The Butterfly Chains

When they first appear free of their cocoon butterflies are very wet, extremely vulnerable and breathtakingly beautiful.

I am a butterfly collector of sorts. But not just any butterflies. Only very special, erotically beautiful ones pique my interest. It’s a very private collection, known only to two people and, with the writing of this tale, now all of you.

Sadly you will never see any of the exquisite creature I collect. No, that’s not a typo. My collection consists of a singular butterfly, a very rare and exotic one. It only comes out at night, which would make her more a moth I suppose. There is definitely an attraction to the flicker of the candles that light up the bedroom where she flies.

Oh, what’s that? Yes, she. Her. I collect a most amazing female butterfly, one whose moth like tendencies to fly too close to the flames often gets her wings singed.


I should clarify that, while butterfly beautiful, Leigh is not always thought of or viewed as such. Its only when the wings that are her legs are spread almost as wide as the mattress we sleep on with the assistance of some stainless steel chain and a pair of ankle cuffs that I see wings.

Then she is my butterfly, my lunar moth, pinned to the mattress for my enjoyment. And this is the story of how she came to be, like that newborn butterfly, very wet, extremely vulnerable and breathtakingly beautiful.

“Tonight? she asked me quizzically, rolling over to better see what I was doing.

“Yes….tonight. I’ve been thinking about my butterfly collection all day” was my reply as I rifled through The Pillowcase™ for the cuffs.

The Pillowcase™ is just that. An otherwise ordinary, large taupe pillowcase from a bed linen set long since discarded as a result of the corners ripping. No comment on what might have caused that to happen. But now this simple covering is where the Crown Jewels of our toy collection live. It’s where I keep the fleece lined bondage cuffs and matching three-ring collar, a leather ball gag, some nipple clamps, eight or so steel fasteners…

…and The Chains™. Four 1′ foot lengths, two 2′ lengths and a singular 3′ section, all of chromed stainless steel.

Leigh looked at me as I purloined the four matching cuffs from its depths. Most times she likes to put them on, but tonight I wanted to be the one to do that. I consider it an honor to be able to do so, plus it’s just plain fun.

In that she was seated facing me I started with her ankles.

“These,” as I tugged on her pajama bottoms,”will need to come off, please.”

I could tell that, while open to being tied up, she was somewhat resigned due to my not telling her earlier of my plans to add to my collection that evening. But none the less the lacy, knee-length white pajama pants slid over her hips, down her thighs and off her legs.

“You can keep the top on. I like it. It makes you look Victorian” was the answer I gave to her unasked question. And it did. A square neckline, thick shoulder straps, extremely shear in its linen transparency, all adorned with cut work and lace edging. Leigh has that timeless beauty, a look about her that makes women envious. Her features would be considered stunning in any of the last dozen decades. So a Victorianesque bloomer night set worked perfectly with her pinned auburn hair, alabaster skin and warm eyes of the softest blue as far as setting a mood, although the hairless nirvana between her legs was anything but Victorian.

All I was going to do was mix in some era appropriate bondage until she was wet, then eat. Literally.

The Cuffs™ went on her ankles smoothly for the most part. I always try to be gentle when getting that fourth eye aligned with the clasp and buckle. Three is too loose, four is pretty snug but wearable. Same with the wrists. In that she was going to be lying supine she requested to not wear the collar due to the way it squeezes her throat in this position. She is not a fan of continuous breath play to the point where it’s a mild hard limit.

“Lie down in the middle of the bed, with your head as near to the headboard as you can” I said. And with that, plus some pillows under her hips to raise them off the bed, it became time to pin the butterfly.

One steel fastener clicked to each of the mattress handles at the head of the bed, then two more clicked on the outer ring of each ankle cuff. Two more were clicked into place on her wrist cuffs, which in turn were joined by one of the 12″ lengths of chain running under the pillows. Comfy for her, convenient for me in that her arms were now helplessly chained together at her sides.

All that was left to was spread her wings with both of the 2′ lengths of chain.

A quick Dom Tip™ – when chaining a submissive, always run your slack away from them. In other words, secure them from them out. This way you don’t have unused portions of chain hanging free right next to their skin. It looks sloppy, plus it gets in the way and, depending on how much motion activity you have planned,  could become a safety issue.

I clicked an end length of each section to each ankle, making sure the cuffs were aligned properly.

“Spread them, please” I said as emotionlessly as if I was asking her to pass the salt.

The sight and sound of her velvet thighs opening while dragging lengths of steel chain across the bed to the point where they slithered off the carefully folded over comforter, coiling on the hard wood floor in the process, was almost religious. I swear I heard angels either sing or make obscene comments.

Grasping the length attached to her left leg I made it taut.

“Comfortable?” I asked.

Leigh fidgeted a little, adjusted the pillows, readjusted where her head was, then spread her legs just a fraction more.

“I’m good” she replied.

“You’re fucking awesome” I fired back through a Cheshire cat grin. Her smile brightened the candlelit room’s glow.

The key to spread eagle chain bondage is to give the submissive the opportunity to relax into the position while keeping their legs as immobile as possible. You want them secure, tight and incapable of movement. This means no slack in the links. Period. So when I gently (we don’t need a torn hamstring) stretched the chain to where it met the fastener on the mattress handle, I clicked it one link tighter than that distance. That leg was going nowhere.

The last leg (literally) is the one where you really need to be careful you don’t, in your haste to start abusing their helplessness, cause a leg injury like a strained muscle or tendon. The first leg had the luxury of slack in that the other was free to move. Not the second leg. That one pulls and stretches tight the length of both legs and hips.

Gently I pulled the chain. Closer. Closer. Then aligned with the fastener. Just…one……more……


With that I had a helpless butterfly’s wings spread oh so fucking wide. So fucking wide. And I smiled at the absolute and total vulnerability of her smooth cunt.

The Butterfly Chains Act II


Seek And Go Hyde Act III

(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act I or Act II)

It wasn’t so much the calm before the storm as much as before the monsoon.

The rain was going to come hard and heavy, as in my cock was beyond hard and she was going to be fucked heavily with it while she came. Repeatedly. The torrential squirting that are Leigh’s G spot orgasms were all but insured, even before I entered her.

She broke the icy grip that was our combined stare long enough to glance down at the oily monster hovering inches above her helpless spread cunt. There would be no assistance needed to position its bulbous head at the opening to her already glistening slit.

I swear my cock pulsed and twitched at her, like an angry Brahma bull might do before charging.

My hands squeezed her ankles as tight as I could, eliciting a helplessly frantic whimper from Leigh when their fingers pressed deep into her tender flesh. It was a reminder, a silent fair warning to fucking behave…or else.

Hyde wanted to play.

Placing the head of my cock well below the entrance to her cunt I rolled my hips forward. The slick shaft stroked the length of her folds, teasing them, warning them, anointing them for what they were about to receive.

Again and again I used my erection like a rigid tongue on her. It felt fucking amazing how her labia caressed the frenum, making my attempts to tease her not just enjoyable physically but also spiritually. My eyes drank in her distress and growing arousal, my ears in tune with her whimpers and moans

But the inner beast Hyde took in the most. Her fear. And he wanted more. A lot fucking more.

On a lark I started to roll my hips up and down, causing the head of my cock to spank her wide open clit with a staccato thwap thwap thwap.

“Uh..uuh..uuhhh..uuhhhh” she gasped with short, shrill breaths, her legs pulling against my death grip to no avail. Leigh’s torso twisted in spasmodic reflex to the abuse her swelling lil’ button was receiving.

thwap thwap thwap thwap thwap

This was fun. I smiled, which looking back is not in character for me. But then again I really wasn’t the one cock spanking her spread cunt. Hyde was, the evil bastard. And he delighted in her increasing distress.

One last slit length stroke of her and I positioned the thick head at her cunt’s opening. She glanced down at the sight. I know she was thinking “Oh my fucking God there is no way that beast is going to fit inside there!”

“Look at me” I coldly hissed. “I SAID LOOK AT ME SLUT!”

Our eyes locked. Now joined at the soul, it was time to watch her react as we joined at the hip, inch by inch.

I leaned forward and effortlessly slid the head inside her. I’m not sure what felt better – the way her cunt flared open tight or the way her pupils flared open wide. Perhaps it was both, for I cannot recall such an amazing first fuck stroke.

Inch by inch I rolled that slick monster inside her, all the while the sick monster inside me seethed to make her scream in pain and pleasure.

A groan that one would likely imagine hearing from a graveyard at midnight escaped from her. It had a throaty quality to it, deep, husky, thick with mucous and lust. Hyde adored that. So my did cock. It pulsed inside her, eliciting more of the same from her.

After what felt like an eternity my balls pressed firmly up against her, which in turn made her rasp with not so much arousal but legitimate concern about the distinct possibility she was about to be fucking torn apart inside out.

“Ohhhhh fuck baby, that feels amazing” I groaned, pressing as hard as I could without moving, filling her to the limits of her depths. And pinned her to the mattress like that, a sexy butterfly for my personal collection. No motion, no in and out, no friction. Just complete fullness. Hot, wet, silken and vulnerable. The fact her ass cheeks, still raw from the blistering they received just the night before, were pressed hot against me was a bonus.

Leigh exhaled long and slow in an attempt to gather focus, be better able to handle this situation on all accounts. She wiggled her hips ever so slightly, allowing just a fraction more of her depths to be used. I’m sure you all know what that iota of extra space feels like, regardless if you are a man or a woman. It’s the difference between eye rolling and temporary insanity.

I did both.

My eyes rolled back into the recesses of my skull like a B movie demon. My mind….

….snapped. And I growled.

Soft and low, an unmistakable snarl rolled from somewhere inside me. Primal, raw, it had the quality of a predatory cat on the hunt the way it rrrrrrrrolled out of my lungs. I seethed to fuck her blind.

I think this happened a few times, each time growing lower and more guttural in quality. Forgive me for my lack of clarity and recall, for I honestly did not have much blood above my hips for such trivial matters like memory or sanity. Plus the whole issue of someone else being “there” in my stead.


With a pace rivaling melting wax I began to fuck Leigh with long, slow strokes, each one deliberately bottoming out inside her.

“Guuuuhhhhhh” was about as good as she could offer verbally. It was if my cock was obstructing her vocal chords, which is how it felt as each stroke pressed against her cervix. By the way I was kneeling between her wishboned legs each snail pace’s stroke drug the length of my erection across her G spot. Back and forth like January’s molasses, and just as sticky sweet.

Leigh especially responds to the out strokes. Those are what she loves, what turns her cunt into a broken fire hydrant. The way her body rocked and spasmed with each lunge of my cock, how her hands flailed frantically at my hips in a last ditch attempt to save her cunt and her extremely sore ass.

That pissed me off. Really pissed me off. My cunt. My orgasms. Not hers. Fuck her.

My eyes burned with rage. FUCK HER.

Fine. If she wants her hands down there, so be it.

Cold as fuck I looked right through her and, without breaking rhythm, said one thing:

“Grab your ass cheeks….now.”

“UhhhHHHHHH!!!” she whimpered in protest. She gave me those baby deer eyes, pleading, begging for mercy.

She got none. My glare gave her the verdict.

With almost sobbing despair she placed both her hands firmly on each cheek and dug her fingernails in deep. Hyde roared inside me at the scream that escaped her quivering lips.

Now it was time to fuck.

Seek And Go Hyde Act IV

A Peek Back 7-28

It’s true.

Famous actors always lament that the animals steal their best scenes. No ones remembers their performance, only how cute or funny the critter was.

It’s also true for bloggers who share sordid tales of BDSM lust, perversion and all things naughty. Write possibly the hottest Act you’ve ever keystroked in the blog’s short history and what lights up your Twitter TL like a Christmas tree the same day?

A fucking humor piece about our dog JD.

Just kidding. I’m glad JD’s initial (I’m sure you’ll hear from his nose again) post was so well received. As we always say, it does not have to be German opera 24/7 to be real BDSM and D/s.

And speaking of 24/7, did you know that is the reason for one of the following links? Curious? Read on.

For all you new Peekers™, every Saturday AM I share A Peek Back. This feature of TDND™ allows long time Followers as well as you neophyte perverts to review, with a single post,  what has transpired over the past seven days.

Oh, and I typing this Friday night so I can sleep while you read this. Or maybe I’ll be up (heh) early. Either way I’m being selfish with my time, but not at the expense of Peeker™ Nation, which is almost 400 strong now! We should get shirts printed….hhmmm.

If you are a neophyte Peeker™ welcome! I 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 some coffee, sit back and enjoy.

So unless a fucking squirrel runs across my keyboard here are this week’s Peek Back features:

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1, No. 9 – In which we tackle the age old question: plastic or glass anal plugs?

Monday’s Java Taste The Best – The weekly stream of semi-consciousness while in the midst of serious caffienation.

Chain Of Rules Act III – Leigh cuffed, collared and chained torment begins.

Seek And Go Hyde – The newest story. If you are a hand job aficionado you want to read this.

Happy International BDSM Day! – I seriously had no idea there was an official day for WIITWD.

Breaking Leigh Act IX – The longest story on the blog now finds Leigh’s completely bare and very sore ass spanked…hard.

When Words Die – An erotic poem inspired by the evening that inspired Seek And Go Hyde.

Seek And Go Hyde Act II – No bullshit. Possibly the hottest Act I have written yet. Even I needed to cool off after writing it!

The Dog Next Door – Meet JD. He chases squirrels, eats bacon, humorously blogs when I’m not looking and steals my limelight. SQUIRREL!

JD Is Famous! SQUIRREL! – Would you believe that fleabag got reblogged in a humor ePub?

A Rising Tide Floats All Boats – My obligatory post as a BDSM blogger about a certain neutral hued and much maligned book series. Not what you think.

I’m still either asleep or having morning sex! HA!

– Scot

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)

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

(Aside – the following transpired after the first time I received a manicure from Leigh, which was discussed in Finger Sandwiches)

It seems so ironic now, but very early in our courtship Leigh wore a collar just for me.

Well, not a collar per se. A choker. It was black velvet with the tiniest lace edging, a faux cameo adorning its otherwise minimalist appearance.

Allow me to backtrack to before Leigh and I met. I’ve always found chokers to be appealing, erotic, exciting. Perhaps this is due to how snug they are, or how they accentuate the natural beauty of the nape of a woman’s neck. Or it could be the chiaroscuro of that thick band against pale skin.

Or maybe it was my yet to be discovered inner Dominant whispering to me “It looks like a collar. She is wearing a fucking collar. She’ll do salacious things at your request, beg for more and thank you for the privilege of allowing her to orgasm.”

Regardless, I like the look. And Leigh was searing a lifelong memory into my brain. You know, one of those last 100 memories you will recall as the grains of the sands of Time all but empty into the bottom half of Life’s hourglass, upon which you discover all the time you tried to save throughout decades of effort sadly do not equate to a Bonus Round before the dirt nap.

Game over. Thanks for playing. Hope you enjoyed the ride.

So when that time comes for me, I already know that one dollar’s worth of memories out of my last Benjamin’s worth of time to spend will be when I saw Leigh in a choker for the first time.

We had only recently met and, even though hundreds of miles separated us, found a way to fall in love at first sight. A few months into the tornado that was our beginning I flew out to see her as a surprise.  In that I would need transportation from the airport she only knew of my intentions with a fortnight’s warning

After a restless night of little, if any, sleep I bordered the redest eye flight imaginable. It was so early bakers were still sleeping when I departed. Coffee ceased to have a monetary value. Need. Now.

I should have saved my money, for when I saw Leigh I was awake. Oh fuck yes, awake.

I remember the short-sleeved knit sweater, snug faded denims, boots that offered both warmth from the reality of winter as well as fashion. Her short red hair was vibrant in the early light of morning (it was her friend even then), and of course how her blue eyes were cliché with twinkling.

But my eyes fixated on her neck. That choker.

I. Was. Dying.

The ride to her house was delightful. Flirtations of the optical and aural sort, light touches with fingertips, lots of laughter which was still tinged with the nervous energy of beginning relationships.

For almost the entire three hour drive I stared at her neck, hoping the massive erection it was causing wasn’t too obvious.

I commented on her beauty and how nice she looked about 37 times. Yeah, that was me. Mr. Smooth Operator. Keep your smirks to a minimum, please. We all start somewhere.


That weekend we fucked like rabbits on Red Bull and espresso. The first time, when she stripped down, may have been the first time I made a Dominating comment to her.

“Don’t take that off” I said as she reached back to unclasp it. It wasn’t a request or a plea, even though it felt like begging. In hind sight it was very out of character for me.

A slight pause, a wicked grin and it was left in place.

Over the following years she would, on special occasions, “choker up” for me. I always appreciated those evenings.

Which brings us full circle to the evening that precludes the remaining Acts in this tale. When she came to me nude except for her wrists and ankles adorned in black leather bondage cuffs, a three ring matching collar, her alabaster skin accented by an open silk burgundy robe, well it was if I was transported back in time to that car ride.

She still takes my breath away when she wears a collar. Every fucking time.

After my manicure I cupped her chin, raised her eyes to meet mine, and kissed her as if I was going off to fight a war on foreign soil in the morning. My right hand, the same one that makes her nipples hard, ass blister and cunt squirt, cradled her jaw like the finest porcelain.

Our kiss ended when her eyes reopened to find the pointer finger of that hand curled snuggly inside the main ring of her collar. A playful tug reminded her of what was in store for her that evening.

The Chains™.

Chain Of Rules Act II