Chain Of Rules Act VII

(To read Chain Of Rules Act IAct IIAct IIIAct IVAct 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.

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.13

Another Selfish Sunday, another IWASV™ at highway speeds.

The way the blog is starting to resemble a snowball rolling down an Alpine mountainside toward the sleepy, unexpecting village in the valley below feels like blogging above the speed limit as well. I’ll touch on this more sometime tomorrow morning in my weekly Monday java musings slash feeble attempt to chemically jump start my nervous system via massive doses of caffeine and smart ass commentary. But thank you all in advance.

If you are a long time (all of not four months makes you an old timer) Peeker™ you should be familiar with Leigh and mine’s adoration of spanking. She craves the good pain and release that a proper ass blistering can provide. I crave the way a few thousand well placed spanks from my hand can send her so far inside herself, as well as the simplistic reality that it’s humbling and fun as fuck to spank her snowy (more snow references) white ass cherry read.

It’s certainly a symbiotic relationship. Each of us feed off what the other brings, provides and gives freely via the course of a spanking session. Anyone who does not believe in the power exchange aspect of WIITWD is full of shit in my opinion. I’ve blogged about this on numerous occasions. Feel free to review the Random Musings in The Archives for more on my feelings regarding this.

But (heh, I said but while discussing spanking) back to the topic at hand (I’m killing myself here). Peeker™ surrenderedone offered this lovely question in regards to spanking, subspace/Topspace, limits and the power exchange that ties it all together (ooooh, bondage). She wanted to know:

“When Sir and I recently spent a long weekend together, we explored erotic spanking further.  I think my reactions to His spanking caused Him to worry He was hurting me too much for me to handle, and I wasn’t sure how to reassure Him.  I have read enough of your experiences to know that it is a process, that in some ways it seems to be like “hitting” the wall before the endorphins fit in. Both He and I want to push the limits further….to reach that “place.”  Are there any tips you have for reassuring each other and not being afraid to just “let go”?  We both feel we stopped before we really got to the good stuff ;)”

First, thank you for thinking enough of us to ask a spanking question. We are relative newcomers (heh) to this as well.

Spanking can be a (bad joke warning) hit or miss proposition. There are so may ways to approach how to not just incorporate this into your play but also just how. It seems a number of proponents embrace the few but fierce approach of a limited number of actual blows but at a velocity that is close to, if not at, their physical capabilities to deliver. Plus there is the whole issue of striking implements such as paddles, straps, canes, etc.

For the sake of my reply I will deal with the classic bare hand on bare ass. Its hard (I give up) to go wrong with this approach, but with it may I offer these suggestions:

– Start slow and low, as in not that violent. Warm the skin up, get the blood flowing, ease into the scene. You wouldn’t start your car on a freezing January morning and floor the accelerator to red line the RPMs, would you? Then use the same approach when warming your submissive’s ass.

– Use tempo. A slow steady rhythm that can be built on, increased in pace as the scene progresses. To build intensity rapidly strike the same ass cheek in repetition. A ten or twenty count on the same cheek is vastly different from the same alternating every other butt cheek.

– SDS. Cannot convey how important striking they Same Damn Spot repeatedly is. This builds endorphins like nothing else. Don’t wander. Find the submissive’s sweet spot, focus and hit it in succession with our waver. You’ll see.

– Build in breaks to the scene. This is where the Dominant needs to earn their stripes. The ability to know when their submissive has reached a certain level, a plateau, then push them just a little further than they think they can go. Now stop. Allow blood to flow back to the abused area. You’ll be rewarded on a variety of levels for this. It gives the submissive a chance to acclimate to their situation, perhaps get some endorphins, and also the increased blood return should aid in the acquisition of welts and bruises, which are oddly important to most submissives post scene.

– Now start all over but a little harder. Increase the force of the blows, the intensity, etc. Repeat all of the above. With each new round of spanks just keep doing what I described above, but with just a little more force, a hair more intensity.

– Eventually you will both reach a state where it is obvious that you have arrived at, or more specifically pushed each other to, what you think are your limits. This is where communication is key, and why safe words are so important. Until the submissive cries yellow or red, the Dominant should continue. The Dominant should know their submissive well enough to read body language, breathing patterns, muscle tension, verbal cues, etc.

Both of you will need to trust the other implicitly. The submissive will be at ease knowing that the Dominant will not ignore their impending limits but also push them a little. The Dominant will trust that as long as the submissive does not safe w0rd that everything, regardless of what it may appear, is fine. The submissive must NOT be proud! This is crucial. To endure any sort of BDSM play well past the point of “good pain” is dishonest. It is OK to call red, to admit that is enough. But before one does, trust the Dominant to know if you are capable of more than you may think. Likewise, as the Dominant it is your job to know when to push and when to back off.

In the end, it’s all about communication and trust. Don’t abuse either from either role in the D/s dynamic and you both will be rewarded. Don’t be afraid to be afraid, either of you. It’s OK.

I hope this helps you both push past that edge and into a whole new level of “letting go.”

– Scot

A Peek Back 8-18

I promised, after last’s weeks tangent on safe words, this week would be story intensive. So far I feel that I have honored my word.

Counting poetry, which is special to me in that it’s about one person and one person only (my Leigh), there are five new pieces of erotica to read. And, before midnight Sunday, there will be at least two more.

That would be, since I was in school the day they covered sevens, seven stories and poems in seven days. Its been a challenge to keystroke that much and have the confidence in them to click Publish. But I have enjoyed it, and from the page views so have you. There is a very good chance we could set a single week views record.

Very soon, likely in the next week or so, you will be all privy to some flogging stories, or at least one. Our initial foray into flog play went very well. Leigh was quite floaty, and I was rather proud of my neophyte efforts with the leathers. She has given this avenue the green light, so it’s very likely that as the days grow shorter our flogging stories will grow longer (heh).

I fucking love using it on her. Not gonna lie. But there is so much to learn and consider when using one. Practice, practice, practice. Plus Leigh has had a most unique challenge this week. You’ll read more about that as well.

If you’re a first time Peeker™ Leigh and I welcome you to your virginal peek through the keyhole. 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 a cup of coffee (we’re big on coffee) sit back and enjoy.

Speaking of coffee, read this week’s Peek Back as I get some more:

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.12 – In leu of a Peeker™ question I accepted another blogging award. This means ten more pieces of Scot Trivia…sigh.

The Greatest Coffee Excuse Is 6 AM Monday – Considering I was barely awake this week’s assortment of random musings was pretty good.

Drip Drop – An erotic poem inspired by the candlelit vision that was Leigh’s chained, spread eagle pose.

Scenesounds – While we haven’t added music to scenes, this is why and also some we might when we do.

The Butterfly Chains Act II – My sadistic plans took an unexpected turn when Leigh’s erotic beauty cast a spell.

An Erotic World Champion Poet – My poem Drip Drop was featured in a cleverly named ePub. I’m totally claiming this.

Breaking Leigh Act XI – The final act in the longest story on the blog, and a very special one to me personally.

Breaking Leigh – Epilogue – The postscript to the above. What happened later that night plus some thoughts on the story.

My Alabaster Doll – Another piece of erotic poetry, this time regarding the flogging of Leigh’s beautifully displayed breasts.

One last thing, a confession if you will. I’m actually typing this Friday evening. Oh, I didn’t lie about getting more coffee. I am. Just not as I prepare to finalize this so I can sleep in with my doll.

Am I sorry to have possibly told a creative truth earlier?

Nope…

– Scot

Breaking Leigh – Epilogue

(Note – this epilogue will have little meaning if you have not read Breaking Leigh)

12, 018 words to describe thirty minutes Leigh and I shared one amazing June evening. In literary terms that constitutes a novella.

When I signed Act XI the other evening I felt empty, vulnerable, fragile. It was akin to cradling a newborn, or handling other extremely delicate items that have personal value beyond measure. In a way I guess I was doing just that.

A memory. A precious moment now frozen in the sands of time and, through the marvels of 21st century digital technology, in bits and bytes for all of you to share in with us. I’m still, as I lie here on our bed not even five feet from where the story unfolded spank by smack, feeling a bit off. It’s entirely possible I’m experiencing an extremely mild and rare case of second-hand (heh) Topspace as a result of verbally articulating the keepsake that is the memory of that night.

I admit to actually being mildly afraid to writing that final Act out of not just the fear that I did not have the writing chops to do the moment’s beauty justice, but also that I was not sure how I was going to react myself. But I did, I am glad I did, and I am appreciative of everyone’s patience (I know, I know…) as Act to Act slowly unfolded like a rose bud into a full bloom.

Truth be told the night did not end there. Aftercare was administered with the same feelings that I mentioned above. Leigh was gone. Her body was there, but she was so far inside her self that only her gorgeous, school girl outfitted shell was there. I helped her to bed, got her some water, then wrapped myself around her. I held her tight, soothed her tears, stroked her hair, whispered enough sweet nothings to write a novella in and of themselves. Limp is an understatement as far as her body. She allowed me the honor of taking about everything that makes her Leigh and trusted me with it while she soared in subspace. There were no emotions left to give, no sparkle in what now looked like a doll’s eyes all glassy and black, not even the ability to hold me.

When she came back a short while later it was with a perverted vengeance.

We fucked like wild animals. Viciously. Sweating. Physical. Primal heat. Raw. We tried to kill one another with cunt and cock. The resultant mess of vaginal fluid soaked bedding and semen splattered plaid skirt was downright pornographic. Hyde got to play with Leigh’s counterpart. If a seething fuck is possible, we seethed each other’s brains out.

And I could have easily written another five or so Acts about that. But I won’t.

No, the end was when she looked back at me with her face a shambles of tear induced chaos and meekly smiled. Actually it just occurred to me that was Leigh saying “Thank you” in silence right before she left me for subspace.

This was a difficult story to write for, as I mentioned, a number of reasons. And for a number of Peekers™ it was a difficult story to read, especially the final three acts. Your Comments did not go unnoticed. It never occurred to me that by sharing our new memory that it may rip the scar off an old one for others, a wound that perhaps they did not willingly submit to receiving. If any undue trauma or the like resulted as an after effect of reading this story I apologize for your pain. Please know that Leigh’s desire to do this, as well as her eventual breakdown, were all done consensually with compassion, care, consideration, concern and above all love.

It may sound odd to those who do not understand or participate in WIITWD, but as violently as I attacked her ass with hand and hair brush every one of those strokes was administered with her well being in mind. The emotions that streamed out of her eyes in rivers were as pure as you can find, streams of salted emotion that flowed from the same pools from which tears of joy flow. You have to trust me on this. If you have ever just started crying from overwhelming happiness, or a stimuli of that sort, that is a variation of what she shed in great, heaving sobs over my knee.

It is NOT easy to just let go. Leigh’s role in our dynamic is far more complex and involved than mine. For her to truly experience the wondrous joy of total freedom and release she needs to leave reality behind. That is fucking difficult. Know why?

Because people fear themselves more than anything else. Leigh would argue she fears snakes more than anything, but I digress.

In her poem Our Greatest Fear Marianne Williamson sums this up best when she states:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

And she is right.

Leigh was powerful beyond measure that night. And I was, and am, blessed to have her as my best friend, coffee drinking bud, wife,  lover, kitchen helper, dog player wither, joke cracker, confidant, favorite hugger, slice of caker, and yes, my slutty doll behind a closed bedroom door.

– Scot

Breaking Leigh Act XI

(To read Breaking Leigh Act IAct IIAct IIIAct IVAct VAct VIAct VIIAct VIIIAct IX or Act X)

“And to think you have five more minutes of this before you’re done!” I seethed.

Which was true. I’d been, with a few breaks to allow her to plateau, been steadily blistering her ass cheeks for 25 minutes. Yes, I’d made a mental note as to when the first SMACK echoed that night. My telling her about the next 300 seconds of her life was two fold. It allowed me to stay in character, yet convey to Leigh critical information right as the scene was at its most intense. I never stopped spanking or said “yellow” or otherwise took away from the magic that we both had worked so hard to create. She now knew she only had five minutes of this torture left, which did wonders for her fight or flight reflex.

It’s the same as turning the last corner of the last lap of a mile race. Up until then your brain screams “STOP RUNNING YOU FUCK!” at your body. It has no idea how long this agony is going to continue. But when you can physically see the finish line that same brain, the one that has been holding reserve energy all along, says “Oh….OK. Here, have some more!” and you get a second wind in that you now know there will not just be an end but its in sight and will arrive soon.

The second reason I shared this tidbit with her was simple. It was fucking fun and sadistic.

“EhhhhHHHHHH!!!” she shrieked at the news, all the while the brush a virtual blur of CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK on her now cherry red ass. Her legs kicked in frantic response. Panting gobs of air were as violently sucked in her as I was beating on her. Oh how she whimpered! Saliva patterns covered the floor and wall courtesy of her wretched breathing. The palms of her hands stomped flat with what I assume was a primal urge to escape, perhaps fight off the inevitable. The unmistakable sound of nasal congestion was a welcome newcomer to this erotic symphony. Why?

That meant that tears had to be not far behind.

I picked up the intensity. It was now or never.

“Four more minutes!” I yelled. The excitement in the air was beyond static. The air around us felt liquid, lush, alive, surging with the heat of the moment.

“UhhhHHuhhhUHhhUhhhUhhhhHHHuHHH!!!” was the almost drowning acknowledgment. If she wasn’t in full involuntary reply yet she was damn fucking close.

I brought the brush down at a level six for about ten spanks before I heard a frantic, hoarse voice call out. Through raspy, sucking breaths Leigh rasped “No more with the brush!!!”

This wasn’t playing. Fuck, it wasn’t even Leigh’s voice, or at least any voice I had ever heard emitted from her. This was yellow, as in “You’re very close to red, Scot. Listen to me.”

I admit I contemplated ignoring her plea. But this is where it pays to know your submissive. It wasn’t an “Oh no, not three more minutes of this!” reaction, but more “You have driven me past my so thought limits but one more and I’ll scream red” alert.

What to do?

I dropped the brush.

And then, with my bare hand, tore into her ass at a level seven.

SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK as if my life depended on how many vicious blows I could deliver as fast as possible in the same place. Over. And over. And over.

Leigh made an initial “OoohhhhhhHHHHHHHHH”….and then got quiet.

Like death quiet.

“Two more minutes” I said sternly, with admitted concern over her sudden silence. The only sounds I could hear were, to me, what were the auto reflex my arm had become delivering welt after welt to her ass cheeks and my heart beating out of my chest from exertion and love.

Those two dominated what seemed like an eternity to me, but in hindsight were likely not even half a minute, if that.

That’s when I heard it.

A sob.

One solitary, heaving, low pitched sob split the night like broken glass.

Then another.

Wailing. Not hysterical, or even wrought with feeling. Just long, lush, wet sounds coming in a slow, staggered rhythm. Sad, soulful, mourning something.

Leigh was crying.

And not just crying. Sobbing. What to me felt like gobs of tears bursting out one after the other, the emotions she had kept dammed up now just flowed, freed at last.

I had broken her. And she had given me the gift of her tears, a gift I wanted so badly to share with her. It was beautiful. And I mean fucking beautiful. There are no words in the English vernacular to even begin to describe how precious that moment was.

Through this all my hand never stopped once. I still spanked her as ferociously as I had been.

“Breath” I calmly offered. “Only one more minute.”

My left hand massaged her lower back, letting her know that even as I rode her hard to the finish that it was all out of compassion. I owed her these next sixty seconds.

I was not privy to the entirety of her face, obviously. But I could see the better portion of the left side of it. The glistening cheek bones told me everything.

She earned the right to sob uncontrollably in silence, to savor each tear, just let herself be, flow, exist. And she did, with exquisite sounding tears that were deep, primal, free of cause. Just running in rivers down her pretty face between each beautiful sob.

And that’s how I broke Leigh. Or more appropriately how we did.

When the clock reached the bottom of the hour my hand stopped. Caresses. Touches. Soft strokes of her beyond abused backside, my other hand massaging her back. All the while she just laid there across my lap and cried without restriction.

“That’s my good girl” I said with a smile. I was so proud of her.

She glanced back at me, her face a destroyed wreck of runny mascara, tear soaked cheeks, swollen eyes, puffy and flushed skin….and meekly smiled.

sigh

Aside from when I lifted her veil before kissing her as my wife for the first time, she may have never looked more beautiful.

– Scot

Breaking Leigh – Epilogue

A Peek Back 8-11

The keyhole this week, at time, felt more like an impromptu soap box, or even a pulpit.

Please don’t think of that opening sentence as my intentional attempts to be preachy. I’ve made no secret that I am a complete neophyte at all of this. Learning on the hand job, if you will. My musings are just that – my two pennies on whatever is on my mind. And its worth that much as well.

I very often plan various post such as stories, but often my random musings are either manifestations of ideas that have been simmering for a while are and ready for public consumption or, more often, something that just occurs to me.

The latter was the case this week. And the results as far as reactions, comments and page views were not just surprising but, in cases, humbling beyond my means to convey. When, in essence, complete strangers (well, y’all have to admit we are all strange!) take something you wrote and not just to heart but to their spouse…

…that’s humbling. Seriously. I don’t even know where to start with the magnitude, significance and overall “Really?” of that.

Serious shit for so early on a weekend, huh?

The blog had its second best week for views. July doubled June’s visits, which were two times as many as May. Closing in on 500 Peekers™. Twitter has exploded again (we really do have a lot of fun just bullshitting there). I don’t shamelessly shill for any type of Following of any sort anywhere. So these numbers reflect perverts, er, people who are curious, who want to peek through the keyhole and, if they like what read, share with others. Leigh and I thank all of you for the love, support and general debauchery you share.

And only one cup of coffee so far!

If you’re a first time Peeker™ Leigh and I welcome you to your initial peek through the keyhole. 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 java, sit back and enjoy.

In that I want to go get more java, here is this week’s Peek Back:

The Unsafe Word – I very rarely beg. It’s Leigh that begs. That said, please I beg of you read this if you or someone you know is thinking about meeting a Dominant for the first time.

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.11 – Peeker™ extarodinaire Jodie Griffin wanted to know if I had limits and have safe worded. I kinda went off on a tangent while answering her question.

Coffee Kickstart My Blog – My weekly way too early on a Monday ramblings while trying to wake up. This past week I mused for over 1200 words! Yeah coffee!

Breaking Leigh Act X – The hairbrush finally comes out. Will Leigh finally cry from just spanking?

The Butterfly Chains – The newest story on the blog. If spread eagle chain bondage is your kink, you may want to read this.

An Open Letter To The Frustrated Submissive Wife’s Husband – My humble thoughts for a wife’s Mr. she wishes would become Sir as well. The response to this has been amazing.

Butterflies Flight Of  Fantasy – An ePaper thought enough of The Butterfly Chains to Feature it!

I Lost My Interview Cherry And With Coffee! – I was asked by the vivacious Bell of DD & D/s, an amazing spanking and DD & D/s blog, to share some things about myself and kink…over coffee! My first blog interview!

Done. Publish. Second cup of coffee. Ahhhhhhh…

– Scot

An Open Letter To The Frustrated Submissive Wife’s Husband

When I wrote An Open Letter To The Frustrated Submissive Wife I had no idea it would become one of the most popular page views on the blog. It was in response to not just a direct question from a Peeker™ via email but also, by a landslide, the most commonly used keyword search theme that finds TDND™.

It did not occur to me at the time that the frustrated submissive wife would ask her husband to read either that or other posts in The Archives. I know that the overwhelming majority of Peekers™ are female, which is cool. I also acknowledge that blogs like ours are, by all accounts, rare. Not many Sirs who are also Mr. to their Mrs. write. You hear about them all the time via their doll’s (that’s the term I use for Leigh so it’s what I am comfortable saying) blog posts, but never get to interact with them, read their thoughts, see their feelings first hand, etc. It’s always from her view, her recollection, her interpretation.

As I and Peeker™ Nation both learned throughout the drama that was the Torn saga (especially when Leigh interjected her own feelings and views) was that my perceived reality and Leigh’s couldn’t have been more different. It was an extremely valuable, albeit  emotionally and spiritually tortuous, lesson. But now learned, I am in a much better place to admit to myself that there are parts of my psyche that are just plain vile, perverted and sadistic…and that Leigh loves when I let who/what/it I know refer to as Hyde come out to play. The links on that page offer more insight.

Combine all the aforementioned and this is what I would like to say to you, her current guy and potential Sir:

To the Husband Of A Frustrated Submissive Wife,

I know exactly how you feel. Trust me, I was there.

Oh sure, some husbands just take to Dominating their wives likes ducks to water. But I’ll bet that you and I are the norms rather than the exception. To be completely upfront yes, it was my idea to start all of what you can read about in The Archives. But, based on my brief experiences sharing WIITWD…

Oh, that’s What It Is That We Do, a common BDSM acronym. You’ll learn more about that in time and so much more if you listen very closely to what I am about to share with you.

Remember her? You know, the woman who eventually became your Mrs.? Think back to the very first months or year of that courtship. Smiling evilly right now? Good! You should be. She was something back then, huh? Amazing sex on draft whenever you wanted it. Everything tasted better when you two went out on dinner dates. The music that you danced and did all sorts of naughty things to are still etched into your memory as a soundtrack of Life’s Greatest Hits. More than likely she was thinner then, obviously younger, and the mere sight and thought of you made her head spin, heart pound and pussy drip.

Perhaps there were no gray hairs yet, or if you are blessed with children what pregnancy, childbirth and raising infants can do to the female anatomy, let alone mentality.

And I bet you were kinky, or at least tried kinky shit. Sex someplace other than the bedroom is kinky. So are simple blindfolds made when you almost took her teddy off all the way. Or that time you pinned her arms down when you both were in the throes of an amazing quickie. Or how could you forget caving into that temptation to CRACK her doggy style arched ass while you fucked her into the Tuesday of next week…and she liked it.

But Time waits for no one. You now have responsibilities, perhaps a family. Those little people running around your house are demanding. You are both heavier, stressed, no longer each other’s focal point, maybe even starting to gray. And that’s OK. You take care of things, which she may not say as much but loves when you do so. Bonus points if it’s without being asked.

Sex is now mundane, perhaps even predictable. Hey, with the mortgage due and the transmission acting up its understandable. Bills, meals, yard work, the kid’s practices, can’t forget the job and all that stress.

Am I hitting home yet?

And, now to top all of this off, the woman who wears your ring wants you to not just take her sexually but even use her that way in what you think is a perverted manner. Roughly. Violently. Tied up and helpless. Made to beg to orgasm, then thank you for the privilege. Spanked to the point of tears, then fucked raw.

Maybe she wants to be forced to do things that even she finds humiliating and degrading. She saw this video online of this poor girl who was made to….

…and all the while you are thinking “WHO the fuck is this woman?”

For years she has been your equal partner (who am I kidding? She runs this show!). You were taught your whole life to be respectful, courteous, treat women with kid gloves. You love her more than anything and would never hurt a hair on her head, lat alone even think about raising your hand to her.

She’s your wife. Your lover. Carried your babies for you. Your best friend in the whole world. She balances the checkbook, buys the groceries, makes the meals, takes the kids everywhere like a fucking taxi, worries about how she looks, has her own job worries and issues…and wonders if you still feel the same way about her as you did when you first dated.

Pulse racing a little? Getting a little warm, or even pissed?

Good!

That means fuck yes you do care! If by now you’re still cold as stone inside do us both a favor and stop reading this. You have bigger issues to resolve than the fact that your wife wants to be your slut and you her Sir. But, if your face is slightly flushed and you’re using your selective male hearing because you’re so focused, listen very closely:

D/s (that’s Domination and submission) can bring “her” back. And not for the reasons you think.

Yes, the incredible “that only happens in pornography” sex will help. But in order to do WIITWD you need to communicate openly and freely. You need to respect any limits she has. That’s not to say you can’t push them, but you will respect them. Trust is crucial. It’s the riverbed communication flows over.

What is going to happen is that everything it takes to Dominate your wife, especially BDSM, will spill over into every other aspect of your now dull, predictable married lives. She, for everything else in your lives she makes decisions on and about, wants to not just NOT do that in the bedroom but completely made to do whatever it is YOU want. And I mean whatever.

She wants to have an affair. She wants to cheat on her husband. She thinks about another man constantly, one that will do the most heinously perverted things to her, in her, on her, with her and for her.

You.

She wants to cheat on her husband with her own spouse.

And don’t tell me you haven’t had the same kind of feelings. You’ve looked. We all do. So does she. But what if you could have a torrid affair and she not only knew about it but gave you her blessing as well?

You can. With your wife.

The Trust and Communication that flows out of D/s will blow the ashes off the embers forged during the infancy of your relationship, the same embers you thought were long cold and dead.

They’re not. They never die. Time and all its allies will heap a mountain of ash called Life and Reality on top of them, but they never stopped glowing. You may have grown colder, as did she, but the fire still remained.

D/s and BDSM, specifically what it takes to embrace them, will not just blow away all those ashes but restoke those embers to the inferno you remember burning in your and her eyes when you first dated.

You hold the key, or should I say rope and paddle, in your hands. What you do with it is up to you.

Now if you excuse me I feel an overwhelming desire to sext my wife. I cannot wait to see her eyes, kiss her lips, hold her tight and let our own rekindled flames burn brighter.

I love you Leigh.

– Scot