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

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

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1 No.10

Another Selfish Sunday, another Interview at 60MPH.

Leigh’s insistence on driving is a double edged sword of sorts. On one side of the blade there is the obvious affront to my driving skills and rugged machismo. As mentioned previously, I am not the household’s all-time record holder in moving violations (heh).

But then I turn the blade over and there is being, in effect, chauffeured by a vivacious, large breasted, baby blue eyed redhead. Don’t think that I don’t cop gratuitous feels or looks. And I also get to just be, relax, zone out. Leigh has commented on the snoring beside her on more than one occasion.

And I get to read, which I adore. Unlike a lot of people I don’t get car sick when skimming pages over the speed limit. And eat. And drink.

And why the fuck am I complaining? Exactly what is wrong with this picture?

Why, nothing. Drive on Leigh, drive on. I have perverts to interact with. And if I chance across an unsecured WiFi hot spot even update the blog on the fly…literally.

Which brings us to, as not to upset any of the local law enforcement and add to Leigh’s house record, a just over the speed limit installment of IWASV™, our tenth one! Has it really been ten weeks of TDND™ already? Damn!

This week’s question is courtesy of avid Peeker™ Kayla Lords. Her comments are always insightful, raw in honesty, usually dripping with heat and overall good mojo. She also gives great blog. Check her out.

Kayla wanted to know:

“In your posts, you talk about the sensuous, sexual side of your TDND relationship.  I don’t remember a post about discipline/punishment for Leigh when she does something wrong.  Is that not a part of the dynamic of your relationship?  Do you simply choose to keep that part of your relationship private?  Or I have gone blind, and you’ve talked about it plenty, but I didn’t see it?  If you don’t mind sharing, how does punishment and discipline work in your D/s relationship?”

First, thank you for the question Kayla. We love Peekers™ who want more of an eyeful.

Leigh did touch on this very issue when she shared her thoughts and views via answering the spanking meme, specifically questions #4, 11, 17, 21, 38, 42 and 46. But to expound on this, no we do not use spanking as a form of actual punishment. Although, to be fair, I did interject it into the Breaking Leigh scene as an unplanned reason as to why she was to be spanked to tears.

That, in hindsight (really bad spanking joke) was likely more for me to establish a persona opposite her naughty school girl. So it may be fair to say that in the future when we do role play, we may very well use pseudo punishment as an underlying theme to give us a common delineator between characters.

But, as Leigh so distinctly put it in the meme, she enjoys “spanking for the sake of spanking.” And she also loathes, and I mean bristles, at the thought of introducing actual punishment in any way, shape or form. This is one area of D/s that she has absolutely zero interest in exploring. Outside the bedroom we are we. She is my wife, my best friend, my equal partner in the journey of life. She does not take well to being told what to do, which may explain why behind a closed bedroom door she embraces it.

I’ve referenced this a few times in previous musings about her, that there are dark aspects to Leigh she has a love-hate relationship with. As in she hates to admit that she loves being forced to be such a slut, to do and have done to/with/in/on her all types of perversions. Be it to herself due to situation, or out loud and verbally to me as a result of certain persuasive techniques, she can use D/s as a conduit to remove herself from the equation. She is not the one doing these filthy acts, but rather she has no choice but to do them.

Personally, I would rather feed off this internal dilemma of carnal mind fuck than have her a wantonly open and enthusiastically uninhibited slut offering the same. Its so much more delicious to force her to confront her own filthy kink than to have her just give it away to me. Its not the kill, but the thrill of the chase.

So, indirectly, there are trace elements of humiliation and punishment. But those are just for us to enjoy. I have no desire to subject her to any similar dilemmas outside our dynamic, not that she would allow me to anyway. Plus, she’s far too bright a diamond to dull that way.

For us the D/s dynamic works just fine without being caged within the framework of a formalized agreement, contract and any subsequent penalties for violating one. She has four simple rules for when the bedroom door closes, and I respect any and all her hard limits. That is not to say  I do not push her on some of them. I’d be a sad excuse of a Sir to not try to help her venture further inside herself than she may admit she is capable of going.

I’m not passing judgment on those who find this exhilarating or even a fetish. I can totally see the appeal of it, and if the looming threat of punishment works for them by all means more power exchange to them. My only thoughts on such arrangements is that often the submissive will be a brat on purpose to be disciplined, punished, etc. I’m not down with that at all. Its classic Topping from the bottom “Ooooh, I was a bad, bad girl. I’m going to get punished!” on purpose shit.

That’s not being honest. That’s an end to a means (another bad spanking joke) with an agenda. The purpose is willful intent to achieve a desired result – being disciplined for “bad behavior”. Its basically role play, which is fine. Just don’t call it structured or formal punishment. It is what it is – role playing, not D/s punishment.

Just yesterday Leigh texted me and said “I think I need a good spanking. So I can just let go for a while.” You will all be reading about the beauty of that evening soon, if I can adequately find the words to properly paint such a special moment with the portrait it deserves.

No punishment. No discipline. I was in control, she was subservient to my wishes. Yet we worked together, hand on ass, to get both of us to a beautiful moment in time. And not one iota of her being a bad girl deserving an hour on my lap while her collar was chained to the wall.

She was an angel over my knee. And angels should not be punished. They should be celebrated, even one spank at a time.

Just my two cents, which is about all its worth.

– Scot

A Peek Back 7-28

It’s true.

Famous actors always lament that the animals steal their best scenes. No ones remembers their performance, only how cute or funny the critter was.

It’s also true for bloggers who share sordid tales of BDSM lust, perversion and all things naughty. Write possibly the hottest Act you’ve ever keystroked in the blog’s short history and what lights up your Twitter TL like a Christmas tree the same day?

A fucking humor piece about our dog JD.

Just kidding. I’m glad JD’s initial (I’m sure you’ll hear from his nose again) post was so well received. As we always say, it does not have to be German opera 24/7 to be real BDSM and D/s.

And speaking of 24/7, did you know that is the reason for one of the following links? Curious? Read on.

For all you new Peekers™, every Saturday AM I share A Peek Back. This feature of TDND™ allows long time Followers as well as you neophyte perverts to review, with a single post,  what has transpired over the past seven days.

Oh, and I typing this Friday night so I can sleep while you read this. Or maybe I’ll be up (heh) early. Either way I’m being selfish with my time, but not at the expense of Peeker™ Nation, which is almost 400 strong now! We should get shirts printed….hhmmm.

If you are a neophyte Peeker™ welcome! 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 coffee, sit back and enjoy.

So unless a fucking squirrel runs across my keyboard here are this week’s Peek Back features:

Interview With A Submission Vampire Vol.1, No. 9 – In which we tackle the age old question: plastic or glass anal plugs?

Monday’s Java Taste The Best – The weekly stream of semi-consciousness while in the midst of serious caffienation.

Chain Of Rules Act III – Leigh cuffed, collared and chained torment begins.

Seek And Go Hyde – The newest story. If you are a hand job aficionado you want to read this.

Happy International BDSM Day! – I seriously had no idea there was an official day for WIITWD.

Breaking Leigh Act IX – The longest story on the blog now finds Leigh’s completely bare and very sore ass spanked…hard.

When Words Die – An erotic poem inspired by the evening that inspired Seek And Go Hyde.

Seek And Go Hyde Act II – No bullshit. Possibly the hottest Act I have written yet. Even I needed to cool off after writing it!

The Dog Next Door – Meet JD. He chases squirrels, eats bacon, humorously blogs when I’m not looking and steals my limelight. SQUIRREL!

JD Is Famous! SQUIRREL! – Would you believe that fleabag got reblogged in a humor ePub?

A Rising Tide Floats All Boats – My obligatory post as a BDSM blogger about a certain neutral hued and much maligned book series. Not what you think.

I’m still either asleep or having morning sex! HA!

– Scot