Monday’s Java Tastes The Best

Good morning all you kinky bastards.

Coffee really does taste better on Monday mornings. Maybe its the wear of the weekend slamming head on into the reality of 6am Monday. Who knows? But it takes on more meaning when you really need it.

What a week. What a fucking week. I don’t even know where to begin. The not even one week old weekly views record was destroyed by a 50% increase in views.

And that is enough of numbers from me, at least for the time being. Do I like seeing views increase? Hell yeah. But I’d rather have active, curious, interesting Peekers™. And what a bunch of kinky, perverted, twisted voyeurs you all are.

I do not want, nor will I allow, this blog to ever, EVER become all about the page views. I appreciate them, I try to be active to create worthy content, I make attempts to write twice a day during the week, but it will not become one of those cookie-cutter blogs that blurs the lines between Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest, Facebook, etc. to create meh content solely to make page views spike. I even chose to not write last Saturday in that my brain resembled poorly cooked oatmeal after a long day at work. And rather than word vomit a thousand or so meh cold verbal lumps into a story, I just said “Fuck it!” and went off to bed.

With Leigh. I chose wisely. You’ll be reading about that evening soon.

I know I do not get to everyone’s blogs as often as I would like. WordPress Reader is simply retched. When I get the chance to add everyone’s blogs I will migrate to Google Reader. That should help me in my efforts to support everyone else’s efforts.

On those efforts a humble suggestion: regardless of how interesting the topic or how well written it may be, if your 1000+ word blog post has only three or so paragraphs I am not going to read it. Sorry if that pisses you off, but 600 word paragraphs? Really?

On that note:

– The reaction via the comments to Can Submission Be Dominated was nothing short of amazing. Including my replies we’re over fifty comments on this single post. And what Comments! Eloquent, well crafted, multi-100 word replies abound. So many thoughts from a variety of views. I honestly feel the Comments are now more important than the post! Please, if you have not done so yet, check this post out and make sure to see how amazing Peeker Nation™ is.

– Leigh opened the bedroom door yesterday during our Selfish Sunday™. How? Well, we’ll just say that the families of tourists not twenty feet on either flank of us had any idea I was slowly tweeking the nipple of Leigh’s exposed breast. My gentle over the snug tank top ministrations were rewarded with an unveiling, lovely sighs, moans and the exquisite knowledge that not only was Leigh embracing on the sly exhibitionism but clandestine public carnal knowledge as well.

I respected her hard limit about this up to the point she exposed herself. But with this step future adventures will be taken, not just offered. She’s already thinking about increasing her skirt and dress wardrobe for ease of access. Game on…

– A Peeker™ asked me to CP (crit partner) a potential BDSM blog post. I’ve never been a CP in this manner before (I have read Leigh’s efforts per her request). To be thought of enough to be asked to do so was very humbling.

– I am trying very hard (heh) to keep the Acts of the various stories flowing.

– Its official. I have the writing bug. It starts to gnaw at me. Quote Leigh – “Welcome to my world!”

– Also the worst kept secret is out. Yes, there are plans for writing THE book. It will happen. It will not be fiction. It will make you laugh hard while also desiring to read it one-handed. Think Keillor meets de Sade.

– I will have my first piece of erotic fiction So Tell Me available as a self published eShort by October. There. I said it. Now I have to finish it.

– Leigh’s ass is frustrating both of us. I beat on it for an hour this past Saturday and the next morning all she had as a souvenir were some mild surface abrasions. And I mean BEAT. She likes seeing the bruises and welts, as do I. What to do, what to do…

– If you live near a farmer’s market or the like and are not supporting them, shame on you. Go. Buy only what you will eat that night. Your health, wallet and especially taste buds are welcome.

– Remember my Dominating Soccer Mom & her teenie? Did the same thing again to the manager of an indie book store. Quote as I handed her the same five words (“The Siren” by Tiffany Reisz) “This is the book that other series wishes it was.”

– I was unaware of the comments being left by those who have voted for us as Best Bondage Blog over at bondageawards.com. Leigh mentioned that I should read what others were saying. I did.

Wow…

I know I say it a lot, but I was humbled to the core. The Comments were touching. Thank you all for sharing such sentiments and for taking the time to vote (it’s not too late to do so if you haven’t).

As for the blog:

This week I WILL make it to Dom Depot to take the photos needed for the next BDSM On A Budget installment. You will all get to meet The Chains™ (as featured in Chain Of Rules) and their friends, as well as my easy tutorial on inexpensive bondage with expensive looking and performing results. That story and Breaking Leigh will continue to be updated (can you believe we’ll be on Act X soon?) I’m learning more about Hyde and will comment on such (and hopefully some new stories in which He showed up last week. Twice).

There may also be the first book review on TDND™ as I am rereading a BDSM one that has given me, with the gift of hindsight, some eye opening affirmations. Another Peeker™ may be Unchained (it is in process). I owe Leigh a poem. And I may even comment about a certain book series that has everyone in an uproar.

And with that I need more coffee. It’s Monday, ya know.

– Scot

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Leigh On Spanking

I am not one for memes. You know, like that 30 Days Of Kink you read on about everyone’s blog eventually. It just does not appeal to me. Nothing against those who routinely use these to accentuate their blogs. I will read them if they are on a blog I follow. But all in all just not my cup of blog.

That said, I chanced across a spanking one. You may have read it on other blogs, or even taken it yourself.

Upon showing it to Leigh, she said she was game.

Game on, then. (Her answers in italics)

Spacer Bar

  1. Would you rather be spanked outside in a cold woodshed or inside by a cozy fire? Cozy fire.
  2. Would you rather be spanked in public or private? Private.
  3. Would you rather fantasize about spanking or actually be spanked? Actually be spanked.
  4. Would you rather be spanked for humiliation or for your spanker’s pleasure? Spanker’s pleasure. Humiliation would be a deal breaker for me.
  5. Would you rather be spanked by hand or hairbrush? Hand.
  6. Would you rather be spanked by belt or cane? Neither. I hate belts and have no desire to have a cane used on me.
  7. Would you rather be spanked by ping-pong paddle or riding crop? Paddle.
  8. Would you rather be restrained or unrestrained during a spanking? Unrestrained, but being restrained could be a fun change!
  9. Would you rather be spanked until you cried or until you are aroused? Aroused, but sometimes being spanked until I cry is something I need too. It all depends on the mood.
  10. Would you rather have just a red bottom or welts/bruises? Bruises and welts.
  11. Would you rather be spanked for the naughty things you have done or just because you enjoy the experience? Because I enjoy it. I would not want to be spanked for real punishment at all.
  12. Would you rather be spanked with panties up or panties down? Panties down around my knees.
  13. Would you rather be spanked somewhat clothed or entirely naked? Somewhat clothed, skirt lifted or pants pulled down just enough.
  14. Would you rather be spanked OTK or bent over a table/chair? Bent over something.
  15. Would you rather your spanker have physical contact with you? Yes, most definitely.
  16. Would you prefer to be spanked in the woods with a tree branch, bent over the hood of a car, or in a school with a ruler bent over the desk of your teacher/principal? Bent over the hood of a car sounds fun!
  17. Would you rather be a brat to your spanker to deserve a spanking or simply ask your spanker for a spanking because you know you needed it? Just because I need it.
  18. Have you received a spanking in the last week? Yes.
  19. Would you rather be spanked for the physical pleasure or the emotional release? Both!
  20. Would you rather tell your best friends that you enjoy to be spanked or keep it a secret? Keep it a secret.
  21. Would you rather spanking be a lifestyle choice or just something you dabble in? Really neither. We engage in spanking because its something we both enjoy, but it’s not really a lifestyle choice because it’s not a cause/effect type of relationship. We are not choosing to be a specific way for the rest of our life, we are simply doing something we like with no labels.
  22. Would you rather your lover be a vanilla or a spankoholic too? Spankaholic brings to mind someone who has a need that they can’t control. I’d like to have my lover somewhere solidly in the middle of the scale where they crave it but not to the point of uncontrollableness.
  23. Would you rather be spanked by a stranger or by someone who knew you well? Only by my significant other.
  24. Would you rather be spanked by a despotic, mean person or by a compassionate, benevolent person? Someone who is compassionate.
  25. Would you rather be talked to while you are spanked or no talking at all? No talking, it pulls me out of my head.
  26. Would you rather get one swat at a time with pauses to let the sting set in or a continuous tanning to build up the fire? Continuous spanking with small breaks between.
  27. Would you rather be forced into a spanking or willingly submit into a spanking? Willingly submit.
  28. Would you rather have a safe word or be pushed beyond your preconceived limits? Always have a safe word but have never used it.
  29. Would you rather your spanker know your spanking history or is ignorance bliss? Since my husband is also my only spanker, he knows my exact history.
  30. Would you rather be spanked by multiple people at one time or just by one person at a time? Only one person.
  31. Would you rather be spanked once a day or once every few months? Maybe once a week. I can’t imagine every day, and once every few months would be too little.
  32. Would you rather your spanker be deeply in tune or be totally unaffected to your experiences as a spankee? Totally in tune.
  33. Would you rather a closer physical relationship or a closer emotional relationship with your spanker? Both, but the emotional connection makes the physical one even better.
  34. Would you rather your spanker ice your bottom down after a spanking or send you to the corner to display his/her accomplishment? I wouldn’t want either. The physical connection afterwards is so much more important to me, plus I hate ice!
  35. Would you rather your spanker be the person you wish to live the rest of your life with (i.e. marriage) or the person you can call on when your tushy tickles? My spanker is my husband, so we already live together.
  36. Would you rather spanking be part of love-making or not a part of love-making? Part of lovemaking.
  37. Would you rather your spanker have total control over you when you are being spanked or do you still want to have some control while you are being spanked? Having a safe word implies that I still have some control while being spanked.
  38. Would you rather be humiliated or respected during a spanking? Respected. I have no desire to be humiliated at all.
  39. Would you rather spanking become part of a bigger BDSM alternative lifestyle or spanking just be spanking for spanking sake? I like spanking for the sake of spanking.
  40. Would you rather be filmed during a spanking to share your exhibitionist naughtiness or are you too modest to show your bum to the world? No camera or filming! 
  41. Would you rather your spanking be gentle and gradual or painful and abrupt? Gentle and gradual. I like working up to the hard ones.
  42. Would you rather be defiant or fearful going into a spanking? Neither. Those words again imply some kind of punishment or humiliation, which is not what it’s about for me.
  43. Would you rather be spanked exclusively in your own bedroom or anywhere else other than your own bedroom? Usually in the bedroom, but other rooms in the privacy of our home as well.
  44. Would you rather be spanked exclusively on your bottom or would other places be interesting too? Mostly the bottom, but we have played a little with clit and nipple spanking too.
  45. Would you rather that spanking be a surprise or something that you have to look forward to? I want to know about it beforehand.
  46. Would you rather that spanking be a part of role-playing kinkiness or a response to events that have happened in reality? If I had to choose, I would say role-playing.
  47. Would you rather be spanked by a male or female? By my husband only.
  48. Would you rather be cuddled or scolded after a spanking? Cuddled. I don’t why someone would want to be put down after a really intense release like that. 

– Leigh

Postscript – If anyone wants to use this, please feel free to copy it and remove Leigh’s answers in italics.

We Interrupt Writing Breaking Leigh Act VI

…in that 151 words in, Leigh walked into the living room with nothing on but bedroom eyes and one of the all-time greatest pieces of lingerie in any woman’s arsenal…

.. a white, long sleeve, button down dress shirt of her guy.

The other 850ish words will have to wait. Sorry!

Actually not fucking sorry at all, but just trying to make you all feel like I am.

Nite…

– Scot

Swinging Act II

(If you haven’t yet, read Swinging Act 1)

Even though all I could see of Leigh was from behind her (which is never a bad place to be) I could feel the look on her face as she walked up to the hammock.

I know this look. It’s a deliciously quizzical, slightly sad eyed gaze with a dash of  some hesitation and a pinch of forced admission added to a roux of arousal. This in turn simmers in her soul over a low flame until it reaches a full roiling boil that, very often, spills over…and over…and over. Serves two.

I fired up the mower deck, throttled down and very smugly continued mowing of the lawn with almost a cavalier attitude.

She. Just. Won’t. Admit that, deep down inside, she is a filthy cock slut who adores being forced to do acts of perversion like, say masturbate at the height of the day in our side yard. But yet I know she is, and that she loves being forced to do so.

Yes, she chose to do this. I did not hold a gun to her head or threaten to kill puppies or something if she did not. Guess I suck as her Dominant that my simple request was accepted, huh? Sucked to be Me or her at that moment, didn’t it?

With a final gulp the beer was empty as I finished up the lower half of the yard with a final pass, just about the time the hammock came into view…with an occupant.

The Hammock™ is simply one of my favorite places on Earth. It’s a well crafted, hand-knotted one that is suspended between two massive maples, easily 60-70 feet tall, if not more. The trees are spaced about 10 feet apart, which permits the hammock to not sag very much and swing easily. To and fro. Back and forth. Just sway in the wind while gazing up through a thick canopy of branches and leaves that paint wondrous, abstract patterns across the heavens. It’s especially tranquil when a steady breeze adds a symphony of rustling leaves to the cooling, soothing motions all around. At dusk this splay of intertwined nature is spectacular with stars peeking through the gaps and voids created by the now ink black branches.

Truly one of life’s secret pleasures.

But instead of going from hectic to tranquil, Leigh’s delicate fingers were just beginning to bring about the opposite effect inside her in this same place. The juxtaposition of the two was exquisitely exciting for me.

The yard slopes gently uphill from the road that runs alongside our home. A neighbor’s driveway hugging the edges of our property frames the backyard. All I could see was the base of the white roped hammock and Leigh’s reclined head from my vantage point.

But there was yard which still needed addressed. Green grass growing wild near a red-head going wild. A Dom’s work is never done. So I proceeded up the slope to address both of the issues at hand, one quite literally.

Now before you think this was all about a cheap visual thrill (hopefully by now you know me better than that) I can assure you that I would have received 99% of the satisfaction from this if I was nowhere near her at the moment. I will confess to enjoying the sight of the hammock slowly starting to sway from the ministrations Leigh was administering to her smooth cunt. She would later share with me that the combination of her jeans simply being unbuttoned yet still on and the curvature of the hammock’s support made getting her hand down her pants not just difficult but an extremely cramped fit. In short she couldn’t masturbate as freely as she was used to. Her own clothing plus simple gravity made for some unintentional bondage, which both frustrated and aroused her in that she was forced to take longer.

She. Hates. Slow. Teasing. I love it. And that her free bondage was derived from a source made entirely of knotted rope? What beautiful irony!

She was lost in a fantasy somewhere. Or simply focused on the eroticism of the moment. Maybe she was simply enjoying teasing her clit with those soft, circular motions she uses? All I know is that she looked angelic with her hand shoved down her pants and the hammock turning her naughty motions into its own. To and fro. Back and forth.

Was I describing the hammock or her fingers? Or both?

With each pass along the top of the yard I converted another 42″ of mayhem into lawn. This required me to ride off about 30 yards from where she lay in her self-induced sexual build-up. The return swath brought her more into view. With each pass back and forth I grew closer and closer to the hammock, just as she grew closer and closer to coming. The roar of the mower’s engine and blades ebbed and flowed in her ears, telling her closed eyes when I was and was not nearby. Closer and closer. My task’s end matching her own.

The hammock started to sway more, betraying the fervor in which her hand was attacking her, by now, very swollen and aroused clit. It was so fucking erotic to feel her building release just through the pace in which the hammock moved. I could be a backyard away and know she was starting to build, that it was beginning to overtake her.

With a final pass I finished what need to be cut in the far yard. On my return I could see the hammock not moving as much but more often. Small, pulsing sways. To and fro. Back and forth. But a much tighter arc, staccato in nature.

She was getting close. I could sense it.

I drove the mower right along side of her. Fuck! What a vision she was! Her face screamed at hidden pleasures, contorted in her own beautiful agony. Flush with arousal her teeth clenched through pursed lips. Her right hand was a frantic bulge of denim motion, her red panties peeking through where she had undone her fly. It was almost hypnotic watching her dance with herself. So fucking hot. The contents of my jeans started to respond on it’s on, the position the mower’s seat had me in a poetic revenge for what I mentioned earlier about unintentional bondage.

I watched for about a minute not 5 feet from her struggling, focused form, then drove off for a quick lap to the house and back. I figured this may act as a form of edging her. I was right, for when I returned to the same spot a minute later I could tell it was almost here. Her hand was a blur, almost violent, in her undone jeans. But her face told me the rest.

With the mower still roaring I roared at her.

“C’MON BABY, COME!!! COME NOW, YOU FUCKING SLUT!!” I yelled. And I mean yelled.

“AND YOU BETTER FUCKING SCREAM WHEN YOU DO!!”

That did it. Her inner slut seized control of her, lifting her body into a arching orgasm that must have started at her toes they way she rolled skyward into its almost vicious release. She groaned loudly, her face contorted in pure lust as her fingers pressed hard into her very soul it seemed. As intense as it was, this groaning shit was unacceptable.

This is why I had the mower’s blades still roaring as I sat there with my foot on the brake and my hand rubbing my almost painful erection through my jeans. To give her audio camouflage. To mask her orgasmic sounds with fucking yard work.

“I SAID FUCKING SCREAM YOU BITCH!”

And, opening her eyes to make contact with mine, she did.

She. Fucking. Screamed. Her. Brains. Out. In our yard. At the height of daylight. Over and over she bellowed, gasped, cried, then collapsed into a sobbing, heaving mass of quaking convulsions, her face flush with post-orgasmic bliss. Our eyes never left one another’s.

Go out in your yard right now. Hear children screaming as they celebrate no more school? Perhaps. Go ahead. Scream. Loudly. Like when you come. See what it sounds like. Got the idea what she got away with in broad daylight? Good.

One last glance at her panting form, still shaking inside and out, and then I drove off to put the mower away.

I returned in a few minutes to her just lying there, using the hammock for more of its intended effects. Her face was a masterpiece. Totally fucked, mind, heart and soul. Relaxing. To and fro. Back and forth.

I wonder if the guy who walked his dog up and down the road, or the car that slowly drove down the neighbor’s house driveway while she was doing all of this saw or suspected anything?

The next time you are walking your dog or simply using a driveway and your eyes chance upon a hammock in a yard, just remember that looks can be deceiving.

I guess “swinging” is fun after all.

– Scot

Swinging

Before you get all excited NO!…not that. Never going to happen. Ever.

You should know by now my fondness for quirky post titles full of double entendre and innuendo. So now that we have that cleared up I hope you are not disappointed. Here, sit down while I tell you a tale of lust, perversion and why the D in BDSM is the most powerful letter. That should appease you pouting perverts.

Our story begins (your imagination grows hazy and unfocused like the segue to the dream sequence in a movie) as we find our heroic couple Scot and Leigh spending a hazy, lazy Sunday afternoon working in their yard…

It’s a nice yard, about two acres worth. The landscaping, ripe with perennials like hosta, lilies, 3 different varieties of wild ferns, rhododendron of all color, is finally in full force. Corn flowers and Brown Eyed Susans dance over various ground cover. Lemon thyme grows wild in a field stone wall. An explosion of flowering chives emits hues of purple and green, hinting at what recipe they may play a supporting role in. Nearby cilantro blooms amidst some mescaline mix in a raised bed.

Its one of Leigh’s passions and we have worked hard at it over the years, adding a few perennials (we do not participate in annuals) each summer. This year is possibly the best one yet. Everything looks fucking amazing, lush, just full of life.

But this Sunday is about the lawn. Leigh is on Lead Push Mower & Edger. Scot plays back-up on Riding Lawn Mower (yes, the same infamous one that Leigh used as her riding personal massager for 3 hours in the prequel to Breaking Leigh). We are yard compatible. Not every couple is. Hell, we’re even kitchen compatible!

I’ll pause for a second to allow all of you who just gasped or sighed to collect yourselves.

As I assault the side yard row by row, I notice Leigh standing with an ice cold beer under the large pine trees that divide the yard. In that she does not drink beer I smile, knowing that she is just being her awesome self by procuring a tasty 12oz break for me. I ride over to where she is, kill the mower deck and place the rider in neutral. The ale is cold and tastes so fucking good, but not nearly as delicious as the kiss I got from her. We bullshit about the yard and what remains to be done that day, discuss some dinner ideas, flirt shamelessly with each other over what the day may hold when the moon reigns supreme later that evening.

Making short work of almost all the long neck’s contents, I pull away and continue to turn wild lawn into Zen like grass. As I ride off I smile back at my baby…

…and out of nowhere an evil thought comes to mind. A deliciously naughty idea. So erotic that it makes my cock start to twitch like a coiled serpent unwinding from a long slumber.

Almost empty beer in hand I circle back and, stopping the mower deck, motion for her to c’mer with a come hither motion of my wrist.

She thinks I have something else to say, or that I just want to give her the very soon to be empty bottle. Oh, I do have something to say. But first things first. When she arrives alongside the idling mower, all smiles and soon to be sunburn, I smile back. Then, grabbing the hair on the back of her head with my left hand I kissed her so deeply, so fiercely, with so much fucking passion that upon our lips saying adieu she staggered to and fro, empty bottle in hand, the goofiest grin on her glowing face.

I laugh loudly, pulling away to cut another swath from the yard as she actually appears to be drunk, empty beer bottle and all.

With the next pass, having breathed erotic life into her with that tonsil cleaning, I do the same to my devilish plan. Once again pulling up along her giddy, grinning form, I lean over to her and, when she lowers her ear to my mouth, put my plan into action.

“Go lie down in the hammock and finger yourself to a huge, selfish orgasm…OK?” was all I said.

Her face lit up with shock, surprise, just stunned amazement at my request. Still woozy from the effects of the kiss, she looked at me with a “What the fuck?” face, searching my own for any sign of escape or weakness.

I’m not fucking around. I’m serious. I want her to go lie down in the most comfortable aspect of our yard in full view of the road that runs past our house. Then slide her velvet fingers down into that nirvana of a pussy she owns and, in full daylight, masturbate herself to a face contorting orgasm.

Seconds that feel like days pass. Our eyes dance, but I’m leading. The tension is exquisite. The humidity suddenly feels more oppressive from the electricity coursing between us.

Leigh is a cock slut and submissive beyond mortal description behind the safe confines of a closed bedroom door. We have discussed bringing our Sir and doll D/s relationship outside of it. To be blunt she’s simply not interested and truth be told I have no inclination as well to expand our dynamic any further than it is now.

But on occasion, when the mood is right, she is open to becoming my doll outside those bedroom walls.

And the sight of her snug, capri-cut jean’s ass slowly walking back to the hammock told me the mood she was in.

Game on…

Swinging Act II