Swinging Act II

(If you haven’t yet, read Swinging Act 1)

Even though all I could see of Leigh was from behind her (which is never a bad place to be) I could feel the look on her face as she walked up to the hammock.

I know this look. It’s a deliciously quizzical, slightly sad eyed gaze with a dash of  some hesitation and a pinch of forced admission added to a roux of arousal. This in turn simmers in her soul over a low flame until it reaches a full roiling boil that, very often, spills over…and over…and over. Serves two.

I fired up the mower deck, throttled down and very smugly continued mowing of the lawn with almost a cavalier attitude.

She. Just. Won’t. Admit that, deep down inside, she is a filthy cock slut who adores being forced to do acts of perversion like, say masturbate at the height of the day in our side yard. But yet I know she is, and that she loves being forced to do so.

Yes, she chose to do this. I did not hold a gun to her head or threaten to kill puppies or something if she did not. Guess I suck as her Dominant that my simple request was accepted, huh? Sucked to be Me or her at that moment, didn’t it?

With a final gulp the beer was empty as I finished up the lower half of the yard with a final pass, just about the time the hammock came into view…with an occupant.

The Hammock™ is simply one of my favorite places on Earth. It’s a well crafted, hand-knotted one that is suspended between two massive maples, easily 60-70 feet tall, if not more. The trees are spaced about 10 feet apart, which permits the hammock to not sag very much and swing easily. To and fro. Back and forth. Just sway in the wind while gazing up through a thick canopy of branches and leaves that paint wondrous, abstract patterns across the heavens. It’s especially tranquil when a steady breeze adds a symphony of rustling leaves to the cooling, soothing motions all around. At dusk this splay of intertwined nature is spectacular with stars peeking through the gaps and voids created by the now ink black branches.

Truly one of life’s secret pleasures.

But instead of going from hectic to tranquil, Leigh’s delicate fingers were just beginning to bring about the opposite effect inside her in this same place. The juxtaposition of the two was exquisitely exciting for me.

The yard slopes gently uphill from the road that runs alongside our home. A neighbor’s driveway hugging the edges of our property frames the backyard. All I could see was the base of the white roped hammock and Leigh’s reclined head from my vantage point.

But there was yard which still needed addressed. Green grass growing wild near a red-head going wild. A Dom’s work is never done. So I proceeded up the slope to address both of the issues at hand, one quite literally.

Now before you think this was all about a cheap visual thrill (hopefully by now you know me better than that) I can assure you that I would have received 99% of the satisfaction from this if I was nowhere near her at the moment. I will confess to enjoying the sight of the hammock slowly starting to sway from the ministrations Leigh was administering to her smooth cunt. She would later share with me that the combination of her jeans simply being unbuttoned yet still on and the curvature of the hammock’s support made getting her hand down her pants not just difficult but an extremely cramped fit. In short she couldn’t masturbate as freely as she was used to. Her own clothing plus simple gravity made for some unintentional bondage, which both frustrated and aroused her in that she was forced to take longer.

She. Hates. Slow. Teasing. I love it. And that her free bondage was derived from a source made entirely of knotted rope? What beautiful irony!

She was lost in a fantasy somewhere. Or simply focused on the eroticism of the moment. Maybe she was simply enjoying teasing her clit with those soft, circular motions she uses? All I know is that she looked angelic with her hand shoved down her pants and the hammock turning her naughty motions into its own. To and fro. Back and forth.

Was I describing the hammock or her fingers? Or both?

With each pass along the top of the yard I converted another 42″ of mayhem into lawn. This required me to ride off about 30 yards from where she lay in her self-induced sexual build-up. The return swath brought her more into view. With each pass back and forth I grew closer and closer to the hammock, just as she grew closer and closer to coming. The roar of the mower’s engine and blades ebbed and flowed in her ears, telling her closed eyes when I was and was not nearby. Closer and closer. My task’s end matching her own.

The hammock started to sway more, betraying the fervor in which her hand was attacking her, by now, very swollen and aroused clit. It was so fucking erotic to feel her building release just through the pace in which the hammock moved. I could be a backyard away and know she was starting to build, that it was beginning to overtake her.

With a final pass I finished what need to be cut in the far yard. On my return I could see the hammock not moving as much but more often. Small, pulsing sways. To and fro. Back and forth. But a much tighter arc, staccato in nature.

She was getting close. I could sense it.

I drove the mower right along side of her. Fuck! What a vision she was! Her face screamed at hidden pleasures, contorted in her own beautiful agony. Flush with arousal her teeth clenched through pursed lips. Her right hand was a frantic bulge of denim motion, her red panties peeking through where she had undone her fly. It was almost hypnotic watching her dance with herself. So fucking hot. The contents of my jeans started to respond on it’s on, the position the mower’s seat had me in a poetic revenge for what I mentioned earlier about unintentional bondage.

I watched for about a minute not 5 feet from her struggling, focused form, then drove off for a quick lap to the house and back. I figured this may act as a form of edging her. I was right, for when I returned to the same spot a minute later I could tell it was almost here. Her hand was a blur, almost violent, in her undone jeans. But her face told me the rest.

With the mower still roaring I roared at her.

“C’MON BABY, COME!!! COME NOW, YOU FUCKING SLUT!!” I yelled. And I mean yelled.

“AND YOU BETTER FUCKING SCREAM WHEN YOU DO!!”

That did it. Her inner slut seized control of her, lifting her body into a arching orgasm that must have started at her toes they way she rolled skyward into its almost vicious release. She groaned loudly, her face contorted in pure lust as her fingers pressed hard into her very soul it seemed. As intense as it was, this groaning shit was unacceptable.

This is why I had the mower’s blades still roaring as I sat there with my foot on the brake and my hand rubbing my almost painful erection through my jeans. To give her audio camouflage. To mask her orgasmic sounds with fucking yard work.

“I SAID FUCKING SCREAM YOU BITCH!”

And, opening her eyes to make contact with mine, she did.

She. Fucking. Screamed. Her. Brains. Out. In our yard. At the height of daylight. Over and over she bellowed, gasped, cried, then collapsed into a sobbing, heaving mass of quaking convulsions, her face flush with post-orgasmic bliss. Our eyes never left one another’s.

Go out in your yard right now. Hear children screaming as they celebrate no more school? Perhaps. Go ahead. Scream. Loudly. Like when you come. See what it sounds like. Got the idea what she got away with in broad daylight? Good.

One last glance at her panting form, still shaking inside and out, and then I drove off to put the mower away.

I returned in a few minutes to her just lying there, using the hammock for more of its intended effects. Her face was a masterpiece. Totally fucked, mind, heart and soul. Relaxing. To and fro. Back and forth.

I wonder if the guy who walked his dog up and down the road, or the car that slowly drove down the neighbor’s house driveway while she was doing all of this saw or suspected anything?

The next time you are walking your dog or simply using a driveway and your eyes chance upon a hammock in a yard, just remember that looks can be deceiving.

I guess “swinging” is fun after all.

– Scot

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Swinging

Before you get all excited NO!…not that. Never going to happen. Ever.

You should know by now my fondness for quirky post titles full of double entendre and innuendo. So now that we have that cleared up I hope you are not disappointed. Here, sit down while I tell you a tale of lust, perversion and why the D in BDSM is the most powerful letter. That should appease you pouting perverts.

Our story begins (your imagination grows hazy and unfocused like the segue to the dream sequence in a movie) as we find our heroic couple Scot and Leigh spending a hazy, lazy Sunday afternoon working in their yard…

It’s a nice yard, about two acres worth. The landscaping, ripe with perennials like hosta, lilies, 3 different varieties of wild ferns, rhododendron of all color, is finally in full force. Corn flowers and Brown Eyed Susans dance over various ground cover. Lemon thyme grows wild in a field stone wall. An explosion of flowering chives emits hues of purple and green, hinting at what recipe they may play a supporting role in. Nearby cilantro blooms amidst some mescaline mix in a raised bed.

Its one of Leigh’s passions and we have worked hard at it over the years, adding a few perennials (we do not participate in annuals) each summer. This year is possibly the best one yet. Everything looks fucking amazing, lush, just full of life.

But this Sunday is about the lawn. Leigh is on Lead Push Mower & Edger. Scot plays back-up on Riding Lawn Mower (yes, the same infamous one that Leigh used as her riding personal massager for 3 hours in the prequel to Breaking Leigh). We are yard compatible. Not every couple is. Hell, we’re even kitchen compatible!

I’ll pause for a second to allow all of you who just gasped or sighed to collect yourselves.

As I assault the side yard row by row, I notice Leigh standing with an ice cold beer under the large pine trees that divide the yard. In that she does not drink beer I smile, knowing that she is just being her awesome self by procuring a tasty 12oz break for me. I ride over to where she is, kill the mower deck and place the rider in neutral. The ale is cold and tastes so fucking good, but not nearly as delicious as the kiss I got from her. We bullshit about the yard and what remains to be done that day, discuss some dinner ideas, flirt shamelessly with each other over what the day may hold when the moon reigns supreme later that evening.

Making short work of almost all the long neck’s contents, I pull away and continue to turn wild lawn into Zen like grass. As I ride off I smile back at my baby…

…and out of nowhere an evil thought comes to mind. A deliciously naughty idea. So erotic that it makes my cock start to twitch like a coiled serpent unwinding from a long slumber.

Almost empty beer in hand I circle back and, stopping the mower deck, motion for her to c’mer with a come hither motion of my wrist.

She thinks I have something else to say, or that I just want to give her the very soon to be empty bottle. Oh, I do have something to say. But first things first. When she arrives alongside the idling mower, all smiles and soon to be sunburn, I smile back. Then, grabbing the hair on the back of her head with my left hand I kissed her so deeply, so fiercely, with so much fucking passion that upon our lips saying adieu she staggered to and fro, empty bottle in hand, the goofiest grin on her glowing face.

I laugh loudly, pulling away to cut another swath from the yard as she actually appears to be drunk, empty beer bottle and all.

With the next pass, having breathed erotic life into her with that tonsil cleaning, I do the same to my devilish plan. Once again pulling up along her giddy, grinning form, I lean over to her and, when she lowers her ear to my mouth, put my plan into action.

“Go lie down in the hammock and finger yourself to a huge, selfish orgasm…OK?” was all I said.

Her face lit up with shock, surprise, just stunned amazement at my request. Still woozy from the effects of the kiss, she looked at me with a “What the fuck?” face, searching my own for any sign of escape or weakness.

I’m not fucking around. I’m serious. I want her to go lie down in the most comfortable aspect of our yard in full view of the road that runs past our house. Then slide her velvet fingers down into that nirvana of a pussy she owns and, in full daylight, masturbate herself to a face contorting orgasm.

Seconds that feel like days pass. Our eyes dance, but I’m leading. The tension is exquisite. The humidity suddenly feels more oppressive from the electricity coursing between us.

Leigh is a cock slut and submissive beyond mortal description behind the safe confines of a closed bedroom door. We have discussed bringing our Sir and doll D/s relationship outside of it. To be blunt she’s simply not interested and truth be told I have no inclination as well to expand our dynamic any further than it is now.

But on occasion, when the mood is right, she is open to becoming my doll outside those bedroom walls.

And the sight of her snug, capri-cut jean’s ass slowly walking back to the hammock told me the mood she was in.

Game on…

Swinging Act II

30 Days Of The Dom Next Door

Ooops….we missed our one month anniversary a few days ago. We must have been…..busy. Yeah, busy.

Over 150 combined Followers for us. Easily close to 300 orgasms for Leigh. Crazy 30 days.

We fucking loved it. And you guys.

As a “Thank You” I am placing on one page a collection of the various stories we have and continue to share with all of you. And as you can see from Leigh’s tally  there is much, much more to come. Or is it to come much, much more?

Anyway, we hope that this makes it easier to find our various musings. I’ll likely make this a Page soon. But in the interim:

BDSM Themed Erotica

Thanks For Coming, Please Come Again

Away Games

Puppet Master

Breaking Leigh

Miss Manners

Random BDSM Musings

The Dom Next Door

The girl Next Door

Safety Dance

It’s Not German Opera 24/7

Ying & Yang

Where’s Weirdo?

DäməˈnāSHən & səbˈmiSHən

Something Cold, Something Blue, Something Burrowed, Something New

BDSM On A Budget

The Thrift Store

Interview With A Submission Vampire

Volume One Number One, Number Two, Number Three

Erotic Poetry

Please

Mirror Mirror

Wet

Leigh’s Random Musing

 

Enjoy!

– Scot

A Day Late & A Dollar Short But Its Too Cool To Not Share

Gillian Colbert has a round of Guess The Blogger going on her blog right now. Some of the images are *whew*

I wanted to play (when don’t I want to play?) but was very tardy in getting Miss Colbert my entry. Totally my fault. But I still think it turned out pretty cool so I wanted to share it with you all. Leigh took the picture, I did the ‘Shop to it. I tried to capture the feeling of what transpires between she & I when those candles are lit in our bedroom:

Self Portrait

No submissives were not hurt during the filming of this image…

– Scot

Interview With A Submission Vampire

Here is your chance to play along (heh) at home with us. No, not like that…perverts.

Evert Sunday will be “Interview With A Submission Vampire” on TDND™. You, the reader, may submit email questions to either Leigh or myself over the course of the week that was. We’ll collect your inquires and answer them via the blog. Feel free to include URLs to your own blogs, sites, etc. so that we can link your curiosity to where others may learn a little more about you as well.

The questions can be about anything. Perhaps a previous blog entry caught your eye, or maybe its just something that makes you go “I wonder…”.

Now, just because you ask a question does not mean you will get the answer you are hoping for. But we will answer all inquires.

Two caveats – no anonymous questions. Have the stones to own up to your inquiry. If you are not willing to have your question attributed, don’t ask it. And don’t view this as a cheap way to plug your for pay site unless you want to share the wealth, understand?

Maybe your blog will receive a small award if your question is deemed the best one we receive.

I think this could become one of the most interesting aspects of TDND™, but it takes two to tango.

Ask Scot or Leigh Something!

– Scot