I Had No Idea

You love me!  You really love me! (with apologies to Sally Field)

To say I am a wee bit overwhelmed by the response to Act IV of The Butterfly Chains is a gross understatement. It’s not that this particular Act (meaning part of a story, not action) has received more Comments that others. Many stories and musings have far more. No, it’s what everyone seems to be reacting to.

My orgasm, specifically my account of it.

Really?

Between here and Twitter the theme appears to be that this is not your everyday low hanging fruit (stop it, not funny…actually it is) but rather something exotic, seldom found and when so rarely with apparent eloquence.

It was extremely difficult for me to write that last sentence. I loathe air of pretentiousness, so to pat myself on the….back, yeah, my back…is not me at all. But I am a realist, and there is no denying that this pushed buttons. Very naughty buttons.

Buttons are often how people turn things on. Like washing machines. Yeah, washing machines. Yeah…

What was I saying?

Anyway, your lack of breath, use of cold water and sudden nicotine cravings did not go unnoticed. If Peeker™ Nation finds this of interest, then so it will be.

Starting this week a new recurring story series will begin. Entitled Inside Out (clever, huh?) it will be an off and on (heh) series focused on one thing and one thing only: my experience with that particular orgasm.

Be it one of Leigh’s eye rolling hand jobs, an oral induced explosion, or just good ol’ fashioned fucking in any multitude of positions and/or orifices, Inside Out will give you what apparently is difficult to find elsewhere – what it’s really like for a guy to orgasm.

What I won’t do for my Peekers™…

– Scot

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The Butterfly Chains Act IV

(To read The Butterfly Chains Act IAct II or Act III)

There are times when I just know that, regardless of how long I may want to fuck Leigh, it’s going to be fast, hot, sweet and intense.

Not a quickie, mind you. That’s different. Quickies are spur of the moment volcanic tremors of lust that appear without warning, leaving in their wake unplanned sweat, gasping and various bodily fluids. No, this was just going to be over long before I wanted it to be. And there was not a damn thing I could do about. No amount of recalling names of baseball players or envisioning Ernest Borgnine in briefs was derailing this train.

The sounds of passion coming from Leigh were guttural, raw, raspy. And by that I meant her mouth. I could write a kinky thesaurus on the ones her cunt was making. Slick, oozing, full of secretive juices and suction. It was bad enough that the physical sensations had me on the clock, but when combined with symphonic sex like that? I was a dead man fucking.

So I made the few minutes I knew I had count. If I was going down fast, so was she.

Buttressing my arms against her sides, I rose up on my toes and put myself in a pure plank. The only part of my anatomy touching Leigh, aside from traces of forearm, was my cock. That would be all that would touch her for the duration of the fucking portion of the evening’s activity.

Leigh’s eyes widened in attention. She knew what this posture meant, as well as how it was going to feel in the position she was chained into.

“Oh fuck…” she said as she stared at my cock head positioned just inside her folds.

And with that I buried it balls deep inside her. Hard. Fast. Repeatedly.

The squishing sounds echoed off the candlelit walls, the shadows we made danced wildly to the aforementioned symphony. Only now I had added a percussion section.

I love sex sounds. Adore them. They’re arousing beyond words, exciting to every sensorial capability. They are to an impending orgasm what a gallon of gasoline is to a bonfire. Leigh’s squeals played off the way her fingernails scratched the bed sheets. Her sobs of helplessness mixed with the frantic tunnggg of the chains as her legs pulled against them (to no avail). Her cunt’s juices squirted and flowed with each stroke. Our breathing became more ragged with each thrust as it built in tempo. The crescendo of it all bombarded my ears with relentless teasing.

I tried to fight it as long as I could. Leigh could tell I was there, but not the in the way you may obviously think. My cock swelled in every aspect. Her eyes grew even wider. As my orgasm neared the rate of my fucking increased to a blur, which trapped her own liquid excitement deep inside her.

My eyes grew tight, nostrils flared, arms rigid as steel. Rising off my hands I made each a fist and filled them full of linen. My toes dug deep into the same as my hip and core muscles started to sense the impending explosion building inside me.

Tight. That is how it feels when it starts. There is a tightness that resonates from my groin to my testicles as if my muscles are, one by one, surrendering to orgasm. It draws closer, firmer, squeezing tighter and harder with each stroke in and out of Leigh. At this point it could go either into auto pilot or an aborted landing. One stroke more the right way and its inevitable, but say in the heat (and lubrication) of the moment I slip out. That alone will almost invariably require a “do over.” Go back to Start, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Or cover your chain bound wife in semen.

So fuck yeah, I focused. Hard. And all of what I just described? Totally masturbated with perfection every one of my senses.

Step away from the bonfire. Cue the gasoline. In three. Two. One. More. Stroke.

The first explosion of semen was as my cock withdrew from the hot silk of Leigh’s cunt and anointed its mound with what can best be described as globs. Not the sexiest of terms but certainly the most accurate. It fucking rained cum all over her pubic arch, shot after pulse. I was too busy examining the interior of my skull with my eyes roll backed to see all of this, but I could feel it as well as Leigh reacting to each spurt.

I growled, roared, whatever animatistic sound you can envision I made it. If its possible to seethingly hiss I did that too. A lot. As much sound came out of my mouth as semen spewed out of my cock, both all over Leigh’s convulsing form. She was not immune from all of this. Oh no. For my cock had been a kinky cork keeping all of her own secretions bottled up. Upon that cork’s sudden removal, combined with the sensation of my frenum fucking her clit as I came, she gushed like a fountain. Again and again her wetness sprayed my hips, the bed, innocent bystanders, you name it.

This lasted for well over a minute. I typically rate the intensity of my orgasms by a complicated formula involving duration of ecstasy multiplied by how close I came to passing out, carry the two, then divide by the diameter of the wet spot. And this one was downright Noble Prize worthy. Holy shit…

With my cockhead still oozing drops of semen upon her mound I gazed down at the aftermath. Or more accurately an industrial accident that required a HAZMAT team to properly clean it up. I’m not one for taking pictures, but I admit it may have been a Kodak moment, where something just looked so fucking insane in its sexiness that a quick JPEG or twenty would have been nice.

My arms ached, my fists were white and my hips were cramping. Without even thinking I pushed back from Leigh, bent my knees and kneeled at her waist. The sensation of blood filling my relaxed arms was nice.

With my first deep inhale I smelled it. Or more accurately us. For not an inch from my face was all the chaos. The carnage of the scene of the crime of passion in all its gobular, dripping glory.

And my mouth mere inches from where I had wanted it all along.

A Coffee, Cricket And A Dom Walk Into A Monday

And without a hint of warning the rabbi yelled “SECULAR?” I BARELY KNOW HER!!!”

No, no Irish whiskey in this morning’s java. Although that sounds like a lovely idea.

It’s Labor Day in the States. So if you are wondering why this week’s edition of my Monday ramblings while under the mug is late to your eDoorstep now you know. Don’t look all pouty. And that better not be a foot tapping in harumph.

It’s not often I get to have a lazy morning with my doll that does not begin with the letter S. And I know you are all smirking and elbowing each other with visions of sugar Doms (I am a sweetie) dancing in your heads about what transpired between our aforementioned late morning sheets.

It was luscious. Surreal. Intoxicating in its elusivity. We shared something we rarely get a chance to indulge in, so much so that’s it’s practically taboo, even for us.

We slept in.

I’ll pause for a moment to allow the collective breath leaving all of your lungs simultaneous the time it needs.

Disappointed? I hope not. And admit it – you get turned on by turning the clock radio’s alarm off. It’s digital foreplay for your circadian rhythm.

The only sound we have been able to hear for the past few hours are the chirps of a solitary, lonely cricket. I don’t know if crickets have Twitter. If so this one was flooding timelines with rechirps.

It’s taking me fucking forever to write this morning. And I love it. I even took a break to enjoy a lovely toasted bagel with a more than generous shmere of Neuchâtel cream cheese, prepared by the lovely Leigh.

Just hours ago it was her sitting in the corner rocking chair, the first rays of the day warning her legs while the coffee and eggs I made her warmed other aspects, most notably her personality. She loves when I make her coffee, as well as scrambled eggs. I love that she walked (actually more staggered) up behind me prior to this and, out of the blue, scratched my back for five minutes.

If you though you heard a loud purring sound earlier, that was me. Ladies a secret from TDND™ – your fingers on your man’s back + same fingers making delicious things in the kitchen = it will come back to you in ways you love. Try it.

And now, in a downright Mufasa to Simba Circle Of Life moment, its I who feels the sun on my legs in the same chair, my second cup of coffee almost empty, the French omelet I made for myself long digested. And the warmth of the bagel is only second to the same coming from inside in that she made it for me. As I made breakfast for her and, from what I can tell, had the same effect on her aura.

It really isn’t German Opera 24/7 at The Dom Next Door™ World Headquarters. Honest. Leigh and I are likely no different from the vast majority of all of you. Nothing special to see here, move along. We probably have so much in common with everyone it would shock you all at how alike we are with the eyes reading these words right now. Something to keep in mind as you continue to press those same eyes up against the keyhole to our bedroom and peek into our lives behind its closed door.

That you are, in reality, voyeuristically watching yourself.

For many it’s not a stretch of the imagination. You are all far more kinky and perverted than us, which is awesome. But for a number of you its akin to looking into a wishing well. Just remember the reflection peering back from its wistful depths is yours, not ours. It is within you to become that which you desire. Yes, many wrestle with doubt, others sadly fight what must feel like a losing war with a significant other. But regardless of your situation, it really could be you on the other side of that keyhole. Perhaps that is why we seem to strike a chord with so many.

I know it’s why we are having torrid affairs with each other’s spouses. Please don’t tell my wife. Although if she knew that it was one of the reasons why I happily make her coffee and eggs she may actually be okay with it. May even get a luxurious back scratch as well.

As for all of you, you will get updated Acts for The Looking GlassChain Of RulesSeek And Go Hyde and The Butterfly Chains. I really need to accept some blogging awards (its rude to ignore them), Leigh needs to be seduced via a poem and more than likely scratch a need to muse on some aspects of D/s and BDSM that have been simmering for a while.

And with that, I need more coffee. What is left of this lazy day awaits.

– Scot

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.15

I’m reading about writing.

As a part of this week’s Selfish Sunday Leigh and I, once again, found ourselves at a Barnes & Noble. And I treated myself to a copy of Stephen King: On Writing (10th Anniversary edition…ooooh). From everything I have read on writing it’s considered a seminal tome on the genre. Only 30some pages into it but so far I have enjoyed it very much. A number of the passages made me smile, some laugh and a few mandated rereading out loud to my sexy chauffeur.

It’s no secret that all of this fingers on keyboard is extremely new to me. The words on TDND™ represent, by a verbal landslide, the most I have ever written. Period. Probably sometime in the upcoming month the word count on the blog may reach 200,000. No idea how that equates for any writer of any genre for twenty weeks. Leigh says that qualifies as “prolific.”

Its fun, and I feel as if I am becoming a better story shower (notice I didn’t say teller). And apparently a number of people think that my musings are good. I wish I had some way to quantify that, but truth be told I do not read nearly enough as I wish I did, or more accurately should. Leigh is voracious. She reads books like I drink coffee. And she is also 100x the writer I am. A parallel, perhaps?

In four weeks I have drawn a line in the sand as far as my first attempt at erotic fiction being available for purchase. Two weeks prior to that is the deadline for submission (that sounds like a naughty book title, doesn’t it?) for the Avon Impulse New Year’s Eve anthologies of novella length. And I want to be included.

Sounds like my weekly word count is about to go way up. It needs to. It has to. And it will. But not at the expense of Peeker™ Nation. The stories, musings, poetry will all continue. They need to. They have to. And they will.

I’m looking forward to listening to the voices (no, not like that….well, a little) as the characters talk to me when I shift from first person past non-fiction to the same but fictional for my ePub and, deep breath, third person. We’ll see if the words still flow.

But enough about me. Now for something about me. Avid Peeker™ Ms. D of Deviant Diaries wanted to know, in regards to what happened the days following Breaking Leigh:

“Its kind of like when you go to some really great spiritual retreat (kind of an oxymoron in my book)…where everybody sits around spilling their guts and cries over every wound they’ve ever had and swore they were going to go back to their “regular lives” a changed person and with a fresh perspective, and then in like a week….it’s all like a lost dream. Does your experience have any residuals like that?”

In a way, yes.

What goes up (stop smirking) must come down. Just because Leigh and I shared something amazing that pushed both of our BDSM and D/s boundaries to new heights via broken plateaus does not mean we have now set up base camp at that new altitude and live there. Nor did it become a life-changing moment with the light of the next morning. Or the one that followed that.

Are things different? Yes. Leigh was curious if she could be pushed that far, if she was capable of tears from just spanking. I, on the other hand (bad spanking joke) knew that she was. But conveying that belief pails to its being administered one spank at a time. And then there was the whole issue of the act itself. Was I capable of the administration of what it would take to get her to where I knew she could go but she did not? The physical was the easy part for both of us. It was the mental and spiritual part that proved to be the Rubicon we needed to cross from opposite banks.

And we did.

So we accomplished it. Together. I didn’t so much as work at beating the tears out of her as much as work with her to help her release them. Big difference. Big fucking difference.

Now, in its wake are we better people? I’d like to think so. But it’s not as if we were reborn. Food didn’t suddenly taste all that better, but we do spend a lot more time in the kitchen laughing, cooking and sharing. That tastes good. The air we breath is not mountain top clean overnight, but there is less fog between us as well as more words, and laughter. The exercise we now do together helps that. Time does not stand still, but the moments last longer and are more frequent. Outside forces no longer run the clock hands.

So no, the dream moment does not a new dream life make. Very few things would have such an immediate and dramatic impact. But we do dream more often, and not in the ways one might stereotypically think from a couple in a specified D/s relationship that employs BDSM.

No, the dreams born from that evening are small ones, day dreams if you will. And they have faded with time, but more from wear than distance. Day to day we are better. Nothing bordering on religious awakening, but rather small prayers said at the most unobvious and innocent of times.

That is a dream worth living.

Scot

A Peek Back 9-1

You guys amaze me.

In the span of a week not only did the blog crush the previous single day views record but also, with month’s end, saw the one for views in a month toasted by 40%. And it’s very likely that by sundown Sunday (great, now I’m writing folk rock) the views in a single week benchmark will fall as well.

At some point this upcoming week we’ll surpass 30,000 views. It wasn’t even last month that 20,000 was crossed.

You’ll have to forgive me for all of this, but it really does make me feel very humble.

It’s cool to see that people are getting it (stop giggling). And by that I mean our purpose – to demystify the stereotypical D/s and BDSM persona and help people embrace their inner Dominant and/or submissive. With coffee.

We truly appreciate all the love, energy, honesty and general pervertedness you share with us. Things we have shared have directly impacted the lives of others for the better. Perverts, er, people we only know via bits and bytes (probably some nibbles on their end but I digress). That makes all the time, effort and coffee poured into the stories, musings, etc. worth it. To know that, out there in the dark, a couple whose sexually embers had grown dim and cold are now inferno hot. Or that someone who took a chance and listened to that voice whispering inside them. You know, the one that drives you crazy with thoughts of BDSM and D/s? Now they are the ones writing tales that inspire others.

Or questions asked either in simple curiosity or outright concern, the answers providing some assistance in their decisions. All of which, to a T (or should that be a D/s?) impacts every other aspect of their lives and for the better.

So thank you. Seriously. A 21 cake salute will be consumed in your honor. Well, not really, but any excuse for cake is a good one.

If you’re a first time Peeker™, welcome!  You are invited to peek through the keyhole. We strongly encourage you to view all of the established Pages, which can be viewed by selecting any of the tabs at the top of this page.

The Archives are an inclusive, running version of every post of note on this blog. If you have not read any or all of the stories, random musings, poetry, etc linked from The Archives by all means please grab a seat, perhaps a drink (we’re big on coffee as you will find out) sit back and enjoy.

Before I get all teary eyed and want a group hug while singing Cumbaya, its time to Peek Back:

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.14 – In which I answer an extremely personal question that gets asked. A lot.

A New Monday, Same Ol’ Java – Sometimes I amaze myself how cognizant I can be so early on a Monday while mainlining dark roast.

Seek And Go Hyde Act V – Things get very intense and sadistic. This Act really pushed some Peekers™ comfort level. Read at your discretion.

The Words Of Power – A BDSM musing inspired by the reaction to the above.

Soundtrack To The Looking Glass – The beautiful, ironically titled song that accompanied the magic of the moment in time that became The Looking Glass.

The Looking Glass – Possibly the most personal scene Leigh and I have shared. Not what most think of as such. You’ll see.

Our Secret – My poetic response to that which was The Looking Glass. Figured out yet that this was something special?

Chain Of Rules Act VI – Leigh’s helpless nipples continue to be a source of pleasure. And pain. Lots.

Someone Shared Our Secret – When a professional Domme/Switch thinks your erotic poem is good enough to republish, that is a compliment.

The Dom Next Door Unchained – Gina West – Peeker™ & erotic author Regina West shares what she and her husband shared as a result of reading TDND™. See? You too can play along at home!

Once again, a sincere thank you to all.

– Scot

The Dom Next Door Unchained – Gina West

Welcome to the second installment of what I hope will become a more regular feature on TDND™ –Unchained.

Unchained (not literally…geeze) is what others refer to as guest blogging, but with a twist. Rather than a blogging peer being invited to write something on or about a particular subject, Unchained has a theme:

Discourses, thoughts and reactions on any of the various offerings found on The Dom Next Door™ and how they were affected by them.

In other words, an outlet for the voice of Peeker™ Nation. Could be in regards to a story, random BDSM musing, poetry or the blog in general.

Eventually it is my hope that the entirety of all the Unchained submissions (heh) will weave a lovely quilt, each square or patch as unique and beautiful as it’s stitcher. When they are combined into a rich tapestry of experiences, thoughts and opinions, they metamorphosize into something greater than the sum of its naughty parts, their main delineator of TDND™ being the thread that makes them one common voice.

Yours.

So link by link, we are forging a chain of such tales. Stories that are at the core of what this blog is really about. No, not coffee. But rather the demystification of the stereotypical D/s persona and dynamic, as well as helping Peekers™ find their inner Dom or sub.

This Unchained link started with a simple, innocent  (stop smirking Gina) Twitter message regarding the BDSM On A Budget series. When a Peeker™ says  “About The Chains™? Um, thanks. Yeah…” it sure sounded as if someone had a positively naughty experience as a result of the blog. Which is everything Leigh and I stand (kneel? lie down? arch?) for. And it also screamed (seriously, just….stop it) potential for a perfect Unchained post.

I was right. Holy shit was I right. You’ll see.

So without further adieu The Dom Next Door™ Unchains the aspiring romance/erotica novelist, mom, wife, avid reader, student of classical guitar, seeker of knowledge and wisdom and introvert (Ha!) Regina West:

My husband and I read and discuss nearly every TDND™ post. Like Scot and Leigh, we have been married for many years and have embarked on a similar sexual journey. I won’t say what drove us to explore BDSM because it’s almost cliché at this point, but I will say that we are definitely exploring and that we are brand spanking (pun intended) new at this. So far, we’ve found ourselves adopting more of the BD aspect than the SM. Some might consider that plain old vanilla, maybe French vanilla, and that’s fine. I refuse to participate in a pissing contest about it. We like what we like.

Which leads me to the latest TDND™ post that kindled a fire in our household.

After reading Chain Of Rules Act II, I admit I was having visions of cuffs and eye bolts and chains (oh my). I found myself dreamily staring at doorways, wondering if anyone would notice if we put eye bolts at the four corners. The wooden rafters in our basement suddenly seemed like the perfect place for an entire bondage set-up leaving plenty of room for a Dom to circle his prey . . . um, I mean sub.

Then when Scot posted BDSM on a Budget – The Chains™, he mixed the two best words in the English language – chains and budget – and that was our cue. The next day, my husband went to Lowes and came back with a variety of chain lengths and a pack of snap hooks, all for around $30.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t launch into kinky home remodeling right away, nor could we use our BDSM-unfriendly bed. Years ago when we bought it for its minimalist look, we weren’t considering its bondage possibilities. The headboard is one huge slab of wood with no legs around which one might wrap a chain, and even the mattress, a Tempur-Pedic which is fantabulous for sleeping, doesn’t have handles on the sides. What’s a horny married couple to do? Improvise, that’s what.

By the time we could ditch the kids and have some alone time, I’d already been thinking about those damn chains for hours. Then my sadistic husband decided he needed a shower. More waiting, and worse, he ordered me to touch myself until he was done. Thank God he takes quick showers. Once he joined me, it only took maybe four nasty twists on my nipples to send me skyrocketing.

But I’d made a mistake. I hadn’t asked if I could orgasm (another thing we learned from TDND™). I swear I meant to ask, but I’d teased myself into a frenzy and then he did all the right things to my body and . . . well, you try stopping a speeding train!

After that, he ordered me to stand up, spun me to face away from him, and pushed me down onto the bed on my stomach. With my wrist and ankle cuffs already in place, it only took a moment for him to bind my hands and feet behind my back with the one-foot chain. Hog tied, boys and girls. That’s right. If you’ve never tried it, you are seriously missing out.

Flat on my stomach, arms and legs bent behind me, completely immobile.

He positioned himself between my legs and slid into me, reminding me once again that I had come without his permission. He then grabbed the flogger, and I paid for that error with several lashes. When he decided I’d had enough of that, he took hold of the chain, the handle he would use to manipulate my helpless form, and yanked. My back arched, my arms pulled up behind me. His fist wound through my hair and tugged my head back, and he pounded into me with enough force to bruise my hips.

Heaven help me, it was glorious!

I was completely at his mercy, the chain his leverage. He muttered filthy things while he doled out this most pleasurable punishment for my disobedience.

The pounding reached its peak, and we were both moaning when he gave the final push. You know the one – when he buries himself so deep in you, you wonder if you’ve become one being. With a final roar, he held himself in that place for a long moment before he collapsed over my back and pressed his cheek between my shoulder blades. Gasping for air, the chain still twisted in his fist, my husband said the first words that came to mind. “Holy shit!”

My sentiments exactly.

This is generally how it happens in our house. We read something on TDND™ and let it percolate in our minds until we have no choice but to try it. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. But it’s been a blessing to have as a guide the blog of two regular married folks who approach this with caution and knowledge but without brutality. I look forward to many, many new adventures.

– Gina West

Anyone else need some fresh air or a cooling shower? Damn! And to think the blog played a role in this? (does that make this role play?) Humbling.

Thank you Gina for sharing that very personal and extremely erotic moment, one I hope is just the first of many more for you and your Sir.

– Scot

Someone Shared Our Secret

And it wasn’t me.

What?

Since we are talking about secrets, I do not make it one that of all I write my poetry is the most special to me. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the stories or the musings, but the poems are about, for and meant for an audience of one.

My Leigh.

So when others appreciate my very neophyte (I am extremely new to any form of writing) prose it heartens me. And if they deem it worthy to feature it in their own digital publishing? Well, that is humbling.

I know, I know, I know. I use the “h’ word a lot. But it’s true.

So when I found out that Athame Morrigan thought that my poem Our Secret was good enough to be featured in the latest issue of her ePaper The Switch Daily I was extremely H Word™.

So imagine how I felt when I discovered that she is also a professional Domme AND Switch! That’s right. She gets paid to play.

I’m very glad I tidied up around the blog before going to bed last night and didn’t leave any unwashed posts in the sink. Whew, that was close!

Thank you Miss Athame.

– Scot