WII Is WII

No, this has nothing to do with a popular gaming console. I’d mention the manufacturer, but then the Search Engine Term results would undoubtedly reflect that false advertising. Hate to get a guy’s panties in a bind that there might be a BDSM video game.

No, WII is the first part of WIITWD, aka What It Is That We Do. It’s an acronym commonly used by those who participate in BDSM and/or D/s (are two / in a row allowed?).

As part of my self-education into WIITWD I read a lot. Granted, there is no substitute for first hand (heh) experience, but reading other’s thoughts help. I have a lot to learn, and I make no secret of this. If the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, I can still see the starting line from where Leigh and I stand now.

But its good. Fucking great, actually. As with so many other married couples we discovered that, in order to do WIITWD, the communication and trust required flowed over into other aspects of our lives. Both of us have found recesses of our psyches that, prior to D/s, we either did not know we had or, more likely, cared to admit were. Leigh grapples with love of good pain and the desire to be forced. I wrestle with Hyde and how sadistic a fuck he is. Sometimes he and Leigh’s inner Cock Slut play with each other. Things get…interesting.

So I read. Study. Learn. Try to grasp new philosophies, explore different avenues, acquire new techniques and skills. Learn what not to do instead of what to. Which leads me to the focus of this musing.

In my quest to learn I have noticed an overwhelming need on the part of Dominants to quantify everything. So many times while perusing blogs or web pages the phrase “What is..” comes up. Over and over to ad nauseum. Be it a defining statement or a leading question, it seems one cannot escape these two words while exploring the topic. Submissives are guilty of this as well, but not to the degree Dominants are.

Truth be told I learn a lot more about how to be a better Dominant from (pardon my adjective) lowly submissives than most if not all the Dominants put together. Submissives share their feelings, thoughts, kid’s illnesses, desires, experiences, recipes, YouTube playlist, poetry, pictures of their cat, toys they long for, toys they fear, reactions to what Sir or Madam has said, pout, emote.

Dominants, for the most part, read like an instruction manual or Intro To Sexual Psychology 101 course text. There are exceptions, for which I am glad. Without the Dominants who own cats and like YouTube I’d be frustrated beyond words. But even a great deal of their discussion about WIITWD has no life. It’s as dry as yesterday’s toast. Many times its merely pre-existing literature (I use that term very loosely) that has been reformatted from elsewhere. Sad to think the quote “Look, it’s a submissive and her Wiki” is not unreasonable. They trust their bodies, minds, hearts and souls to someone who thinks Google and not for themselves…

Am I frustrated? Not really. I’ve realized how good I have it with Leigh and that, even though I’m very wet behind the flogger in terms of experience, I’m alright as a Dom. I can definitely get better and damn well know I could be a lot worse.

The one thing that does rub me the wrong way (ironic coming from a Dom, huh?) is the apparent desire to define everything. I suppose it stems from the need within a dynamic to explain and set parameters, but still it feels all too syllabus like. No, I am not going to say there are (gag) gray areas. Even I have my standards.

Even with the acknowledgement that this phenomenon most likely is an outgrowth of expectations, there is a concrete quality to them. Cement is cold, impersonal and dull. Its even gray (heh).

So what do I think Dominance is? What makes a good submissive? What is submission?

That sentence right there will result in some Search Engine Terms finding us. Guaranteed. So when they do stumble across this page I want them to read this:

WIITWD stands for What It Is That We Do. It’s a term often used in reference to those who practice BDSM and D/s.

The We is you.

The kink community uses it. But that second W is referring to the set of eyes reading this, and the second set if my humble thoughts are being honored by a Dominant and their submissive at this moment.

It’s what you define as BDSM or D/s. That is what WIITWD means. Be it decades of experience in the lifestyle or planning to try it for the first time, you define kink. Your views on Domination are the ones that matter. How much submission you choose to explore creates the correct definition. Please, for the love of all things leather, do not feel that because what you read sounds like a graduate level Philosophy text makes it right. No, you make it right.

You’ll also make it wrong. It’s OK.

Experience is the cruelest teacher in that it gives the test first, lesson second. You’ll learn more from that than you will any other. That’s not to say just go explore shibari and flogging without some due diligence. Use a little common sense.

A number of you reading this will laugh and think I’m a fool. Fine with me. I’ll see you later, further down the road of this journey, still holding Leigh’s cuffed hand. TETO – To Each Their Own.

I own my kink because it’s mine, which makes it right.

– Scot

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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

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