The Looking Glass

(Note – If you wish, you can listen to the same song that Leigh & I did while the following occurred. Just open the link in a new window)

“I have an idea.”

And with that simple statement by Leigh so began one of the most amazing sexual experiences of my life.

Odds are that the majority of you will find the following downright vanilla, to which I will think no less of your thinking “Really Scot? This was a Top 10 moment?”

It was.

But allow me to let you decide for yourself as I dim the houselights, raise the curtain and close the bedroom door.

The scene began in a darkened bedroom, illuminated only by a few select candles, two sets of burning eyes and one heartbeat. Our heroine, Leigh, was in the midst of a challenge proposed to her by her husband and Sir, Scot. Her objective? To masturbate to orgasm in front of him once a night for seven consecutive evenings.

At first she was a bit apprehensive. For all her sexual prowess and adventures Leigh, like so many other women, does not see herself the same way I do. She is always quick to notice flaws. A bulge here, a not as dramatic curve as she wishes there. And regardless of how excited at the sight of her nude form I become, no matter how often I profess to her in no uncertain terms that no woman has ever been more beautiful, in spite of all that we have shared romantically and sexually, she still all too often sees the half empty Leigh instead of the one full with my erection.

So I came up with a challenge to her. Not only would it be fun as hell but, hopefully, it would allow her to witness first hand (bad masturbation joke) how magnificent she really is by sharing with me and for me the one aspect of her sexuality that is her most private – her own satisfaction. Literally.

We fuck and role play and use cuffs and collars with chains. I can spank her exposed ass to a cherry red, abuse her nipples to the point of hysteria, even flog her into subspace. Anal sex, ejaculating in her mouth, half a hundred squirting orgasms in a single evening? Done all that.

But when a woman masturbates just for you, that’s fucking special. It’s the sexual equivalent of meeting her parents. Its as personal as it gets.

Not only is she baring her flesh but herself. There’s a difference. Big fucking difference. She is sharing with you something that, most likely, was her first way of exploring her sexuality. She probably discovered that women get wet when aroused while masturbating. And its a safe bet that this was how she discovered the ability to orgasm. Its extremely private and intensely personal.

Sure, many women grow the confidence and security in themselves, their sexuality and their abilities to not just share this secret from teen years gone, but use and employ it in their partnered sexual lives. No better way to make sure that everyone has fun than to bring your own.

But at its most basic it is still hers. Which is why I thought it would be a special way to share something erotic with Leigh. She would be forced to be at her most naked. No chains, no cuffs, no spanking, and so on. Just her and her sexuality.

The first evening she propped herself up on her side of the bed as I lay across the bottom of it. With Papa Smurf™ (aka a mini-vibe) as her preferred method of arousal she spread her legs wide and, over the course of about ten minutes, teased herself to the brink of asking me my favorite question:

“May I please come, Sir?”

The almost two minute long orgasm that racked her body rigid with lust was exquisite. The primal fucking session that followed produced a second one for her as well as my own.

And a side note for all you fellows – you can learn a LOT about your lady by watching her get herself off. Which hand? Where? How? Clockwise? Back and forth? Insertions? Speed or lack thereof? Direct contact or not? Did her torso tighten? What sounds did she make, and when? Her breathing patterns? You’ll save yourself a lot of time, grief and both of your’s frustration if you ask her to do this for you.

And for the ladies? Ditto on your guy. Just sayin’.

But back to our challenge. The second evening Leigh had me sit in the Pingback Chair™ in the sunroom while her naked form draped over our large recliner. A single candle she brought from the bedroom flickered on a nearby plant stand, just allowing me to make out the faintest outlines of her face as it contorted under Papa Smurf’s buzzing of her clit. Now I got to savor more of the non-physical. The sounds she made when becoming aroused, how her mouth contorted, the way her breathing changed. And once again she begged to come. Once again she spasmed for well over a minute. And yes, once again we fucked like wild animals afterward. That chair is big enough for two to lie across we found out. And her rug burns from finishing violently on the floor weren’t too severe.

How wild did it get? I left my socks on (no rookie to toe top rug burn here) and spun one around 180 degrees! As in the bottom was on the top of my foot!

The third evening she got creative and, while astride me, used Papa Smurf to make herself come with me inside her. I think the head of my cock was somewhere around her larynx from how deep I was. I know she was having trouble breathing during it all.

Which brought us to her saying “I have an idea” on the fourth night. And with that she stood up, got out of bed, moved a candle to the dresser in the adjoining open frame closet and stood in front of the 3/4 length mirror hanging inside it.

“Come stand behind me” she whispered as her pajamas hit the floor, leaving her in all her nude splendor.

Still fully dressed I complied. The view over her shoulder was exquisite. My arms coiled around her, hugging her tight. Our eyes met  in the mirror.

The click of the vibrator in her hand coming to life told me what her idea was.

The Looking Glass Act II


Soundtrack To The Looking Glass

On Monday’s coffee infused ramblings I made allusion to the fact that, over the weekend, magic happened within the candlelit confines of our bedroom.

One of the most amazing experiences of my sexual life transpired.

Tomorrow I will write the opening Act to it entitled The Looking Glass. Read into that what you will.

Anyway, as part of this slightly atypical scene I asked Leigh if she would like some music, an offer that was eagerly accepted. In that we still do not have a playlist  we both agree with, I’ll often cue up Pandora’s Ambient feed. Aside from the possibility of the occasional sounds of bird chirping and surf breaking on the shore (which apparently is a Pavlovian sound to Leigh’s lentil sized bladder) the music very often fits both our tastes.

At the height of the aftermath of the scene, right as we finished (do the math) a particularly haunting song played mournfully in the background. It fit perfectly to what had just transpired over the course of the evening.

So as I attended to a completely exhausted and spent Leigh (meaning I fetched the sex towels) I glanced at the screen to see what song had just serenaded us with soulful, beautifully seductive sounds that dovetailed so lovely with our lust filled activities.

And I about fell over from shock.

“You are not going to fucking believe the name of this song and the album it’s from!” I exclaimed to Leigh.

Can you believe that? Seriously?

So I share this with all of you this evening in that, for the first time in the blog’s short history, there will be a soundtrack to a story. As you read each Act of The Looking Glass I’ll ask that you play this so you too can share what we did.

Until tomorrow.

– Scot

A New Monday, Same Ol’ Java

It’s fan quiet here.

Leigh and I awake early. Not by choice but still we are up with the sun. And before you all smirk yes, very often that means three of us if you count a certain appendage of mine.

It’s a chance to groan, stretch, snap and crack, snuggle, doze, grope, mumble, giggle, sometimes fuck, occasionally be manually or orally uncramped. Very often a hour passes as we delay the inevitable reality of the day.

But, either post snuggle or after cleaning up the mess with hand towels, the sound of coffee beans being ground, egg shells cracking, butter sizzling and smart ass commentary being made fills the house. JD will stagger in from the couch (not too spoiled) looking as if he could use a cup of java himself. Scones (the cat) has already been in the bed with us and now wants breakfast as well.

Cabinet doors squeak, voices strain as sttttrreeettcchhhhh the day’s first stumbled steps occur, lunches made, plans for dinner discussed, random topics bantered about.

Often I will sing. Badly. Off key. Flatter than last week’s root beer. And with a zeal that makes Leigh wince yet smile, all the while thinking to herself “WHY did I choose this one? WHY???”

In other words, the same morning that I will bet happens in countless millions of households every Monday. When the coffee and its life-giving fix of caffeine become demigods worthy of sacrifices. Or at least that’s what I say to Leigh. “But the coffee gods would be pleased if we fucked!” I mean, what self-respecting religion doesn’t require the giving of something precious as an appeasement to its deities?

After that some alone time. And it’s so quiet right now. As I said, “fan quiet.”

Enjoying a second cup of religion in the calm of The Pingback Chair™ located in our sunroom. A reading nook now offers it safe harbor. Tucked away in the corner of the room, a wall mounted light directly over my shoulder to read by, a nearby antique plant stand serving as the altar for the magic elixir we both worship, or in the evenings a stem or pint of liquid I like. The only sounds discernible are the grasshoppers singing to the new day as the heat rises with the whirl of the blades of a ceiling fan on percussion. It may be like this for hours.

When we first moved here the silence was so deafening at night I couldn’t sleep from the tympani of my own eardrums pounding along with my heart. But now I adore the silence, a rare treat in today’s world. And its even better with coffee.

And with it some musings:

– The growth (stop it) of the blog continues to amaze me. August has seen us crack 10,000+ page views in a single month for the first time. I believe it took us May, June & part of July to reach our first 10,000 views. Now we have received that many in three weeks. I cannot even begin to thank you all for the love, support, comments and overall debauched pervertedness you bring.

– Along those lines I also cannot express how much we both appreciated the reactions and comments to the latest Interview. To be honest I fully expected the potential for backlash as well as people choosing to no longer peek through the keyhole, which would be fine in that’s their right and own choice. Your positive and even heart-warming comments (especially you Mrs. Soft Bottom) made what could have been an awkward exchange a pleasant one. Again we thank you for understanding and respecting our choice.

– Leigh bought me a copy of Screw The Roses Give Me The Thorns as a gift. From just flipping through its pages I can assure you all that it will be a gift that keeps on giving. And taking. And flogging.

– Is anyone else been enjoying the height of summer’s harvest at their local farmer’s market as well?

– If you have access to locally grown produce and still buy your vegetables and fruit at some Super Duper Mart…bad Peeker™! Bad!

– I Unfollowed a number of Twitter accounts this past week. If you are one of them it’s because having three Tweets in a month isn’t  going to make the cut, nor is constantly shilling, RTing or posting quotes not yours. And don’t get me started on people who lives exist to collect Followers.

– This week my second attempt at erotic fiction will begin. I’m going to submit (no, not like that) to Avon for their New Year’s Eve anthology. The storyline is set, characters are talking to me (this is why you writers are all batty, huh?) and even doing some research (not what you think). Leigh likes the storyline a lot, and thinks it may not be able to to be told in novella (<20K words) length. We’ll see.

– Leigh has undertaken a unique challenge from me. She is just over halfway through it and if the first four evenings were any indication it will be make for great reading. So much so that…

– …Leigh & I shared magic a few nights ago. Almost beyond description for me. I was honored to be a part of it. So you will be reading the first Act of The Looking Glass this week, as well as additional acts for Chain Of Rules, Seek And Go Hyde and The Butterfly Chains. We received more blogging awards so, yes, more Scot Trivia. I should be finished rereading The New Topping Book and have a review, Leigh will get a poem, the flogger should make an appearance, probably a random kinky musing and, last but certainly not least, a new Unchained is in the works for the end of the week.

And the sounds I mentioned earlier? The only ones I heard while writing this, aside from the emptying of my coffee mug. So cue the sounds of footsteps on hardwood to remedy that.

– Scot

We Interrupt Writing Seek And Go Hyde Act IV

…in that just into the title and tagging, Leigh mentioned a hot shower, the need to get really cleaned up, and that The Magic Oil™ was going to make an appearance.

Methinks that sounds like a recipe for one of her eye lid blood vessel bursting I look like a raccoon afterwards hand jobs.

So Act IV will have to wait until tomorrow AM. Sorry!

Actually I’m not fucking sorry at all. Work with me people.


– Scot

Chain Of Rules Act V

(To read Chain Of Rules Act IAct IIAct III or Act IV)

That first, shrill “EhhhhhHHHH!” when I roll Leigh’s nipples between my thumb and pointer finger is just divine.

And when those nipples are sitting atop arched, taut and thrust out breasts that are helpless against my whims and perversions, all the better. I adore, just fucking adore, how rigid they become when firmly rolled back and forth between my fingers.

It would seem like such a sophomoric play, but in actuality those two nipples present a multitude of erotic possibilities with potential to not just arouse but also torment, even torture them and their owner. So many variables to play with. How firmly do I squeeze them? Are they exceptionally hard? Do I gently apply pressure and tug on them, or perhaps pinch them? And if so, quickly or slowly, and for now long? Just once, or over and over and…

…it’s a lot of sadistic fun making Leigh a sopping mess this way.

And it does make her juices run. Many times a good nipple play session is all that is needed to ensure a wet, sloppy fuck.

(if you don’t believe me, after you finish this Act check out SDS. You’ll see)

Her stretched areola wrinkled like old newspaper beneath their proud, pointy head lines. Tweaking the intersection where nipples start and areola ends was especially fun, a whole new level of pain. To which Leigh added plenty of frantic squirming, pulling against the chains, pouty huffs of frustration and just general erotic misery in every conceivable fashion.

She may say she hates this, but she fucking loves it. And the aroma permeating the candlelit night air from her ripening cunt testified on my behalf, not hers.

Arousal by Nipple Torture. The verdict? Guilty. Her sentence? Hard time.

But that would be later. Right now court was still in session, with yours truly acting as judge, jury and executioner.

I pressed the fullness of my body against hers to not just lessen her ministrations but also savor them. Its one thing to watch and feel a part of her anatomy twist in the winds of sadomasochistic breast play, but to almost be an extension of her skin is quite another. It was if we were dancing, a most erotic, perverted dance but still two bodies moving in unison with one leading.

The intensity of her bound gyrations, laments and reactions to my hands on her nipples while my mouth devoured the nape of her neck was surreal. Her ass cheeks made short work of making my cock long, the hardness pressing almost painfully through the zipper of the faded jeans that stood between it and her flesh. She felt my arousal growing, both physically and emotionally, and was feeding off it just as I fed off her own soaked reaction.

With my mouth now adding a third way to abuse her, it was almost rhythmic how teeth, lips, breath, fingers, tongue and my mind were making her dance like a puppet on a chain.

“You fucking love this, don’t you cunt?” I whispered to her while grazing her earlobe between my teeth.

Silence except for the tunnnnggg sound of the chains being pulled tighter by her efforts to avoid my tactile and oral attack.

I squeezed both nipples hard. Pulling. Twisting. My fingers felt as if they touched. Add in a rather firm bite of her neck at the same time and..

“”AaaaaHHHHHHH!!!!” she cried out, obviously in pain.

After a quick release, I did it again. Harder.

“ShhhsshhSSSttTHHTHHSSTHHH!!!” was the outright hiss that escaped through her tightly clenched teeth, followed by panting and rapid, short breaths ragged with adrenaline and saliva. Now that I had her fucking attention I asked her again.

“You fucking love this, DON’T you cunt?”

“Yes Sir…” she quickly yet meekly offered.

Much better. I smiled, pleased.

Not long after some final tugs, twists and pinches she noticeably braced herself when my fingers left her nipples and all they could feel were the fingernails of my pointer fingers coiled tight against my thumbs.

She knew that sensation meant one thing.

That her delicate and already sore nipples were going to be flicked.

Go ahead. Right now. You don’t have to do it to any part of your anatomy, but take your pointer finger, bend it backwards and tuck it into your thumb’s fingerprint. Pretend there is something you want to flick. Now, with a concerted effort, make your pointer finger escape the catch your thumb is providing. Go on, do it.


Feel that release? How much energy is being expended and in a controlled, precise manner? I am willing to bet a fair number of you did that to your own nipple, you perverts. I respect that.

Um, you can stop now.

Now imagine that after they have been not just severely tormented but also that they are tight, hard and helplessly displayed. Keep that sensation in mind as you read on.

When you flick nipples its akin to flogging them with a single strand flogger. A single strand of an otherwise innocuous item moving at a significant rate of speed, with its very tip the only part making contact with what ever is in its path. Which in this case were Leigh’s proud nipples.

“Ohhhhhhh, you know what is coming, don’t you?” I whispered while gazing down over her shoulder at the points of interest.

Her lip a quivering, pouty ledge, all she managed to utter was a pathetic whimper from somewhere deep inside.

Then I paused. And waited.

Did nothing but breath on her.

The tension mounted. Grew. Suspense permeated the room. Leigh braced for the inevitable. Often it’s not what you do but when and how you don’t do a single fucking thing. This technique is especially effective with blindfold play. The theatre of the senses takes over. The mind fuck of anticipation is mouth watering.

The silence was deafening. Our hearts felt like one.

flick went my fingers.

Temporarily insane went my Leigh.

The Butterfly Chains

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Comfortable?” I asked.

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

“I’m good” she replied.

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

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

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

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


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

The Butterfly Chains Act II

I Inspired A Coffee Nooner


Did that excite you? Make you extremities tingle, eyes widen, mouth water? Hot, velvety, lush, mysterious and dark, yet can also be blonde and sweet? It’s practically a religion at TDND™ World Headquarters. The ritual of it all is almost a scene in itself.


The thrill of a quickie stolen from the sadistic grasp of reality and time. Telling the real word to fuck off while you get your fuck on. Primal, raw, sweaty, animalistic. Leigh and I will carpe nooner on occasion this way, when I just take her and fuck her raw to quench my greedy perverted thirst.

What I if I said you could have your coffee and nooner too? Better yet, you can have them at the same time?

Peeker™/romance author Miya Kressin and I adore java. We joked about our daily flirtations with the magically elixir the other day on Twitter. I mentioned how jealous Leigh gets when java and I have a “coffee nooner.”


That in turn inspired Miya to get a 2nd cup, put fingers to keyboard and have a coffee nooner of her own via the crafting of a very naughty short featuring a loving husband and father, a selfless wife and mother, two lattes, a dress and some stolen quality time.

Curious? You damn well should be.

Trust me, you’ll never drink a latte the same way ever again if you read “Coffee Nooner.”

And to think I inspired it with an innocent comment to a romance writer over the internet over coffee. Anytime I can be associated with hot coffee and scalding sex it is a compliment beyond mortal words to my caffeinated ears.

Thank you Miya for your gift of words. I thoroughly enjoyed reading that…over a hot cup of coffee.

Now I want a latte. Perhaps Leigh will join me?

– Scot