A Peek Back 8-18

I promised, after last’s weeks tangent on safe words, this week would be story intensive. So far I feel that I have honored my word.

Counting poetry, which is special to me in that it’s about one person and one person only (my Leigh), there are five new pieces of erotica to read. And, before midnight Sunday, there will be at least two more.

That would be, since I was in school the day they covered sevens, seven stories and poems in seven days. Its been a challenge to keystroke that much and have the confidence in them to click Publish. But I have enjoyed it, and from the page views so have you. There is a very good chance we could set a single week views record.

Very soon, likely in the next week or so, you will be all privy to some flogging stories, or at least one. Our initial foray into flog play went very well. Leigh was quite floaty, and I was rather proud of my neophyte efforts with the leathers. She has given this avenue the green light, so it’s very likely that as the days grow shorter our flogging stories will grow longer (heh).

I fucking love using it on her. Not gonna lie. But there is so much to learn and consider when using one. Practice, practice, practice. Plus Leigh has had a most unique challenge this week. You’ll read more about that as well.

If you’re a first time Peeker™ Leigh and I welcome you to your virginal peek through the keyhole. I strongly encourage you to view all of the established Pages, which can be viewed by selecting any of the tabs at the top of this page.

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

Speaking of coffee, read this week’s Peek Back as I get some more:

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.12 – In leu of a Peeker™ question I accepted another blogging award. This means ten more pieces of Scot Trivia…sigh.

The Greatest Coffee Excuse Is 6 AM Monday – Considering I was barely awake this week’s assortment of random musings was pretty good.

Drip Drop – An erotic poem inspired by the candlelit vision that was Leigh’s chained, spread eagle pose.

Scenesounds – While we haven’t added music to scenes, this is why and also some we might when we do.

The Butterfly Chains Act II – My sadistic plans took an unexpected turn when Leigh’s erotic beauty cast a spell.

An Erotic World Champion Poet – My poem Drip Drop was featured in a cleverly named ePub. I’m totally claiming this.

Breaking Leigh Act XI – The final act in the longest story on the blog, and a very special one to me personally.

Breaking Leigh – Epilogue – The postscript to the above. What happened later that night plus some thoughts on the story.

My Alabaster Doll – Another piece of erotic poetry, this time regarding the flogging of Leigh’s beautifully displayed breasts.

One last thing, a confession if you will. I’m actually typing this Friday evening. Oh, I didn’t lie about getting more coffee. I am. Just not as I prepare to finalize this so I can sleep in with my doll.

Am I sorry to have possibly told a creative truth earlier?

Nope…

– Scot

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Breaking Leigh – Epilogue

(Note – this epilogue will have little meaning if you have not read Breaking Leigh)

12, 018 words to describe thirty minutes Leigh and I shared one amazing June evening. In literary terms that constitutes a novella.

When I signed Act XI the other evening I felt empty, vulnerable, fragile. It was akin to cradling a newborn, or handling other extremely delicate items that have personal value beyond measure. In a way I guess I was doing just that.

A memory. A precious moment now frozen in the sands of time and, through the marvels of 21st century digital technology, in bits and bytes for all of you to share in with us. I’m still, as I lie here on our bed not even five feet from where the story unfolded spank by smack, feeling a bit off. It’s entirely possible I’m experiencing an extremely mild and rare case of second-hand (heh) Topspace as a result of verbally articulating the keepsake that is the memory of that night.

I admit to actually being mildly afraid to writing that final Act out of not just the fear that I did not have the writing chops to do the moment’s beauty justice, but also that I was not sure how I was going to react myself. But I did, I am glad I did, and I am appreciative of everyone’s patience (I know, I know…) as Act to Act slowly unfolded like a rose bud into a full bloom.

Truth be told the night did not end there. Aftercare was administered with the same feelings that I mentioned above. Leigh was gone. Her body was there, but she was so far inside her self that only her gorgeous, school girl outfitted shell was there. I helped her to bed, got her some water, then wrapped myself around her. I held her tight, soothed her tears, stroked her hair, whispered enough sweet nothings to write a novella in and of themselves. Limp is an understatement as far as her body. She allowed me the honor of taking about everything that makes her Leigh and trusted me with it while she soared in subspace. There were no emotions left to give, no sparkle in what now looked like a doll’s eyes all glassy and black, not even the ability to hold me.

When she came back a short while later it was with a perverted vengeance.

We fucked like wild animals. Viciously. Sweating. Physical. Primal heat. Raw. We tried to kill one another with cunt and cock. The resultant mess of vaginal fluid soaked bedding and semen splattered plaid skirt was downright pornographic. Hyde got to play with Leigh’s counterpart. If a seething fuck is possible, we seethed each other’s brains out.

And I could have easily written another five or so Acts about that. But I won’t.

No, the end was when she looked back at me with her face a shambles of tear induced chaos and meekly smiled. Actually it just occurred to me that was Leigh saying “Thank you” in silence right before she left me for subspace.

This was a difficult story to write for, as I mentioned, a number of reasons. And for a number of Peekers™ it was a difficult story to read, especially the final three acts. Your Comments did not go unnoticed. It never occurred to me that by sharing our new memory that it may rip the scar off an old one for others, a wound that perhaps they did not willingly submit to receiving. If any undue trauma or the like resulted as an after effect of reading this story I apologize for your pain. Please know that Leigh’s desire to do this, as well as her eventual breakdown, were all done consensually with compassion, care, consideration, concern and above all love.

It may sound odd to those who do not understand or participate in WIITWD, but as violently as I attacked her ass with hand and hair brush every one of those strokes was administered with her well being in mind. The emotions that streamed out of her eyes in rivers were as pure as you can find, streams of salted emotion that flowed from the same pools from which tears of joy flow. You have to trust me on this. If you have ever just started crying from overwhelming happiness, or a stimuli of that sort, that is a variation of what she shed in great, heaving sobs over my knee.

It is NOT easy to just let go. Leigh’s role in our dynamic is far more complex and involved than mine. For her to truly experience the wondrous joy of total freedom and release she needs to leave reality behind. That is fucking difficult. Know why?

Because people fear themselves more than anything else. Leigh would argue she fears snakes more than anything, but I digress.

In her poem Our Greatest Fear Marianne Williamson sums this up best when she states:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

And she is right.

Leigh was powerful beyond measure that night. And I was, and am, blessed to have her as my best friend, coffee drinking bud, wife,  lover, kitchen helper, dog player wither, joke cracker, confidant, favorite hugger, slice of caker, and yes, my slutty doll behind a closed bedroom door.

– Scot

Breaking Leigh Act XI

(To read Breaking Leigh Act IAct IIAct IIIAct IVAct VAct VIAct VIIAct VIIIAct IX or Act X)

“And to think you have five more minutes of this before you’re done!” I seethed.

Which was true. I’d been, with a few breaks to allow her to plateau, been steadily blistering her ass cheeks for 25 minutes. Yes, I’d made a mental note as to when the first SMACK echoed that night. My telling her about the next 300 seconds of her life was two fold. It allowed me to stay in character, yet convey to Leigh critical information right as the scene was at its most intense. I never stopped spanking or said “yellow” or otherwise took away from the magic that we both had worked so hard to create. She now knew she only had five minutes of this torture left, which did wonders for her fight or flight reflex.

It’s the same as turning the last corner of the last lap of a mile race. Up until then your brain screams “STOP RUNNING YOU FUCK!” at your body. It has no idea how long this agony is going to continue. But when you can physically see the finish line that same brain, the one that has been holding reserve energy all along, says “Oh….OK. Here, have some more!” and you get a second wind in that you now know there will not just be an end but its in sight and will arrive soon.

The second reason I shared this tidbit with her was simple. It was fucking fun and sadistic.

“EhhhhHHHHHH!!!” she shrieked at the news, all the while the brush a virtual blur of CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK on her now cherry red ass. Her legs kicked in frantic response. Panting gobs of air were as violently sucked in her as I was beating on her. Oh how she whimpered! Saliva patterns covered the floor and wall courtesy of her wretched breathing. The palms of her hands stomped flat with what I assume was a primal urge to escape, perhaps fight off the inevitable. The unmistakable sound of nasal congestion was a welcome newcomer to this erotic symphony. Why?

That meant that tears had to be not far behind.

I picked up the intensity. It was now or never.

“Four more minutes!” I yelled. The excitement in the air was beyond static. The air around us felt liquid, lush, alive, surging with the heat of the moment.

“UhhhHHuhhhUHhhUhhhUhhhhHHHuHHH!!!” was the almost drowning acknowledgment. If she wasn’t in full involuntary reply yet she was damn fucking close.

I brought the brush down at a level six for about ten spanks before I heard a frantic, hoarse voice call out. Through raspy, sucking breaths Leigh rasped “No more with the brush!!!”

This wasn’t playing. Fuck, it wasn’t even Leigh’s voice, or at least any voice I had ever heard emitted from her. This was yellow, as in “You’re very close to red, Scot. Listen to me.”

I admit I contemplated ignoring her plea. But this is where it pays to know your submissive. It wasn’t an “Oh no, not three more minutes of this!” reaction, but more “You have driven me past my so thought limits but one more and I’ll scream red” alert.

What to do?

I dropped the brush.

And then, with my bare hand, tore into her ass at a level seven.

SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK as if my life depended on how many vicious blows I could deliver as fast as possible in the same place. Over. And over. And over.

Leigh made an initial “OoohhhhhhHHHHHHHHH”….and then got quiet.

Like death quiet.

“Two more minutes” I said sternly, with admitted concern over her sudden silence. The only sounds I could hear were, to me, what were the auto reflex my arm had become delivering welt after welt to her ass cheeks and my heart beating out of my chest from exertion and love.

Those two dominated what seemed like an eternity to me, but in hindsight were likely not even half a minute, if that.

That’s when I heard it.

A sob.

One solitary, heaving, low pitched sob split the night like broken glass.

Then another.

Wailing. Not hysterical, or even wrought with feeling. Just long, lush, wet sounds coming in a slow, staggered rhythm. Sad, soulful, mourning something.

Leigh was crying.

And not just crying. Sobbing. What to me felt like gobs of tears bursting out one after the other, the emotions she had kept dammed up now just flowed, freed at last.

I had broken her. And she had given me the gift of her tears, a gift I wanted so badly to share with her. It was beautiful. And I mean fucking beautiful. There are no words in the English vernacular to even begin to describe how precious that moment was.

Through this all my hand never stopped once. I still spanked her as ferociously as I had been.

“Breath” I calmly offered. “Only one more minute.”

My left hand massaged her lower back, letting her know that even as I rode her hard to the finish that it was all out of compassion. I owed her these next sixty seconds.

I was not privy to the entirety of her face, obviously. But I could see the better portion of the left side of it. The glistening cheek bones told me everything.

She earned the right to sob uncontrollably in silence, to savor each tear, just let herself be, flow, exist. And she did, with exquisite sounding tears that were deep, primal, free of cause. Just running in rivers down her pretty face between each beautiful sob.

And that’s how I broke Leigh. Or more appropriately how we did.

When the clock reached the bottom of the hour my hand stopped. Caresses. Touches. Soft strokes of her beyond abused backside, my other hand massaging her back. All the while she just laid there across my lap and cried without restriction.

“That’s my good girl” I said with a smile. I was so proud of her.

She glanced back at me, her face a destroyed wreck of runny mascara, tear soaked cheeks, swollen eyes, puffy and flushed skin….and meekly smiled.

sigh

Aside from when I lifted her veil before kissing her as my wife for the first time, she may have never looked more beautiful.

– Scot

Breaking Leigh – Epilogue

A Peek Back 8-11

The keyhole this week, at time, felt more like an impromptu soap box, or even a pulpit.

Please don’t think of that opening sentence as my intentional attempts to be preachy. I’ve made no secret that I am a complete neophyte at all of this. Learning on the hand job, if you will. My musings are just that – my two pennies on whatever is on my mind. And its worth that much as well.

I very often plan various post such as stories, but often my random musings are either manifestations of ideas that have been simmering for a while are and ready for public consumption or, more often, something that just occurs to me.

The latter was the case this week. And the results as far as reactions, comments and page views were not just surprising but, in cases, humbling beyond my means to convey. When, in essence, complete strangers (well, y’all have to admit we are all strange!) take something you wrote and not just to heart but to their spouse…

…that’s humbling. Seriously. I don’t even know where to start with the magnitude, significance and overall “Really?” of that.

Serious shit for so early on a weekend, huh?

The blog had its second best week for views. July doubled June’s visits, which were two times as many as May. Closing in on 500 Peekers™. Twitter has exploded again (we really do have a lot of fun just bullshitting there). I don’t shamelessly shill for any type of Following of any sort anywhere. So these numbers reflect perverts, er, people who are curious, who want to peek through the keyhole and, if they like what read, share with others. Leigh and I thank all of you for the love, support and general debauchery you share.

And only one cup of coffee so far!

If you’re a first time Peeker™ Leigh and I welcome you to your initial peek through the keyhole. I strongly encourage you to view all of the established Pages, which can be viewed by selecting any of the tabs at the top of this page.

The Archives are an inclusive, running version of every post of note on this blog. If you have not read any or all of the stories, random musings, poetry, etc linked from The Archives by all means please grab a seat, perhaps some java, sit back and enjoy.

In that I want to go get more java, here is this week’s Peek Back:

The Unsafe Word – I very rarely beg. It’s Leigh that begs. That said, please I beg of you read this if you or someone you know is thinking about meeting a Dominant for the first time.

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.11 – Peeker™ extarodinaire Jodie Griffin wanted to know if I had limits and have safe worded. I kinda went off on a tangent while answering her question.

Coffee Kickstart My Blog – My weekly way too early on a Monday ramblings while trying to wake up. This past week I mused for over 1200 words! Yeah coffee!

Breaking Leigh Act X – The hairbrush finally comes out. Will Leigh finally cry from just spanking?

The Butterfly Chains – The newest story on the blog. If spread eagle chain bondage is your kink, you may want to read this.

An Open Letter To The Frustrated Submissive Wife’s Husband – My humble thoughts for a wife’s Mr. she wishes would become Sir as well. The response to this has been amazing.

Butterflies Flight Of  Fantasy – An ePaper thought enough of The Butterfly Chains to Feature it!

I Lost My Interview Cherry And With Coffee! – I was asked by the vivacious Bell of DD & D/s, an amazing spanking and DD & D/s blog, to share some things about myself and kink…over coffee! My first blog interview!

Done. Publish. Second cup of coffee. Ahhhhhhh…

– Scot

An Open Letter To The Frustrated Submissive Wife’s Husband

When I wrote An Open Letter To The Frustrated Submissive Wife I had no idea it would become one of the most popular page views on the blog. It was in response to not just a direct question from a Peeker™ via email but also, by a landslide, the most commonly used keyword search theme that finds TDND™.

It did not occur to me at the time that the frustrated submissive wife would ask her husband to read either that or other posts in The Archives. I know that the overwhelming majority of Peekers™ are female, which is cool. I also acknowledge that blogs like ours are, by all accounts, rare. Not many Sirs who are also Mr. to their Mrs. write. You hear about them all the time via their doll’s (that’s the term I use for Leigh so it’s what I am comfortable saying) blog posts, but never get to interact with them, read their thoughts, see their feelings first hand, etc. It’s always from her view, her recollection, her interpretation.

As I and Peeker™ Nation both learned throughout the drama that was the Torn saga (especially when Leigh interjected her own feelings and views) was that my perceived reality and Leigh’s couldn’t have been more different. It was an extremely valuable, albeit  emotionally and spiritually tortuous, lesson. But now learned, I am in a much better place to admit to myself that there are parts of my psyche that are just plain vile, perverted and sadistic…and that Leigh loves when I let who/what/it I know refer to as Hyde come out to play. The links on that page offer more insight.

Combine all the aforementioned and this is what I would like to say to you, her current guy and potential Sir:

To the Husband Of A Frustrated Submissive Wife,

I know exactly how you feel. Trust me, I was there.

Oh sure, some husbands just take to Dominating their wives likes ducks to water. But I’ll bet that you and I are the norms rather than the exception. To be completely upfront yes, it was my idea to start all of what you can read about in The Archives. But, based on my brief experiences sharing WIITWD…

Oh, that’s What It Is That We Do, a common BDSM acronym. You’ll learn more about that in time and so much more if you listen very closely to what I am about to share with you.

Remember her? You know, the woman who eventually became your Mrs.? Think back to the very first months or year of that courtship. Smiling evilly right now? Good! You should be. She was something back then, huh? Amazing sex on draft whenever you wanted it. Everything tasted better when you two went out on dinner dates. The music that you danced and did all sorts of naughty things to are still etched into your memory as a soundtrack of Life’s Greatest Hits. More than likely she was thinner then, obviously younger, and the mere sight and thought of you made her head spin, heart pound and pussy drip.

Perhaps there were no gray hairs yet, or if you are blessed with children what pregnancy, childbirth and raising infants can do to the female anatomy, let alone mentality.

And I bet you were kinky, or at least tried kinky shit. Sex someplace other than the bedroom is kinky. So are simple blindfolds made when you almost took her teddy off all the way. Or that time you pinned her arms down when you both were in the throes of an amazing quickie. Or how could you forget caving into that temptation to CRACK her doggy style arched ass while you fucked her into the Tuesday of next week…and she liked it.

But Time waits for no one. You now have responsibilities, perhaps a family. Those little people running around your house are demanding. You are both heavier, stressed, no longer each other’s focal point, maybe even starting to gray. And that’s OK. You take care of things, which she may not say as much but loves when you do so. Bonus points if it’s without being asked.

Sex is now mundane, perhaps even predictable. Hey, with the mortgage due and the transmission acting up its understandable. Bills, meals, yard work, the kid’s practices, can’t forget the job and all that stress.

Am I hitting home yet?

And, now to top all of this off, the woman who wears your ring wants you to not just take her sexually but even use her that way in what you think is a perverted manner. Roughly. Violently. Tied up and helpless. Made to beg to orgasm, then thank you for the privilege. Spanked to the point of tears, then fucked raw.

Maybe she wants to be forced to do things that even she finds humiliating and degrading. She saw this video online of this poor girl who was made to….

…and all the while you are thinking “WHO the fuck is this woman?”

For years she has been your equal partner (who am I kidding? She runs this show!). You were taught your whole life to be respectful, courteous, treat women with kid gloves. You love her more than anything and would never hurt a hair on her head, lat alone even think about raising your hand to her.

She’s your wife. Your lover. Carried your babies for you. Your best friend in the whole world. She balances the checkbook, buys the groceries, makes the meals, takes the kids everywhere like a fucking taxi, worries about how she looks, has her own job worries and issues…and wonders if you still feel the same way about her as you did when you first dated.

Pulse racing a little? Getting a little warm, or even pissed?

Good!

That means fuck yes you do care! If by now you’re still cold as stone inside do us both a favor and stop reading this. You have bigger issues to resolve than the fact that your wife wants to be your slut and you her Sir. But, if your face is slightly flushed and you’re using your selective male hearing because you’re so focused, listen very closely:

D/s (that’s Domination and submission) can bring “her” back. And not for the reasons you think.

Yes, the incredible “that only happens in pornography” sex will help. But in order to do WIITWD you need to communicate openly and freely. You need to respect any limits she has. That’s not to say you can’t push them, but you will respect them. Trust is crucial. It’s the riverbed communication flows over.

What is going to happen is that everything it takes to Dominate your wife, especially BDSM, will spill over into every other aspect of your now dull, predictable married lives. She, for everything else in your lives she makes decisions on and about, wants to not just NOT do that in the bedroom but completely made to do whatever it is YOU want. And I mean whatever.

She wants to have an affair. She wants to cheat on her husband. She thinks about another man constantly, one that will do the most heinously perverted things to her, in her, on her, with her and for her.

You.

She wants to cheat on her husband with her own spouse.

And don’t tell me you haven’t had the same kind of feelings. You’ve looked. We all do. So does she. But what if you could have a torrid affair and she not only knew about it but gave you her blessing as well?

You can. With your wife.

The Trust and Communication that flows out of D/s will blow the ashes off the embers forged during the infancy of your relationship, the same embers you thought were long cold and dead.

They’re not. They never die. Time and all its allies will heap a mountain of ash called Life and Reality on top of them, but they never stopped glowing. You may have grown colder, as did she, but the fire still remained.

D/s and BDSM, specifically what it takes to embrace them, will not just blow away all those ashes but restoke those embers to the inferno you remember burning in your and her eyes when you first dated.

You hold the key, or should I say rope and paddle, in your hands. What you do with it is up to you.

Now if you excuse me I feel an overwhelming desire to sext my wife. I cannot wait to see her eyes, kiss her lips, hold her tight and let our own rekindled flames burn brighter.

I love you Leigh.

– Scot

Breaking Leigh Act X

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

She initially resisted the idea of the hair brush.

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

I was about to change that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sound of uncontrollable sobbing.

Breaking Leigh Act XI

Coffee Kickstart My Blog

Apologies to Nikki, Tom, Vince and Mick for the javanated post title.

Holy shit is it thick out! I could slice the air and serve it with a side salad as a warm luncheon entrée. And when your play area is not air-conditioned, well…

Leigh is NOT a sweaty sex fan. At. All. On more than one occasion the nearby post-romp towel to be becomes a during-romp head cover to prevent the drip drip drip of a fuck fuck fucking Scot from rain rain raining all over her. Its amusing at the least. Sometimes I just quickly shift into the mindset of taking advantage of the kidnap victim, or actually press down on the towel’s edges to snug it against her face, but not gasping for air, tight. Or, since she has checked out visually (ironically she loves to be blindfolded) so will I by closing my eyes and….

What? Oh nononononono! No. And one more thing…..No!

I do not fantasize about being with someone else. E-v-e-r. Have no desire to be with another. And, truth be told, I can’t. It’s not an issue of Leigh being jealous (although I love the fact she is über possessive of her guy). No, its me. I literally can not fantasize about being with another woman. It’s something that, even given my admittedly very vivid and quick on the draw imagination, is just not within my abilities.

It probably has something to do with the fact that (I may lose Peekers™ over this admission) I have extreme difficulty reading fiction. Unless it happened, or I can believe that it did happen, it just holds no appeal to me. I’d much rather read a well researched biography or historical account.

The fact that a majority of my Peekers™ are not just avid, voracious readers of fiction (primarily erotic) but also writers of the same is not lost on me. And I am trying my hand at a piece of erotic fiction for ePub. So Tell Me should be ready for download by the beginning of October. So far I like how it is going. A lot more dialogue in it than I typically write. Plus it is a (SPOILER ALERT) femdom of myself! *gasp*

Yup, I get Topped. Severely. The last I left Scot, he had been chained to an antique couch by a sex therapist who, how shall I say this, has a most unusual method for treating her clients. A very hands on approach, as well as other body orifices.

And, in typical Scot teasing fashion, its taken me almost 5,000 words before anything kinky happened. I honestly have no idea how long the end story will be.

I must admit I am a bit concerned that this topic/genre may alienate a large number of Peekers™ expecting more of what they have come (heh) to know and love about TDND™. Not sure how it is going to be received. Guess we’ll find out in October.

But yes, I literally can not fantasize about fucking anyone but Leigh, or think of any other woman in a sexual manner. Just can’t. My brain does not work that way.

The past weekend has been an interesting one on the blog. Not by design, but I ended up writing about and championing safewords quite a bit. The last two posts focus on it. And please, if you or anyone you know are using online forums to search for Dominants to play with, I beg (seriously) you to read and share The Unsafe Word with as many people as you wish. And the most recent interview question deals with safewords as well.

Already on my second cup of java, so:

– For the Peekers™ who will be meeting Sirs for the first time in the very near future, I am both thrilled and concerned. Yes, I care. I hope you find what you seek, that it is an amazing safe, sane and consensual experience, and that you enjoy the journey into yourself. Just please be safe, OK?

– I am in the process of being interviewed for the first time! This is most exciting and extremely humbling. You will all be privy to the sordid details when they come (heh) out.

– If you Follow me on Twitter and have a locked account, that’s cool. I totally respect that. However, I am not going to Follow you back unless I find you interesting and active online. So you need to talk to me, or else just be content to hide in 140 character shadows.

– If your Twitter account has 1,000+ Followers and you Follow 1,000+ people, but you only have 17 or less Tweets…I am not Following you. Sorry.

– Leigh and I broke the flogger out the other evening. I’m not 100% confidant in my abilities yet to really use it on her as we both would like. To that end I’ve been practicing (yes, Doms practice) on the pillows in the bedroom. Suffice to say a number of the pillows have been in subspace for weeks now. But in they are filled with down feathers I think their drop will be a light one.

They are getting more leather than the slaves at kink.com.

This past evening we just enjoyed playing with it for the sake of playing. Leigh had its leathery talons danced, teased, drug, flicked and stroked all over her naked form. Squirm City. Lots of laughter, sighing, cooing, humorous sounds. “GAAAAHHHH!!!!” is not a sound typically associated with flogging.

After a while I did use it in the manner it is most often thought of, albeit extremely lightly. I dare say I went no harder than a 2, but Leigh did enjoy having that sensation all over. This is a big step for her in that prior it was her ass or nothing. So for her to relish the light sting and thud against her back, torso, breasts, etc. was a big step. After we finished she, under the covers, allowed me to really let it fly. We’ll just say that an 8 in effort through a comforter was fun for both.

I like using it. A lot. So hopefully all of you will get to read about our journey with the tails soon.

– As for this week, I have tried for two days to write Act X of Breaking Leigh. It’s a vital Act, the one in which the hair brush finally gets used and possibly the one in which the tears flow. It needs to be perfect. And my mind has not been there. Hopefully early this week it will happen. I know many of you have read along for an eternity now waiting for this, so I want my efforts to be worthy of your efforts. Chain Of Rules will see another Act, and the scorching story that is Seek And Go Hyde (this is, I feel, the hottest I’ve written yet) will also be added to. We got more awards, which means more Scot trivia (head on table…thud). Another poem more than likely (I like writing these for Leigh) and if I finally can get my fucking ass to Dom Depot for some clandestine photos, an installment of BDSM On A Budget. I also have new stories to start! (we keep having amazing scenes…sorry!)

Damn, over 1200 words! Guess coffee did kickstart my blog!

– Scot