A Peek Back 9-8

200 posts.

Hard to believe that, as of last night, we reached this milestone so quickly. Still hasn’t sunk in. It does not seem like just over four months ago that I came to Leigh with a crazy idea and a single blog post introducing myself. If memory serves me I believe our first day we had 8 views. We went over 30,000 total earlier this week.

So in honor of this momentous occasion I am sleeping in Saturday. The words you read right now are, with the assistance of a celebratory 24oz Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, being keystroked Friday evening.

Its been an amazing ride so far. And its only going to get better. Thank you all.

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 (the 24oz Pale Ale may need to wait until later in the day) sit back and enjoy.

So saluté!  It’s time to Peek Back!

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.15 – Longtime Peeker™ Ms. D wanted to know if moments like Breaking Leigh were life altering.

A Coffee, Cricket And A Dom Walk Into A Monday – A very laid back, touching Labor Day induced Monday musing.

The Butterfly Chains Act IV – In short, I fuck Leigh fast and hard. One of the most well received Acts of any story I’ve written. Peekers™ went gonzo over this one.

I Had No Idea – My stunned reaction to the above, plus an announcement about a new blog feature. It involves me coming.

The Looking Glass Act II – A very special memory begins, complete with soundtrack. This one is personal on many levels.

Butterfly Chains Are Making Noise – The aforementioned Act IV that everyone freaked out over got republished!

Seek And Go Hyde Act VI – The final Act in this story. Hyde takes over. It gets intense, a bit wild…and very messy.

WII Is WII – Has nothing to do with video games and everything to do with defining WIITWD. Curious? Read on.

Chain Of Rules Act VII – After two Acts of nipple abuse, it’s time to add spanking to Leigh’s chained misfortune…or is that fortune?

Pretty – A poem because sometimes you just want to fuck the pretty girl you wake up to.

For My Leigh – For the 200th post on The Dom Next Door™ I wanted to do something special. I did.

Just tiptoe on the way out…..ZZZZZZZZZZ.

– Scot

Chain Of Rules Act VII

(To read Chain Of Rules Act I, Act II, Act III, Act IV, Act V or Act VI)

As soon as my hand caressed the gentle slope of her ass cheek, Leigh knew she was going to be spanked.

Closing my eyes I can still see her the small of her back gracefully sliding into the curve of her backside. From the side the view is breathtaking. As much as I lose my mind when she places her shoulders flat and raises her hips, the lateral view of the female spine is, without question, geometric perfection. No other curve in nature even comes close.

We were made for each other. My hand reaches her sweet spot…

Oh, yeah. The sweet spot. Every woman has one, and not the one located under her clitoral hood or hiding inside her up under her pubic bone. No, each and every woman has a spot on her ass that, when struck, makes her eyes glaze over with thoughts of more. Each woman is different in this regard. For some its all over her ass. No matter where she’ll beam. Actually they want all over. Spanking in the same spot repeatedly is what heightens endorphin production.

Others want the fleshy mass struck. Some crave what is actually upper thigh, which really stings like a mother fucker. Not many seem to like the upper cheeks near the back, which is perfectly understandable as well as advisable. Never, I mean never, strike a submissive with any force or impact play there. Their kidneys thank you.

Leigh’s sweet spot is on the underside of each ass cheek, right above the crease where the thigh starts. That’s my target. I need to hit there repeatedly, accurately and often. If my hand strays I can tell by the sound. That’s also how I can tell if the force is right. Once I am dialed in muscle memory will allow me to spank each cheek in the exact same place a thousand or so times.

But, as I was saying, my hand reaches her sweet spot when she stands next to me. It’s a perfect fit. It’s easy on my shoulders and back, which is nice as well as convenient.

It means I can spank her longer.

Leigh arched backward into my hand, the cleft of her ass flaring open as an invitation to explore its secrets. By doing so her chest thrust outward in the opposing direction. The effect on her silhouette was …

“Fuckkkkkkk!” I exclaimed at the erotic perfection now at my mercy. The curvature of her spine was exaggerated to such a degree it took my breath away. Her full breasts provided a perfect counter to her round ass.

“My God baby you look fucking amazing” was my offering to her as my hands explored the gifts being presented. With a hand on her breast, another clutching her ass, my mouth inhaling her neck she was in heaven. As was I.

The next few minutes were spent in worship of my chained angel. I explored as much of her nude form as I could. No curve was left untouched, no part of her neck unlicked, no orifice unexplored. Except that damn belly button. Someday…

Nipples were gently tweeked, collar bones nibbled on, ass cheeks made to ripen with goosebumps. Her torso painted with feathery touches, the nape of her neck grazed upon, her cunt and asshole teased with fingertips.

The way my hand circled her ass cheek should have been a hint.

SMACK!

Leigh was so far into being touched that she purred at the introduction to being spanked. The ritual that we share as far as touch-spank-other cheek-repeat began. The room filled with smacking sounds, only broken by her sighs and deep breathing.

Yeah, she was into it.

The pinching of a nipple elicited a sharp breath. This was the first time I’d ever had the opportunity to abuse her breasts and ass simultaneously. Playing one off the other was exquisite, but no where as striking (bad spanking joke) as her reaction to one or the other, better yet both. I could feel her confusion at how to weather this dual front storm. Normally she could just focus on spanking or nipple play.

Now she had to do both at the same time. While chain bound.

The steady rhythm of smack smack smack smack escalated in frequency as I tried to bring her to a plateau. My other hand continued to work those already raw nipples over with more attention. Her breath grew ragged, her torso twisted in a sad attempt to evade my hand. That only made my spanking more likely to SMUCK instead of SMACK when she moved the target.

I take a lot of fucking pride in my ability to administer a good spanking. I do not take well to hearing SMUCK when its not my carelessness causing it.

“Hold still” I ordered. As much as I adore her squirms (she is a world class writher) they were beginning to piss me off mildly as far as all this SMUCKING.

Leigh exhaled with one of her “HhhhhhhmmmMMMM” pouts. I love that fucking sound. It says “I don’t wanna!!!……but I will.”

Yet again she found herself practicing self-bondage through forced posture. That made me smile.

Once properly posed it was easy to play her like a first seat would their cello. Now her noises were more from duress, her arousal from pain not pleasure. Again and again I took her ass and breasts through their respective paces. The smacks grew louder, harder, her nipples tugged on longer and tighter.

By the time her panting signaled she had reached a new level I backed off to allow her to acclimate to her new altitude. The aroma of female arousal filling the room made me content.

Content to finish her off in style by enjoying that wet cunt of hers.

Seek And Go Hyde Act VI

(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act I, Act II, Act III, Act IV or Act V)

I admit I was not thinking straight. Or sanely.

By the time Leigh’s body had been racked with a second sadomasochistic orgasm that left us both drenched in her vaginal fluids I was gone. Just not there. Hyde had taken over.

Content with how destroyed Leigh was physically and emotionally, he craved the one thing she had left.

Her pride.

And he was determined to not just have it but fucking devour it.

It feels odd to write in this tense in that it was me. It is me every time Hyde comes out to play. But it isn’t really me. Or that’s something I just say as a means to rationalize the sadistic evil that is my alter ego.

(for more about that sadistic evil comment, you may want to read  Torn)

I’m honesty not sure if I should write the remainder of this in first or third person. Tell you what. I’ll toggle between the two. Myself and Hyde. If its confusing, join the party.

Leigh had given me everything I asked of her, yet that wasn’t enough. He wanted more, plus it was now my turn to be the one screaming through an orgasm. Tired, soaked, pissed off for some fucking reason, still the proud owner of a rock hard erection. Enough of this punish her shit. It was time to abuse my cock with drenched cunt.

She was a mess. No other way to put it. Her timeless beauty was awash in sweat, her own ejaculate and the aura that oozes from a woman’s pores after she has multiplied. She looked feverish, flustered and uncertain. Matted auburn locks painted her face like a Japanese ink print.

Her face? Devastated. Not from external blows but from within. Disheveled is being kind. When Leigh’s baby blues become china doll blacks…

“Hold them open,” he growled. Hyde didn’t give a fuck about any of that. And, at that moment, neither did I. As her Sir I learned very early that Rule #1 of being the best Dominant I can be for her was this:

I must be selfish.

It sounds incredibly uncaring, cold and shallow. It’s actual the opposite. By focusing hard on my own needs I address her desire to be completely dominated. I can’t give her that while being concerned about her. But by the same token I am completely focused on her, reading her, listening.

Its fucking hard to Dominate someone! Any submissives reading this, try it sometime. You’ll see.

“No, here” I said. My hands gripped Leigh’s Achilles tendons firm. Now she understood where and why.

With a staccato whimper she replaced my hands with hers. I had spread her legs as far as anatomy allowed. No bent knees or drawn in thighs. Straight out, wide open. Nothing had changed in that regard, except Leigh was the one holding them that way.

Hyde roared at the thought she was being made to abuse her own flesh a final time. The sweetest part? Her hands were no where near the soft parts that were going to suffer.

Drawing my face nearer to hers I grinned, then proceeded to try to choke her with my cock via her cunt.

Vicious. Brutal. Each stroke bottoming out. They would have regardless with how wet she was, but holding herself that wide open? Fuck.

My hips slammed into hers, the spray from her cunt going everywhere. At this angle both our faces were doused. Slapping sounds of soaked flesh rammed into the same filled the bedroom. Leigh frantically tried to hold on as her labia were bitch slapped over and over. It would have been painful by itself, but as engorged as she was made it even worse. Her voice was…well, I’ll just say she was speaking in tongues, which I suspect is Hyde’s native language.

Again and again I fucked her as hard as I could. My toes curled, hips tightened, that familiar cramp all too welcome. I started to build. With my impending orgasm in its infancy I started to growl. Mouth closed, guttural, animatistic. If you have even heard a cornered predatory animal, that’s what it sounded like, each one a little louder from deeper inside.

Now it was I who grew frantic. Blood raced from every corner of my being to my groin. I grew light headed being asphyxiated by my central nervous system, my ass cheeks locked in an attempt to force myself inside out.

Faster. Harder. More yelling than growling, yet the same. The way Leigh stared at my face hinted at the contortions that seized it. She was completely caught up in my delirium. I felt a knot start deep inside me. Tighter. Push. Harder. So. Close. So. Fucking. Close.

When the inevitable became reality I seethed through clenched teeth “DON’T MOVE YOUR HANDS!!” then withdrew from Leigh, reared back onto my knees, grabbed my cock with my right hand and…

…exploded.

I came with the same force I just fucked her stupid with. Semen roared through my cock. Upon its release I went to scream…and couldn’t. No air. None. Splurt after splash of hot cum went fucking everywhere. It felt like I was being strangled. The colors were pretty in there as my eyes rolled back. Within seconds I raced towards unconsciousness.

I saw Leigh turn her head to her left. That’s about all I recall as far as my surroundings.

Stars. Fireflies. The smell of semen filled my nostrils, Leigh’s fluids spewed all over my thighs and waist without stop.

Then the air came back. I screamed. Again. Roared. Again.

Remember how your grade school music teacher always wanted you to sing from your diaphragm? I came from mine. With the oxygen came blood back to my brain. That’s when things got fuzzy, but I was too busy growling and snarling to appreciate the head rush.

My orgasm lasted well over a minute. I about died.

Collapsing onto my haunches I looked at Leigh. Her body was awash in cum, yet she wouldn’t move. Her hands still clung fiercely to her ankles. But it was her head cocked to the side with eyes closed  that caught my attention.

Apparently that first massive load didn’t just hit her in the breast but bounced off it and splattered all over the side of her face. Semen dripped off her cheek like a candle gone mad.

I smiled. Or was it he smiled? We smiled? I’m still not sure.

– Scot & Hyde

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

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

Chain Of Rules Act VI

(To read Chain Of Rules Act I, Act II, Act III,  Act IV or Act V)

She had to hold very still, lest the finger flogging her nipple catch the skin of her upper breast, which would really fucking hurt, and not in the good way.

I know, its bad enough that I cuffed and chained her standing like that, defenseless to my perverted means and inclinations. As if that wasn’t enough restraint, now Leigh was forced to administer the same to herself, but from within.

It was all part of the mind fuck, and she hates to admit that she loves when the space between ears becomes more engorged with lust than the space between her thighs. But its true. When I push the envelope on a mental, spiritual and verbal level she practically soaks herself.

So, after that excruciating flick that made her scream I…

…what’s that? No, I did not continue to do that repeatedly. Once was enough to not just excite but drive her to Franticville. It’s not the what you do, but the how. Not how many, but when. Not when you do but when you don’t. This is what kept her sharp, focused, alert and constantly on edge.

Sure, I could just have just reared back and repeatedly flicked her nipples raw, which would have allowed her to focus all her energy on one tiny aspect of our play instead of flicking them violently once, then making her wait for if and when it would happen again. One play puts her in short term survival mode, the other in long term defense mode. One puts her on her toes for a few seconds, the other keeps her on them the entire time.

Think about it. Which is worse – knowing steady pain or the anticipation of it’s impending, sharp arrival…or not?

I thought so.

But that didn’t mean they were going to get off Scot free (heh).

“Shhhhhhhhh,” I whispered from behind her, her nude gyrating form a quivering mass of neurology gone mad.

“Hold still. Hold,” I grabbed her right breast fully with my left hand,

“very,” squeezed it firm as if she was going to be milked,

“still,” while I placed the extended pointer finger of my right hand inches above its nipple, so proudly thrust outward as a result of my grip.

Leigh froze, her feet a fidgeted blur of activity against the chains, bracing herself motionless as best she could. The breath from her nose was short, shallow and hinted at her growing anxiety over what she knew was about to..

thwack

Down came my pointer finger like a flogger’s tail, thudding against the protruding nipple with a delicious amount of force.

“AEEEEHHHHH!!” Leigh winced, her body lurching violently against the restraints. The tuunngggg of the chains echoed…

thwack

“OoohooOhhhOohh” …her breath a vain, feeble and frustrating attempt to…

thwack

“EeeeeehhHHHHH” …keep the spit from flying out of her…

thwack

“UhhhUHHUHhuuhhUHHH” …clenched teeth as her nipple hardened to an…

thwack

“MmmmmmHHMMMM!!! … engorged nub the size of which rivaled the…

thwack

“UhhhuhhuhhuhhHHH!!!!” …width of the finger causing it all the discomfort. The irony.

She snorted as if she had been a thoroughbred put away wet and unwashed after a day of wild running. Short, ragged, pulsing gasps punctuated by long, slow, drawn out shrills. It was exquisite to listen to, let alone be able to control the volume and tempo of with just one finger.

I could smell the arousal dripping in rivulets down her leg. The scattered drops of the same painted the hardwood floor with a patina of lust.

She whined, her pouted lips aquiver when my hands changed roles to apply the same attention to her other breast. Her reactions were no less arousing, perhaps even more so in that she knew what was coming. This continued for a few minutes as I alternated each breast with the same sadistic attentions. She seethed and cried, tugged and pulled at the chains, whimpered, moaned, soaked herself and our surroundings with her wetness.

By the time I stopped and began to softly massage her breasts, my fingers feathering across their entirety with the force of a butterfly’s wing, she was a sopping mess.

“Good girl,” I whispered to her slack form. My touches and voice became a port of refuge from the storm of the chains, “such a good girl.”

So it should not have come as a surprise when

FLICK!

My coiled middle fingers exploded from the trigger my thumbs provided. The violent, sudden contact with the ends of each nipple was quick, brutal and done with. And just as before, Leigh screamed.

I told you. It’s not the what you do, but the how. Not how many, but when. Not when you do but when you don’t.

With that I stepped out from behind and took a position aside her. My legs straddled the chain running taut from her left leg to the door frame behind me, a 3″ stainless steel eye hook insuring that it or Leigh were going nowhere. Both my hands surveyed her tight skin from knees to neck and everywhere in between. The left hand enjoyed her thighs, hips, cunt, stomach and breasts, its counterpart her hamstrings, ass cheeks, back and neck.

So soft, so vulnerable, so beautiful. I couldn’t resist leaning in to allow my teeth the same privilege, grazing the sloping skin of her nape and shoulders with an obligatory bite on her very hard nipple.

Leigh cooed at the touches, purred with each stroke. She had been a very good girl and, aside from giving her a much needed chance to catch her breath it was a reward of sorts. Plus, on a purely selfish level, I just fucking love to touch the alabaster velvet her skin is when its so taut.

And besides, I had a very good reason for standing on her left side. This position placed my right hand behind her.

You know, the hand I spank her with.

Chain Of Rules Act VII

The Words Of Power

I know, it should be “The Power Of Words.”

And they are powerful. Physical wounds will mend, but the ones caused by verbal cutting? They linger, cripple, haunt. The scar that never quite heals.

I thought of this last night as I wrote the climatic ending (pun intended) to Act V of Seek And Go Hyde:

“You may come.”

And with that Leigh exploded in a primal grunt all over me, her hands practically tearing her nipples loose in the process. They were almost cartoonish in how far their delicate skin stretched from being pulled so violently. But nowhere near as violent as the drenching orgasm that consumed us both.

With a massive gush Leigh screamed “I’M A PAIN SLUT I’M A PAIN SLUT FUCK I’M A PAIN SLUT.” She was practically hysterical with lust, the waves of each multiple crashing into her repeatedly, their damage measured in how badly her swollen cunt leapt out to suck in my cock.

The spray from her ejaculate hit me in the face. I licked my lips at the shock.

Told you it was sweet.

All the while she kept repeating her kinky mantra over and over, each time more guttural, deeper from within her, until out of nowhere she literally screamed at the top of her lungs:

“I. LOVE. WHEN. YOU. FUCKING. BEAT. ME!!!!”

And with that collapsed into a seething, panting heap on the bed.

Yes, she actually screamed that. And I can assure you that was Leigh as about as raw as I have ever seen her. The physical duress she was enduring via being forced to countless squirting multiple orgasms was brutal. But it was my insistence that she verbalize what she hates to admit that, I feel, pushed her to a point where she screamed what she did with the conviction of an executioner.

This is part of the beauty of D/s, especially when heated to a melting point in the forge of BDSM. I experience it as well. For everything Leigh and I share behind that closed bedroom door, for all the perversions, sadistic pleasures, sweet pain, there is one thing that I crave more than her vaginal fluids soaking through multiple layers of bedding all the way to the mattress.

Her manners.

I am addicted to hearing her beg permission to orgasm. And that pales in comparison to when she thanks me after each one.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The physical is amazing. Ironically in a post about the power for words I am at a loss for the best ones to attempt to describe how fucking intense all of this is. Which I guess speaks to the strength of our D/s dynamic. It’s more powerful than words, which is really saying something that can’t be said with words!

What?

I need more coffee. Un memento, por favor.

And my favorite part of when we share each other’s dark side? The aftercare. When she is so far gone inside herself that it’s my turn to drown her in sweet nothings. And often all she can say is a meek “Thank you Sir” through a doll’s eyes before she goes away to the land of floaty floaty.

Right there. Looking in those empty pools of blue, when she says three words to me. That’s when I start to soar, my wings full on the wind of her beautiful submission. And I fucking fly into Topspace.

But that night, when she threw that one raw statement at me like a dagger, that was different.

Sitting here, right now, coffee within reach, it just occurred to me that when Leigh screamed “I. LOVE. WHEN. YOU. FUCKING. BEAT. ME!!!!” that Hyde had an orgasm.

(For you virginal Peekers™ a little history about Hyde)

Of course he can’t actually come. I do that. But in his own sadistic, perverted manner, forcing Leigh to that admission at the height of a brutal squirting orgasm was his own release. Whatever the chemical biology of satisfaction and its counterparts are, imagine that multiplied 100x. Now detonate that inside your soul like a kinky roadside bomb.

I came without coming. And it stopped me fucking cold. After that it was my turn. You’ll read about that later this week. But the fucker wouldn’t let me come until he did. All over both of us. Inside my head, soul and spirit, and out of Leigh’s mouth. The saturated mess around us both was just icing on his cake.

And, sadly, there are also the way in which certain words will forever be raw, open wounds to some. A few Peekers™ know this too well, including a special one that is near and dear to a number of us who blog in the darkest corner of the WordPress basement. For them, Leigh’s statement yelled at the height of consensual arousal conjures up bad memories, feelings and emotions. Very bad. Not consensual. Or asked for.

I pondered sharing what Leigh said, but ultimately decided to allow you all to react as you will. I did feel strongly about adding the * disclaimer at the end.

BDSM has been long thought of in a similar manner. And given the phenomenon of that certain neutral hued book series interest in WIITWD is likely at an all-time high. It’s important that those who have been here all the while be careful with how we present what can easily be misunderstood as sexual assault, or worse. They need to know that the key is communication.

Or, in other words, words. Just like the written ones above.

– Scot

Seek And Go Hyde Act V

(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act I, Act II, Act III or Act IV)

Abusing Leigh’s nipples is like dialing 1-800-WET-CUNT. Operators are standing by.

(note – I just made that up. Please don’t call that expecting us to answer)

She squealed with erotic displeasure at my request, knowing full well that not just tweaking and pulling her nipples would make her already sopping wet folds literally brim with her own secretions, but the fact that she was forced to do so to herself made the faucet run even faster.

Sopping, slapping sounds filled the bedroom with obscene clarity. The aroma of a woman who has not so much enjoyed but more like suffered through a series of forced orgasms this way is unmistakable. It’s not the musky scent of growing arousal but rather a sweet smell, almost a perfume, that even a blind and deaf man would recognize in a heartbeat. Perhaps its the way it mixed with the pheromones of her early wetness, or maybe how my own sweat became an unintentional recipient of the spray ejaculating from her depths, two becoming one chemically as well as physically.

“Pinch them hard, bitch” I growled while plowing her deeply with my still extremely engorged erection. I swear it can smell the same things I do. For when she squirts I swell. When I swell she squirts more, which makes me swell even…

… well, you get the idea.

And with such ease! It was no effort to reach her cervix with each stroke. I love how that small bump French kisses the head of my cock when she becomes a human fire hydrant. Plus it makes it a lot easier on me physically. No need to work hard when I’m that hard and she is that wet. Allows me to fuck her a lot longer. Much longer.

And that bastard Hyde knew this. No wonder I was growling deep, low, primal. I even hissed.

She just lay there, her legs wishbone wide in my iron grip, her face grimaced with beautiful agony and perverted lust at how her own fingers ravaged the tender points so hard and high atop each breast. Pinching them hard, then rolling each back and forth, tugging violently and releasing them to snap back.

And all the while our eyes stayed as locked as our groins. Mine in hers, hers in mine. But truth be told it really wasn’t me leering at her with perverted lust, an evil smile coldly coursing across my face like fissures in January ice. No, it was Hyde. He was in charge. The smell of sweet female ejaculate didn’t as much bring him out to play with my doll but try to devour her with my eyes, thoughts, words and cock. A bloodlust for a different bodily fluid seethed in my veins like black venom.

I wanted her to come like she was going to fucking die from it.

I know that sounds harsh, brutal, cold and uncaring. You all know how much I adore Leigh. I’d take a bullet in a New York second for her. But at that moment all that mattered was to feel her squirt, watch her spasm, hear her lamentations as well as admit that she was, indeed, a fucking pain slut.

“That’s it, cunt,” I practically spit through clenched teeth in the guise of a snarled directive, “rip those fucking lil’ points right off your tits.”

The amount of fluid that poured out of her wide open cunt resembled a stream. While it’s not the sexiest sound to try to verbalize shlap is pretty accurate, accentuated by a hint of suction when our soaked hips met. It was vulgar and nasty and oh so much fucking fun! Damn she felt good!

The pace at which Leigh’s fingers ripped at her nipples matched the same of my cock inside her. Faster and faster, yet still as deep, as effortless as could ever be imagined. Absolutely no resistance to my raging efforts to gut her with my cock.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you bitch?” I mocked at her, my eyes ablaze with the impending wet inferno that, based on how thick her labia had swollen, was mere moments away. “Don’t you dare fucking come without saying what you are!”

The utterance of that started the inevitable. I could feel it. See it. Fuck, I could taste it.

Hyde was practically crawling out of my skin. It’s an odd sensation to feel one’s head grow warm, full, hot with internal fever so suddenly. My eyes felt as if they would ignite.

A subtle shift of my hips lower, a sudden retching of her legs wider and her G spot was mine. My pace quickened to almost that of a boxer working a speed bag, the shlap shlap shlap shlap echoed like wet thunder.

“May I please come, Sir?” Leigh rasped, her face contorted crimson with the impending release she not so much needed as was being forced from her.

Hyde grinned.

“Not yet,” he said.

Her face was almost purple, her eyes just the blacks.

“Wait,” he said while fucking her relentlessly, “wait……………….wait………………..”

“You may come.”

And with that Leigh exploded in a primal grunt all over me, her hands practically tearing her nipples loose in the process. They were almost cartoonish in how far their delicate skin stretched from being pulled so violently. But nowhere near as violent as the drenching orgasm that consumed us both.

With a massive gush Leigh screamed “I’M A PAIN SLUT I’M A PAIN SLUT FUCK I’M A PAIN SLUT.” She was practically hysterical with lust, the waves of each multiple crashing into her repeatedly, their damage measured in how badly her swollen cunt leapt out to suck in my cock.

The spray from her ejaculate hit me in the face. I licked my lips at the shock.

Told you it was sweet.

All the while she kept repeating her kinky mantra over and over, each time more guttural, deeper from within her, until out of nowhere she literally screamed at the top of her lungs:

“I. LOVE. WHEN. YOU. FUCKING. BEAT. ME!!!!” *

And with that collapsed into a seething, panting heap on the bed.

She had never said anything like that before. Nor has she since. The room grew death silent, save for our labored breathing and hearts pounding. We stayed locked, cock in cunt, covered in her fluids for a minute or so, recouping ourselves from that primal exchange.

That’s enough, I thought.

Now it was my turn to come.

* note – I know the use of that term/phrase is a sensitive one for some Peekers™. Please know it was said at the zenith of passion, that everything was consensual, and that I have never, EVER lifted my hand to Leigh in anger.

Seek And Go Hyde Act VI

A Peek Back 8-25

Someone found the blog by keyword searching “breaking leigh d/s.”

Twice.

I cannot even begin to describe how humbling that was to see. If you follow me on Twitter you know on a regular basis I share some of the phrases people use in search engines that eventually led to their peeking through the keyhole. And I’m fairly certain that, baring some incredibly kinky coincidence, that those two words in conjunction are unique to my story about spanking Leigh to tears.

Typically the search phrases or keywords are obvious. Many times they cause me to scratch my head in a “what the fuck?” Occasionally they shock and sadden me in the cold reality of how fucking sick some people are.

But more often than not they are amusing. Downright humorous, bordering on hysterical. Which I enjoy. I’ve joked about creating a unique page as a The Dom Next Door™ Search Engine Submission Hall Of Fame. It’s probably going to happen, it will likely become one of the most popular pages on the site and its content will, ironically, result in even more funky phrases finding our kinky lil’ corner of the internet.

But they better bring their A game. “Belly button squirm” is a tough act to follow.

If you’re a first time Peeker™ Leigh and I welcome you 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 (if its coffee pour us both a mug, please) sit back and enjoy.

With all that searching, its time to find this week’s Peek Back:

Chain Of Rules Act V – Leigh’s chain bound form screamed for nipple abuse. Leigh screamed as well.

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.13 – Peeker™ surrenderedone wanted some advice on how to get to that special place in a spanking scene.

Oktoberfest Thirty Begets Coffee Monday Morning – The Monday morning java musings after the Sunday evening beer fest.

We Interrupt Writing Seek And Go Hyde Act IV – The cliffs – Leigh. Magic Oil™. I mean, c’mon!

Seek And Go Hyde Act IV – Don’t read this unless you like sadomasochistic forced orgasms, and who among us doesn’t?

Hyde Gets Wild – The story right above this got republished in an erotic newspaper. No living with Hyde now!

BDSM On A Budget – The Chains™ – The long hinted at and anticipated post. Here’s how you too can have professional quality chain bondage in your bedroom.

Embers – A very special erotic poem about a very special lady and a very special evening. It’s not always cuffs and floggers.

The Butterfly Chains Act III – How hot is this Act? I had to take a cool shower after writing it. Shit you not.

If Crayola Made BDSM Crayons – Pretty much what it sounds like. Yeah, I’m sick this way and I like it.

Let the belly buttons squirm!

– Scot