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

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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

Breaking Leigh Act X

(To read Breaking Leigh Act IAct IIAct IIIAct IV , Act VAct VIAct VIIAct VIII or Act IX)

She initially resisted the idea of the hair brush.

Without going into too much detail, we’ll just say that she has bad memories associated with that from her childhood. Spanking, but not good pain. The baggage was heavy.

I was about to change that.

She had done such a beautiful job cleaning it, polishing it as I instructed her to. I had told her that “I want to be able to see my reflection.” The face of a mad man stared back from the gloss black finish the brush now proudly owned. There was a warm, soft luster to it. The candlelight made for the most interesting sheen dancing across its smooth facade. It reminded me of the way that a clean knife will allow light to dance on its surface.

I smiled at not just that she had, in fact, made a mirror out of her everyday hair brush but also how it’s slightly convex curve gave a fun house look to the glare staring back. Thinking back now I imagine Hyde probably enjoyed this exchange with me via this medium. He must have reviled in my eyes being distorted all monster-like. The irony.

Leigh had finally regained enough composure to warrant the commencement of the final act of her “punishment.” This would be virgin territory for both of us. Aside from some, in review, extremely poor and amateurish efforts with our flogger it had always been just my hand on her ass. Now we were not just introducing a serious striking toy but one that came with emotional history, and all on her already bright red ass cheeks.

I rolled that brush in my hand like a chef would a santoku prior to portioning a prize cut of meat. It was time to make the final cut.

Placing the back of the brush against her ass cheeks must have been a double-edged sword for Leigh. I’m sure the brush felt nice and cool against the scorched skin that was her ass, but there was also the mind fuck that this was really going to occur…and soon.

Just as before it started with soft, circular strokes, only now instead of the warm flesh of my hand it was the cold reality of her own hair brush. Back and forth the hard backside of the brush caressed Leigh’s soft backside. I can only imagine what must have been coursing through her mind and soul at it touched her, kissed her, played with her body and her mind.

But I can definitely recall the heightened sense of fear as she braced when it broke contact with her, meaning only one thing.

It was time.

The first CRACK was unlike anything I had heard before. Shrill, sharp, impersonal. It sounded like a kitchen accident when too much pressure is exerted the wrong way and simple physics gives you a lesson the hard way. It also moved so effortlessly, again the physics of leverage and torque.

It was extremely cold in its language, demeanor and result. That brush was all fucking business. A hand, even a violent one, is at least personal, warm. This was cause and effect, cold as fucking ice in its approach.

And I found that exhilarating. Fucking loved how it felt physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Leigh winced audibly, even though I had scaled back the force of the blow to a four, just like when we started. And within a few more CRACKS her breathing grew rapidly, more so than as a result of my hand at a much higher level of intensity. I knew immediately that she would in no way be able to take the same quantity of blows with a brush as opposed to my bare hand. Which made total sense. I expected as much prior to starting. However, the rate at which she was escalating into her meditative “place”, as she calls it, made it obvious the end was near.

That beautiful fucking plastic CRACK. I was almost drunk on its sound. Again and again I focused my attention to the quivering ass cheeks astride my lap, reveling in her misfortune. Leigh squirmed in an almost spasmodic dance as time after time that brush delivered a stinging blow to an already raw surface.

Her breath grew sharp, the occasional hissss of spit escaped her lips with those perfect blows that sounded like they landed somewhere up inside her. Her fingers clawed the old wooden floors in desperation, her muscles heaving rhythmically as the pace of the attack quickened. CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK filled the night, leaving less and less room for us both. It was if the brush had taken over, was now calling the shots, making us both its bitches. One to provide it life blood, the other to offer it.

“OoohhhhhhHHH” Leigh howled as the spanking’s pace began to crescendo. Seething sounds through clenched teeth matched the CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK blow for spit. It was if an actual fire was going to combust any second.

“Breath…” I reminded her as my hand started to become a blur, “Breath….”

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK again and again, alternating each cheek with lovely impersonal abuse. Then ten in a row on the left cheek, her breath rising higher and higher. She gasped and panted, cute little fucking whimpers came in droves. Then ten on the right, only now she was so far inside herself it became a cacophony of audio erotica like I had never heard.

Back to the left cheek for twenty. She moaned and grunted as if she was choking to death. Now the right one for twenty. I was covered in sweat, my eyes ablaze, totally focused on her as I waited to hear the sound I so desperately wanted to rip from her fucking soul and give right back to her as a gift.

The sound of uncontrollable sobbing.

Breaking Leigh Act XI

A Peek Back 8-4

Is whupped an acceptable term?

I was that in spades last night. Even hearts. Work whupped me. How much so? It was a chore to sit down, which I hadn’t done all day. The floor beckoned like a siren to the rocks. Well they were actually pillows from the couch.

What, you’ve never jumped from one couch to another to avoid the lava flow river below?

Anyway, I had planned to write Act X of Breaking Leigh, the one where depending on my word count  (I try to keep posts to just over 1000 words) it was very likely the tears might finally flow. But, alas, my brain was so much overcooked oatmeal that I chose not to write.

I will never just vomit words to create content, be a slave to page views, etc., nor I am interested in accumulating scores of Peekers™ for the sake of scores of Peekers™.  If people wish to peek through the keyhole, they are welcome. If their own social networking efforts appeal to me, I will Follow back.

Coffee….more….coffee. Ahhhhhh…

If you’re a neophyte Peeker™ Leigh and I welcome you to your initial peeks 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 coffee (we’re big on coffee), sit back and enjoy.

So hoping I stay awake long enough to Publish this, here is this week’s Peek Back:

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.10 – Avid Peeker™ Kayla Lords wanted to know if we employed punishment in our D/s relationship. Now she knows the answer and why.

Monday Coffee Kickstart – Random musings on random topics with a barely functioning Dominant in need of a caffeine fix.

We’re Pink Leather Unicorn Awesome! Twice! – The most unique blog award image yet, more Scot  trivia (sigh) and a list of fucking awesome blogs you need to check out.

What Subspace Feels Like – The Fates decided we should hear this song. It shook us, as well as others from all the Comments.

I Inspired A Coffee Nooner – An off the cuff comment to romance author Miya Kressin on Twitter inspired her to write some java smut! You will never drink a latte the same every again, trust me.

Others Agree Subspace Feels Like That – Our .02 on the aforementioned song and subsequent post gets a feature mention in an ePaper!

Chain Of Rules Act IV – This latest act of the Chain Of Rules story focuses on two of Leigh’s most magnificent attributes not called eyes.

Seek And Go Hyde Act III – How hot is this? I needed to change my shirt after writing it. The Comments agree – probably the most scalding Act I’ve written thus far. Whew!

Just Cry – A very personal and special erotic poem for my doll, trying to capture a very personal and special moment.

I think I have the energy to click Publish. Maybe another cup of coffee will ensure you all read this today.

– Scot

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.

Hyde.

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.

Fuck!!!

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