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

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Seek And Go Hyde Act V

(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act IAct IIAct 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 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

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

Seek And Go Hyde Act IV

(To read Seek And Go Hyde Act IAct II or Act III)

You will have to forgive me if, for the duration of this story, my musings appear helter skelter.

I can feel Him peeking out through my eyes, wanting His voice to be heard since He was the one who was primarily there.

Hyde.

He was the one who was reveling in how deep my extremely engorged cock was effortlessly sliding in and out of Leigh’s splayed open cunt like a hot knife through mid August butter. So. Fucking. Slow. Leigh hates this, despises how I tease the shit out of her this way. She is all for the jack hammer, give it to me hard, fast and now so I can come fuck.

No.

And when wielding an erection that was so painfully thick it actually ached I damn well savored the opportunity to turn her into an incoherent cum slut, one who would cry and sob when she was not coating both of us with enough vaginal fluids to make our scene sound like a water park during Kid’s Get In Free Day. That drives her crazy. She loathes my turning her cunt into our personal shower head for two, how she cannot, and I mean cannot, control her squirting.

It all started with the outstroke. How my cock licked the part of her G spot closest to her pubic bone arch, that sweet speed bump on the near underside of her mound. I’m not kidding its a speed bump in that, with each tortuously long withdraw using the entire length of my oiled erection I felt her folds start to sweat, pulse, engorged to the point of fucking the velvet vise of bawdy humor. I loved how she started to ooze, flow, grow thick with lust and blood.

For I knew that her ability to retain conscious control of her orgasms was rapidly deteriorating. So yes, a speed bump. At a snail’s pace. The irony, as well as the overall physical and emotional sensations, was eye rolling.

My growls continued, escalating with each frantic cry. Her fingers clawed the raw flesh of her own ass, its bruised reality drawn closer to the surface via skin made taut by legs being held firmly straight, wide and open.

“EnnhhhhhHH” echoed again and again from her contorted face, her teeth clenched in a masochistic masterpiece of forced abuse, yet also arousal. Glancing down I could see her fingers digging deep into her well spanked ass of a fortnight removed. The way she timed each clawing gesture with my candle wax slow cock strokes was lovely.

The sight of my glistening cock splaying open her labia, flush with primarily her own secretions, was surreal. I’m not sure if there are colors worthy to describe how the hues of purple and pink played with each other. Perhaps Crayola can come up with a BDSM themed set?

I opened my hands slowly, keeping contact with her Achilles’ heel tendons. Then, with the care a golfer would apply their grip to a 18th green driver I reapplied my grip with firm fervor and conviction. Leigh whimpered at the sensation of another set of fingers digging into her flesh aside from her own. She knew what was coming. And she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Spreading her legs a few inches wider elicited a gasp of a scream, if such a thing exists. I adjusted my hips to better meet the new and wider access I had to her cunt, then started to fuck her with an increased pace.

“Uhhhhhhhhh…..” she throatily gasped as stroke after stroke found its mark with renewed vigor. The first splat of her juices against my hips told me everything I assumed was correct. She was going to release herself involuntarily all over me, and very soon at that. All that it would take was to continue my rapidly escalating strokes as well as talk to her own inner cock slut.

“Ohhhh, you stroke fucking love stroke this, don’t you stroke slut? You stroke love when stroke I make you stroke squirt all over stroke and there is stroke not a fucking stroke thing you stroke can do about stroke it, is there?” stroke

Leigh’s face contorted. Her mouth opened as if to say something to me, yet nothing but raw, frustrated lust came out. She started to grow red in the cheeks, eyes wide, her ridiculously swollen cunt folds squeezed my cock so tight my pulse could have been taken if she had been so inclined.  The muscles of her torso rose off the bed and contracted, arching the pointed nipples high atop her swaying breasts. And her hands! Fuck! They were practically shredding her ass from involuntary reaction to the pending wet eruption building inside her.

“Oooooh may I please come, Sir?!?!” she wailed, fighting off the release that was likely a simple reply away from soaking both of us.

“No….”

Her eyes grew wide, frantically looking for safe harbor, for mercy. She was literally a second from opening the flood gates, gates being fucked balls deep with vicious coldness.

Leigh was gagging through short, held breaths in a vain attempt to keep her sanity.

“Oh Please Sir, PLEASE may I come?!?!?” she pleaded.

“You may come,” I coldly replied in the midst of fucking her senseless, “but only if you say “I’m a pain slut” over and over when you do.”

Her face froze. Our eyes locked. I could tell this was a boiling over point. She hates to admit she loves to be made to articulate her own inner whore.

A few more cervix deep strokes and her body convulsed. I swear it felt like her cunt escaped and tried to eat my cock from the amount of blood that filled her velvet walls. Her face racked in frozen agony, just fucking gorgeous. A silent scream that must be what angels sound like when they orgasm filled the room, then a groan that would have woken the dead. Squirt after squirt anointed us both, our hips soaked in a glistening kiss.

Then she rasped out “I’m a pain slut, I’m a pain slut” over and over.

“LOUDER!!!” I roared as my cock surged beyond what I thought I was capable of owning.

“I’M A PAIN SLUT!! I’M A PAIN SLUT! FUCK I’M A PAIN SLUT!! OOOOHHH I’M A FUCKING PAIN SLUT!!” again and again, the multiple orgasms ripping through her body and soul, the sopping slap slap slap of our hips each spraying us both. All the while her hands practically drew blood from her sore ass as mine did to her ankles spread wide.

After almost two minutes of this she pitifully gasped and collapsed onto herself, her muscles limp from the ordeal. We both stayed locked cock to cunt, gasping for precious air.

A low growl escaped through my clenched teeth. Again and again that sound rolled across us. She thought she was done and looked at me as such.

Cold as ice I made a single slow, full stoke of her folds as I said “Now its your nipple’s turn.”

Hyde roared as Leigh, whimpering and whining, moved her fingers to their erect points while my molasses slow fuck strokes started anew.

Seek And Go Hyde Act V

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.13

Another Selfish Sunday, another IWASV™ at highway speeds.

The way the blog is starting to resemble a snowball rolling down an Alpine mountainside toward the sleepy, unexpecting village in the valley below feels like blogging above the speed limit as well. I’ll touch on this more sometime tomorrow morning in my weekly Monday java musings slash feeble attempt to chemically jump start my nervous system via massive doses of caffeine and smart ass commentary. But thank you all in advance.

If you are a long time (all of not four months makes you an old timer) Peeker™ you should be familiar with Leigh and mine’s adoration of spanking. She craves the good pain and release that a proper ass blistering can provide. I crave the way a few thousand well placed spanks from my hand can send her so far inside herself, as well as the simplistic reality that it’s humbling and fun as fuck to spank her snowy (more snow references) white ass cherry read.

It’s certainly a symbiotic relationship. Each of us feed off what the other brings, provides and gives freely via the course of a spanking session. Anyone who does not believe in the power exchange aspect of WIITWD is full of shit in my opinion. I’ve blogged about this on numerous occasions. Feel free to review the Random Musings in The Archives for more on my feelings regarding this.

But (heh, I said but while discussing spanking) back to the topic at hand (I’m killing myself here). Peeker™ surrenderedone offered this lovely question in regards to spanking, subspace/Topspace, limits and the power exchange that ties it all together (ooooh, bondage). She wanted to know:

“When Sir and I recently spent a long weekend together, we explored erotic spanking further.  I think my reactions to His spanking caused Him to worry He was hurting me too much for me to handle, and I wasn’t sure how to reassure Him.  I have read enough of your experiences to know that it is a process, that in some ways it seems to be like “hitting” the wall before the endorphins fit in. Both He and I want to push the limits further….to reach that “place.”  Are there any tips you have for reassuring each other and not being afraid to just “let go”?  We both feel we stopped before we really got to the good stuff ;)”

First, thank you for thinking enough of us to ask a spanking question. We are relative newcomers (heh) to this as well.

Spanking can be a (bad joke warning) hit or miss proposition. There are so may ways to approach how to not just incorporate this into your play but also just how. It seems a number of proponents embrace the few but fierce approach of a limited number of actual blows but at a velocity that is close to, if not at, their physical capabilities to deliver. Plus there is the whole issue of striking implements such as paddles, straps, canes, etc.

For the sake of my reply I will deal with the classic bare hand on bare ass. Its hard (I give up) to go wrong with this approach, but with it may I offer these suggestions:

– Start slow and low, as in not that violent. Warm the skin up, get the blood flowing, ease into the scene. You wouldn’t start your car on a freezing January morning and floor the accelerator to red line the RPMs, would you? Then use the same approach when warming your submissive’s ass.

– Use tempo. A slow steady rhythm that can be built on, increased in pace as the scene progresses. To build intensity rapidly strike the same ass cheek in repetition. A ten or twenty count on the same cheek is vastly different from the same alternating every other butt cheek.

– SDS. Cannot convey how important striking they Same Damn Spot repeatedly is. This builds endorphins like nothing else. Don’t wander. Find the submissive’s sweet spot, focus and hit it in succession with our waver. You’ll see.

– Build in breaks to the scene. This is where the Dominant needs to earn their stripes. The ability to know when their submissive has reached a certain level, a plateau, then push them just a little further than they think they can go. Now stop. Allow blood to flow back to the abused area. You’ll be rewarded on a variety of levels for this. It gives the submissive a chance to acclimate to their situation, perhaps get some endorphins, and also the increased blood return should aid in the acquisition of welts and bruises, which are oddly important to most submissives post scene.

– Now start all over but a little harder. Increase the force of the blows, the intensity, etc. Repeat all of the above. With each new round of spanks just keep doing what I described above, but with just a little more force, a hair more intensity.

– Eventually you will both reach a state where it is obvious that you have arrived at, or more specifically pushed each other to, what you think are your limits. This is where communication is key, and why safe words are so important. Until the submissive cries yellow or red, the Dominant should continue. The Dominant should know their submissive well enough to read body language, breathing patterns, muscle tension, verbal cues, etc.

Both of you will need to trust the other implicitly. The submissive will be at ease knowing that the Dominant will not ignore their impending limits but also push them a little. The Dominant will trust that as long as the submissive does not safe w0rd that everything, regardless of what it may appear, is fine. The submissive must NOT be proud! This is crucial. To endure any sort of BDSM play well past the point of “good pain” is dishonest. It is OK to call red, to admit that is enough. But before one does, trust the Dominant to know if you are capable of more than you may think. Likewise, as the Dominant it is your job to know when to push and when to back off.

In the end, it’s all about communication and trust. Don’t abuse either from either role in the D/s dynamic and you both will be rewarded. Don’t be afraid to be afraid, either of you. It’s OK.

I hope this helps you both push past that edge and into a whole new level of “letting go.”

– 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.

flick

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.