no Irish whiskey in this morning’s java. Although that sounds like a lovely idea.
It’s Labor Day in the States. So if you are wondering why this week’s edition of my Monday ramblings while under the mug is late to your eDoorstep now you know. Don’t look all pouty. And that better not be a foot tapping in harumph.
It’s not often I get to have a lazy morning with my doll that does not begin with the letter S. And I know you are all smirking and elbowing each other with visions of sugar Doms (I am a sweetie) dancing in your heads about what transpired between our aforementioned late morning sheets.
It was luscious. Surreal. Intoxicating in its elusivity. We shared something we rarely get a chance to indulge in, so much so that’s it’s practically taboo, even for us.
We slept in.
I’ll pause for a moment to allow the collective breath leaving all of your lungs simultaneous the time it needs.
Disappointed? I hope not. And admit it – you get turned on by turning the clock radio’s alarm off. It’s digital foreplay for your circadian rhythm.
The only sound we have been able to hear for the past few hours are the chirps of a solitary, lonely cricket. I don’t know if crickets have Twitter. If so this one was flooding timelines with rechirps.
It’s taking me fucking forever to write this morning. And I love it. I even took a break to enjoy a lovely toasted bagel with a more than generous shmere of Neuchâtel cream cheese, prepared by the lovely Leigh.
Just hours ago it was her sitting in the corner rocking chair, the first rays of the day warning her legs while the coffee and eggs I made her warmed other aspects, most notably her personality. She loves when I make her coffee, as well as scrambled eggs. I love that she walked (actually more staggered) up behind me prior to this and, out of the blue, scratched my back for five minutes.
If you though you heard a loud purring sound earlier, that was me. Ladies a secret from TDND™ – your fingers on your man’s back + same fingers making delicious things in the kitchen = it will come back to you in ways you love. Try it.
And now, in a downright Mufasa to Simba Circle Of Life moment, its I who feels the sun on my legs in the same chair, my second cup of coffee almost empty, the French omelet I made for myself long digested. And the warmth of the bagel is only second to the same coming from inside in that she made it for me. As I made breakfast for her and, from what I can tell, had the same effect on her aura.
It really isn’t German Opera 24/7 at The Dom Next Door™ World Headquarters. Honest. Leigh and I are likely no different from the vast majority of all of you. Nothing special to see here, move along. We probably have so much in common with everyone it would shock you all at how alike we are with the eyes reading these words right now. Something to keep in mind as you continue to press those same eyes up against the keyhole to our bedroom and peek into our lives behind its closed door.
That you are, in reality, voyeuristically watching yourself.
For many it’s not a stretch of the imagination. You are all far more kinky and perverted than us, which is awesome. But for a number of you its akin to looking into a wishing well. Just remember the reflection peering back from its wistful depths is yours, not ours. It is within you to become that which you desire. Yes, many wrestle with doubt, others sadly fight what must feel like a losing war with a significant other. But regardless of your situation, it really could be you on the other side of that keyhole. Perhaps that is why we seem to strike a chord with so many.
I know it’s why we are having torrid affairs with each other’s spouses. Please don’t tell my wife. Although if she knew that it was one of the reasons why I happily make her coffee and eggs she may actually be okay with it. May even get a luxurious back scratch as well.
As for all of you, you will get updated Acts for The Looking Glass, Chain Of Rules, Seek And Go Hyde and The Butterfly Chains. I really need to accept some blogging awards (its rude to ignore them), Leigh needs to be seduced via a poem and more than likely scratch a need to muse on some aspects of D/s and BDSM that have been simmering for a while.
And with that, I need more coffee. What is left of this lazy day awaits.
– Scot
The Dom Next Door 