Wherever the Pencil and Ink Lead...

Kitten, who is my poly-partner and sub, and I are sharing a series of writings back and forth that help us delve into the mindset of particular scenes.  It is a tool we are using to accentuate, and help us survive, our long distance relationship for the time being.

In this case, Kitten knows that I occasionally dance on the other side of the slash with other partners, and she was curious where my head goes.  Hopefully this did a good job of capturing that for her, and maybe for you as well.  It is a mix.of some real life experience and just a dash of fantasy at the end...

Truth be told, I dont expect every Dom out there to relate to this.  However, I am secure in my journey, and I will share it in the hopes that it resonates with some. 

*********

“Get down.”

I am standing in front of her, a full head taller and she looks up at me with a stern look on her face.  Zero fear. Zero intimidation.  All business.  Physically, I could overpower her, but that doesn’t matter in the least.  Yet I grin, and take half a step closer.

She stands her ground, pressing her hand to my chest.  “Get. DOWN.”

Doubt flickers across my face for an instant, and as it does confidence rolls across hers.  She stares me down for an eternity that lasts for about five seconds.

Then, slowly, I kneel.

“If you think you’re going to be defiant tonight, think again,” she scolds playfully yet sternly, hovering above me, now with me looking up at her.  “You think you’re cute.  You ARE cute.  But that’s not going to work, is it?”

I stare up at her, the smile from my face vanishing as I quiver inside.

“IS IT?”

“No, I guess not.”

“No WHAT?” she grins.  Damn, she is going to make me use my words.  I swallow hard, glance nervously off to the side as if some solution or out will present itself.  I take a deep breath, then another, before responding.

“No... Mistress.” Damn.
 
****

I am a Dominant by nature.  I respect my submissive partners deeply, and I cherish times when I can place them in that submissive mindset. I bind them, flog them, train and correct them as necessary.  In those sessions, I own them.  It is a very powerful position to be in, full of responsibility and requiring the utmost alertness to sense every nuance, every tick, every whimper to interpret “more” or “less”. 
I have found, however, that after several weeks of strong dominance, I crave some time on the other side to balance out.  It reminds me of the gift I give as a Dominant and reminds me of how I can be a better one.  The mindset of a submissive is a fascinating one, and it helps me to see how my subs feel.  It relieves me of that hyper-vigilence, that attentiveness… that power.

And admittedly, with the right Domme that “gets” me, it is hot as fuck.

****
 
“That’s better,” she replies, satisfied with her title.  “Where is your collar?”

I look up at her again.  “It’s in my bag.”

She just stares at me and raises an eyebrow until I studder, “…Mistress.”

“Go get it and bring it to me.”

I move to stand without thinking, and I am swiftly corrected.  “No.  I didn’t tell you to stand.  I told you to get your collar.”

Fuck.

The bag is only a few steps away on the other end of the room, but it may as well be a mile.  I turn and crawl slowly toward it, quickly locate my collar with the attached leather leash, and turn to her, holding them up. 

“You are really being difficult tonight” she sighs.  “BRING it to me.  In your teeth.” A sadistic smile crosses her lips with that last thought.

I place the soft leather collar in my teeth, leash dangling down, the musky scent still on it as it is a fresh purchase.  I’ve only worn it a few times since we bought it.  I cherish it.  I crawl back into position in front of her, kneeling, collar clenched in my teeth like a dog wanting a walk, leash dragging on the carpet.

“Good boy,” she praises me, and I melt.  “Now you may hand it to me.”  She loves to draw it out.  She knows that it is commands and obedience that put me in my place.  I offer the collar up in both hands high for her to take.  I hope she will take it.  I need her to.

She smiles and accepts it from my outstretched hands.  She places her finger under my chin to lift it, and she places the collar against my throat, wrapping it around my neck to the back.  I lower my head and close my eyes as she buckles it in place.  Then a second later, I hear a familiar metal click, and feel the slightest weight dangle from behind.  I don’t need to feel it, but I do anyway – she has padlocked it on.  And she will remove it when she sees fit.  I shiver.  My choices diminsh.

She lifts my chin again to make me look up at her, and she whispers, “Good boy.”  Music to my ears.

“Thank you, Mistress.”  I no longer require prompts.  Butterflies dance in my stomach and I pray she doesn’t notice my erection, but I know there is little hiding it.

“I don’t want to have to look up at you,” she admonishes.  “You will remain in a position lower than me, where I look down at you at all times.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy,” she praises, a little louder, taking up my leash.  She turns, takes a step, until it pulls taut.  Without looking back, she says, “Come, follow me.”

She takes another step, but God help me I can’t move.  I am soaking in the moment, relieved of control, drinking in every delicious command and savoring it like the finest steak.  She tugs again, but I sit paralyzed, and absorb the subspace a moment too long. 

I am an executive in a multi-million dollar company, I remind myself in my head.  I am a Master.  And now I am leashed.  The dichotomy is maddening.

Still not looking back, as if I am not worth looking at, she simply asks, “Really?”

I take a hesitant step forward on my hands and knees, then another, following her down the long hallway.  Every step on my knuckles and knees is like a surreal dream, crawling deeper and deeper into a cloud of fantasy.  How can this woman exude such power over this dominant?

It very positively is NOT the sex.  We don’t go there.  This is far more pure dynamic, giving us both what we crave.  She loves to dominate men.  I need to submit for balance.  And right now, I need to submit for her.

When we reach the end of the hall, she says, “That’s better. Isn’t that better?” in that little sing songy voice that drives me crazy.  She scratches my hair and I press my face against her thigh, drenched in her slightest approval.  “My goodness, you do slip into subspace fast, don’t you?”  I nod wordlessly. 

Nearly every iota of my very strong ego has dissipated.  She has me captured.  I feel needy, scared, vulnerable.  She knows it.
“Good puppy,” she assures me as she strokes my hair, and with that word I am toast.  “Puppy.” I am all hers.  I am bewildered by my own behavior, so alien, yet somehow suddenly so natural.  The rest of the scary world seems to fade in a fog of war, and I feel safe to be this vulnerable in her hands.  She will not abuse me. She will not exploit me.  But she will own me, if just for the moment.

I swear, my backside involuntarily shakes like I am wagging an invisible tail.
She places the leash back in my teeth, then walks back to the other end of the hall, opens the door to the large dog crate, and stands next to it.

“Come on, Puppy,” she beckons.  I hesitate, staring, negotiating the conflict in my mind.  I’ve never done this before (though I’ve subjected others to it). To be in that cage will put me on display, exposed, and worse yet out of my mistress’ reach.  I look into my mistress’ eyes, pleading silently, wrestling with the notion.

She remains firm, now glaring a warning shot at me.  “I will wait here all fucking night.”

Fuck you, I think to myself.  Fuck you for knowing me better than I know myself right now.

Slowly, I crawl…

(I should preface this by explaining that the following piece of erotica was requested of me as a challenge by my currently-long-distance submissive, as we continue to explore ways to make long distance work in light of the pandemic)

Kal was wide-eyed, his stomach nervous with butterflies, as he parked in the small gravely lot outside the reservation.  Anxious with anticipation, uneasy on new ground, riding on the razor’s edge border between responsibility and fantasy, and one could not be exchanged for the other.  He would be walking a tightrope for the next two hours, and he had to execute this flawlessly.

Dusk was finally setting in the evening, and the warm midsummer day was beginning to cool.  The sky was filled with reds and purples of a most spectacular sunset, but Kal had no time to marvel at it.  He was focused on a singular prize.

He walked past only three cars still in the lot.  One was hers - he recognized the broken mirror immediately.  The other two meant they would not be alone on the trails.  He was grateful when an older couple emerged from the woods with their golden retriever straining ahead on its leash.  At least it meant only one person or group remained.

Seeing the leash reminded him to return and grab his backpack before descending into the path, past the marking sign and the map of hiking paths therein, and toward a small wooden bench where she waited for him.  Also wide-eyed, also fidgeting, clearly as nervous as he.  That was of great consolation to him.

He wanted to kiss her - they always kissed when meeting after a time, and oh could she kiss.  But they had negotiated this for some time, and tonight they would role play as strangers.  Kal smiled, cocked his head, a slight smile curled one corner of his mouth.  “Excuse me,” he said from a distance.  “I am supposed to be meeting someone here...”

“Well,” she grinned, eying him over her shoulder in that maddening way she had.  “I certainly hope it’s me”.  Good, he thought, she is in character as well.

They exchanged names and brief pleasantries, leaving their pseudonyms (Kal and Kitten) in place.  He took her hands delicately in his, bent over and kissed it gently.  He noticed she was shaking - or was it him?  She rose, still looking up at him, mischief in both their eyes.

She wore a simple white blouse, tied in front just under her breasts, allowing a lacy, navy blue bra to peek out.  Lite blue capri pants exposed her sexy ankles, simple flat slip-on sneakers were most sensible for a hike, and for what else was in store later.  She was ready, but true to character, she didn’t “appear” ready.

Kal, in true form as always, wore his tight black V-neck t-shirt and even tighter black jeans and boots, leather bracelets strapped to his left wrist, his Celtic cross and shield catching each reflection of light as it dangled from his neck.

They walked and talked, each telling stories as if they had met for the first time, some of it fiction to keep it interesting, some of it tantalizingly and teasingly true.  As they conversed they hiked for some time through the woods, as the setting sun dimmed the light around them.

They stopped on a large rock in the trees, overlooking a waterfall and powerful white water river that gushed and sparkled with the radiance of the brilliant reds and purples of the evening sky, and both stopped to marvel in its beauty.  That was when he kissed her.  Once first, gently, tenderly, tasting her like she was a fine wine.  As each second passed the kiss became more passionate.  He touched her face, she held his forearm, his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close.  She could feel his bulge against her hip.

He slipped his hand under her blouse to cup her breast and she giggled as he pulled the knot out with one simple pull.  Pinning her arms behind her in her blouse with one hand, he unclipped her bra in front with the other and let her magnificent breasts spill out in front if him, continuing to passionately kiss her.

“Mister Foster,” she whispered.  “You have me at quite the disadvantage.”

“The question, Kitten, is how far will you go?”

She grinned devilishly, standing before him two feet away, slipping her pants down her long, perfect legs, until she stood before him wearing nothing but her guitar string bracelets, her shoes and a smile.

“You really trust me,” he marveled.

“I do,” she assured.

These were the words they had agreed to exchange before there was no going back.

From his backpack he produced a collar, with a bell and a key hanging from the ring in front.  She smiled as he placed it on her.  She looked puzzled - he had not filled her in on the details of the scene, only the basic substance had been negotiated.  He placed the collar around her neck, buckling it and then padlocking it closed.  Her hand went up to feel the lock and her skin flushed.

“The key will never reach the lock,” she noticed, even as Kal took her wrists and began to bind them behind her back.

“Kitten, that key doesn’t match the collar,” he explained, as he gathered her clothes and tucked them into a waterproof bag he had produced from his backpack, zipping it and locking it shut.  “The key matches this bag.”

There is a moment in every scene between a Dominant and his submission where the Dominant wonders if he can indeed be “that” sadistic.  Can he really go through with it.  Can he be that cold, for the sake of the game.

It is essential that he can be.

With that he tossed the bag, with her clothes, into the river.

“NO!” She screamed as she watched the rapids whisking them away.

“You may want to keep your voice down, Kitten.  We aren’t the only ones in the woods.”  With that he produced a ball gag and popped it in her mouth.  she had no choice but to accept it, protesting all the while as he too locked that in place.

“Kitten, your clothes will wash downstream into a pond.  I will give you a five minute head start.  If you make it to the pond first you may retrieve the bag and your clothes, and the spare keys to your collar and gag...”

“But if I catch you first...” Kal threatened, removing a leather flogger from his bag.

With an exasperated groan, she began to run, not even allowing him to finish.

He chuckled, watching her speed off, naked, bound, dodging bushes and rocks as she made her way down the hill as rapidly as possible.  The jingling of the little bell on her collar grew fainter and fainter as the distance between them grew.  He had pulled off the initial stage of this flawlessly, turning her primal/prey fantasy into reality with the twist of a very compromising predicament for her.

He had plenty of time.  He could not lose.  She didn’t know the area.  He had scoped it out days ago, and as always was thoroughly prepared.  He walked to a birch tree near the river and found the line he had tied to it last Friday, and reeled it in to pull the bag with her clothes in it from the river, which he had tied off moments earlier without her noticing.  He would never risk their loss in the river.

He had executed the opening move flawlessly.

Now he would hun

After three and a half minutes, he scooped up the backpack, scrambled across a log fallen over the river, and slipped into the darkness.

**************

With the fading sunlight, Kitten had lost track of the path along the river but was doing her best to keep close to it - not so close that Kal would spot her, but to remain on track to get to the pond he had described below.  She would take a few steps and hide behind a tree... a few more, crouched behind a rock.  And DAMN this bell announcing to the entire woods where she was at all times!

The bushes were brushing and scratching her legs.  She was unable to move as quickly as she would like for fear of tripping on a root or rock, and without use of her hands a fall would be painful at best.

Every sound around her made her jump.  Surely he was after her by now, tracking her through the woods.  She would stop and listen at each hiding place, peering around to see if she could spot him, although again, with his dark clothes versus her porcelain white skin, he had almost too many advantages, and she knew it.

When she heard voices coming down the hill, she fell dead still.  Voices.  Kal had no one to talk to, so that meant these were just hikers.  The thought of being discovered like this was just too mortifying.

She had to wait, perfectly still, as they passed by.  She knew this meant she was losing precious moments of time against Kal hunting her but she had little choice but to wait until the couple moved along and she could no longer hear them.

When she finally emerged from the bushes that barely hid her, she turned to glance down the path to ensure they were gone - and came face to face with Kal ten feet away, grinning, his pack over his shoulder.

She shrieked, muffled only slightly under the gag.

“Really, Kitten, you can do better than that.”

She began to run, in the direction opposite the hikers that had just passed, as best she could, huffing for breath.  He was toying with her.

*************

Kal watched with amusement as Kitten stumbled through the trees, making a ridiculous amount of noise.  He barely had to walk a quick pace to keep up, following the sound of her breaking through the brush, snapping twigs and jingling her little bell and grunting in frustration, fear and exhaustion.  But he also had to watch for her safety - a bad fall and a difficult-to-explain trip to the ER would kill this mood right quick.  He had to ensure common sense and her protection over any kind of excitement or arousal, no matter how severe.

She was rightly and duly fucked.  And he had diverted her exactly to where he wanted her to end up.

As Kitten rushed back up the path in the darkness, she never saw the net stretched barrows the trail.  She crashed right into it and it wrapped around her as she twisted, falling on her side on the soft mossy forest floor.

Within moments, her predator was standing over her as she futilely struggled to stand.

Breaking character, just for a moment of safety, he whispered, “are you okay?” She nodded.

Without another word he grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet, clipping a chain leash to her collar.  She whimpered as he tugged the leash - she hesitated for a moment but realized her options were extremely limited now, and the safest bet was to follow him.

He led her back up the path and then a little off through the trees to a clearing with two young oak trees, and quickly tied the leash to one of the tree trunks, forcing her to stand and watch, her heart pounding.  He pulled rope from his beg and tied one piece each to her wrists in a neat single column, then threaded the other end through the branches and back down to him in the middle.  Holding tight, he untied her wrists from behind her back, only to pull on the two new ropes to immediately stretch her between the two saplings.  He tied these off to keep her well stretched, then tied off her ankles as well, spreading her nicely into a very vulnerable “X.”

Kal approached Kitten, brushed back her disheveled hair to reveal eyes glaring back, breathing heavy.  Her face and arm were dirty from falling, her legs scratched, a twig and a burr dangling from her hair.  He caressed her cheek gently.

“Looks like I win, Kitten,” Kal grinned.

The sheer power trip of it was intoxicating to Kal.  He had her helpless, exactly as he wanted, exactly as SHE wanted.

Her naked body in the fresh moonlight now was a sight to behold and Kal took a few moments to take in the visual like a well-earned trophy.  But he knew his time was limited - the tied position and especially the ballgag would take a physical toll on her, and snap her out of it, so he had little time to rest in the glory of it all.  Kal placed his pack in front of her and removed his favorite flogger, a large, 40-tail, 8-pound monster.  She shuddered and emitted an anxious moan.

Kitten growled in hopeless frustration as he ran his fingers along her back in the cooling night air, then rained blow after blow of the flogger down on her outstretched back in increasing intensity, until her head began to sway limp.  He had broken her.

With that, he faced her, and dropped his jeans.  His fingers slid inside her wet, slick cunt that was now so hungry for him.  Her eyes widened, bewildered at the adventure he had taken her on.  A thin line of drool escaped the ballgag that had been worn too long, but she would have to wear it a few moments longer.

Adrenaline overtook Kal Foster.  He knelt in front of her and buried his face in her freshly shaven pussy, kissing it like they were her own lips, sliding his tongue to flick and caress her engorged clitoris.  Rarely had she come without the aid of a wand, but she had at Kal’s hand years before.  She was in a divine state of arousal and helplessness at her Master’s command, and come she did with a low, strong and loud moan that would cause any living creature within a mile to take note.

But he was relentless, and one was not enough.  As she whimpered and shuddered into a second wave, twisting against her bonds, he stood, and in one thrust he impaled himself on her with such force that it lifted her outstretched legs off the ground.  After her orgasm he bounced her on his rock hard cock a couple dozen times until he came as well, yanking her hair back as he did.

She stood there for a moment, holding her up, breathing as one.  Kal reached behind her and with one hand released the knot that kept her arms outstretched.  They fell to her sides like a rag doll.  He lowered her to the ground to a quilted blanket he lad laid behind her out of her sight, then cut her ankles free with a knife in two swift strokes.

They lay there, clutching each other tight in the moonlight for hours, wrapped in blankets, as he stroked her hair and reassured her back from the brink.  When she could coherently speak again, he returned her clothes to her and they laughed as he described all he had done to set it up - the bag, the line, the net, scoping out the terrain, to make her fantasy an exciting and safe reality.

He would not unlock her collar until well into the next day.

It's all about the sex.  That's what they say.  We are just greedy, and onr partner isnt enough.  That's what they say. But if it is, then my friend, you are not polyamorous. 
 

This weekend started by having a lovely, romantic evening with my wife.  She supported me by letting me pack for my trip to Chicago privately while she cooked up some chicken wings for my work potluck.  We spent some time together, playing with the kittens and talking with our grown kids before a night of lovemaking, oir tradition just before a weekend away from each other.  She would pack her bag the next afternoon before joining her partner as well.

My girlfriend and I have been together for a year now.  Three months ago she got a tragic phone call from home that her mother was near the end, and she flew home to Chicago to be with her and to care for her aging father.  She was sure she would be back in a few weeks.  And, just like that, I found myself in a long distance relationship.

A few weeks later I would fly to her home town to support her at her mothers memorial service, meet her friends and family and grow very attached to them all. I helped her shop for proper clothes for her father and helped him dress and tied his tie.  I would take him to the barber and make him breakfast.    I would meet her relatives from overseas and smile and laugh politely as they told stories of their lives - in French and German, neither of which I speak.

I would hold her as she cried and missed her mother.  She would call me from the supermarket once I returned home, crying, holding a dessert that het mother loved to eat.
 

On weekends when my wife gets to spend time with her partner, a good and decent man that I can call friend, my partner and I would learn the value of FaceTime.  We learned to communicate better and honestly.  We became comfortable sharing our joys and pains and frustrations without ever placing blame or allowing guilt to harbor.

We agreed to see each other every few weeks, sometimes she would join me back in NY, sometimes I would fly to see her.  She met my sister and nephew, I attended her niece's choir and swing dance recital.  We went pumpkin picking, watched Netflix, and went for walks.  We attended a polyamory conference with my wife and her partner as well (a story for another day). 
 

When it became apparant that she would remain in Chicago for the foreseeable future, we mourned but immediately began to launch plans to continue what we have as economically as possible.  We cut corners, minimizing eating out and doing eleaborate dates in exchange for plane tickets.  I cook for her at home and she washes the dishes.  We cuddle as we watch whatever she picks on TV.

Long distance was not what I signed on for.  But I did sign on for her.  And if she needs to be in Chicago, then I am a long distance boyfriend now.
 

I regularly attend BDSM and swing clubs with my wife, with my partner or sometimes just with friends.  I have ample opportunity to partake if in fact I was "all about sex."  I choose not to.  Our little polycule has chosen not to in order to honor and keep each other safe.

I am landing at home now and off to reunite with my wife and family.  She and I will share the adventures we have had, make new ones with each other and look forward to the next time we get to see our partners again.  I'll see my girlfriend at the end of next week where she will meet the rest of my family (sadly still incognito).  We continue to grow with each other and into the greater part of each others lives.

All about sex... Please.  Poly is about love and living life in a broader view, free from the limitations society has subjected itself to for centuries.  And when it works, it works exceedingly well and is very beautiful.  We learn to be more loving, more selfless, more communicative and more honest.  Poly is for lovers - the ones willing to do the hard work, not just for for the greater joys but also the realities of life.

A busy Sunday was behind us, leaving that nagging sadness of another weekend come to fold. The daylong hustle of church, a social lunch, errands and food shopping had only led us home to laundry and cleaning. Our grown children were home as well, and at the last minute before we dragged ourselves upstairs to the promised land of bed they had invited friends over. Not exactly the formula for a romantic evening, but we were now nearly too tired to consider that.

Crisscrossing our master bedroom like a pair of worn-out zombies we shed the day's clothes. She slipped into a nightshirt from last Christmas, I put on shorts that I used to wear to the gym when we both seemed to have more time and energy. She poured us each a generous dram of LaPhraiog and we clinked he glasses, smiling at each other through readers slipped down our noses. We had survived the day, and sometimes that is enough.

As we sit up in bed reading I heard a subtle sigh. "I want it to be Friday again."

"I know. It was a good one."

"Today just slipped away from us. And I still have so much that needs to get done... I had a Thursday deadline to get my reports in now, tomorrow I have to have that meeting with the new director and I just don't feel ready..."

"Sunday scaries?" I asked. She nodded, and folded her head into my shoulder.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, stroking her hair. I sensed her tension through stiff shoulders and the slightest quiver in her voice, those subtle nuances one tunes into that others might miss. Three decades of togetherness has its advantages.

"Nothing," she sighed, without hope for the moment. "I just hope I sleep."

"I can do something about that, Babygirl..." I replied, my voice deepening intentionally, almost comically.

She giggled. "No, it's okay... I'm fine."

I pulled back and repositioned so I could look her dead in the eye. I stroke her cheek with one hand, my other hand tenderly holding her forearm. "I wasn't offering a favor. I love you. May I massage your back?"

"You don't need to... really."

I smiled, reaching for the oil on her bedstand. "I know I don't need to... but I want to. And that means YOU need to roll over, babygirl." She smiled, exhaling slowly and obediently turning and surrendering. I slipped her glasses from her face and slipped the nightshirt up to expose her bare back. As I sat up to straddle her, she removed it completely. "Good girl," I whispered, leaning forward into her ear, my weight expressed over her.

I took a moment to find some suitable music on my tablet, then poured the oil into my hands to warm it. The oil was but a prop, this was about flesh to flesh, love to love. I pressed the small of my palm into her back on either side of her spine, my fingers pressing into the pressure points of her neckline, and her moan of approval was as fragrant and rewarding as the oil itself. More oil, more pressure as my hands gripped around her rib cage, making her torso glisten. Every movement had the effect of wringing out the stress from her tense body like a sponge.

I gently pulled one arm out from where it rested her head, and let it lay limp by her side. Starting at her shoulder I massaged the oil deep into her warm skin, pulling her arm and kneading the tight muscles. My thumb pressed into her palm and ran my fingers through hers in a dance. She let me carry her limp arms like a marionette. Any time I sensed pullback I would softly command, "Relax" and she would surrender yet another limb to me. I repeated the ritual with her other arm. She thanked me, I shushed her. "I'm not done yet."

Shifting downward, I tugged at her panties, slipping them down and off her legs. She giggled as I let the cool oil drip over her perfect, apple-shaped backside, then she moaned with approval as I worked it in. I kissed each sweet soft cheek and she giggled again, so I gladly repeated the motion. I ran the oil over my hands generously and pulled it down her thighs and calves, slowly, working out every perceptible knot.

When I bent her knee and raised her foot she swooned, "Ooooohhhh you are SO good to me," making me smile, responding only with slowly massaging every inch of her feet, top and bottom, sweet toe by toe, carefully resisting the urge to tickle and cherishing every precious second as I loved every square inch of her.

I lowered myself onto her to caress her, the bulge of my arousal pressed between the cheeks of her soft, perfect ass. "Mmmmmmm" she moaned with an audible grin. "That was heavenly."

"Roll over, baby girl," I whisper. "I'm not done yet."

As she turned to face me I reached for a small jar and her favorite toy, and she grinned with anticipation, no longer weary but wanton, no longer tense but sensual. Meeting her gaze, I lowered myself inch by inch between her raised up knees until my chin grazed the soft lips of her damp cunt. My tongue darted out attacking her clit, just for a second, then slowly cascaded down her lips, parting them as I went. She chuckled, then signed, then moaned with a shudder as my mouth covered her wet mound. My tongue raked back and forth across her hardening clit and I hummed a soft moan to make it vibrate just a bit. I could taste her getting wetter... and wetter.

Knowing I now had her undivided attention and helplessness, I raised up and passionately kissed her inviting mouth, letting her taste her own juices as I reached for her toy. I laid next to her as I dabbed just a few drops of lubricant on her waiting and hungry cunt, spreading it onto her soft slick lips before sliding her toy into place, turned on low. Our two hands entwined together, we guided it in as a team as I blew into her ear.

“I want you...” she whispered, looking pleadingly into my eyes.

“Shhhhh,” I whispered. “Let me watch.”

“But I feel guilty...” she whimpered as my own hard cock nakedly rode her thigh.

“Please stop thinking that this is somehow a sacrifice for me.”

I slowly twisted the vibrator back and forth, in and out, letting the extension tease her clit just enough. I watched her eyes roll back as she allowed herself to be awash in a sea of freedom from responsibility, freedom from reciprocation, freedom from all the lists running in her head. I listened to her breathing quickening, her soft moan turning to a high pitched mewl for help.

“May I lay on my stomach please?” She cried. This was not a polite request. She knew she needed permission. I stroke her cheek, smiling silently and treasuring her beautiful face until she asked for a second, more desperate time when I allowed it.

I laid my arm over her back, pressing down, letting her know I control her and own her and everything about her. My wife, a terribly accomplished and brilliant woman, was reduced to a quivering and whimpering mess, and it was heavenly.

“May I come sir?”

“Not yet.”

She groaned in frustration and couldn’t see my satisfied smile, my sadistic grin that just wanted to make her wait a little longer for no other reason than I was selfish and never wanted this to end. I wanted her this euphoric over me for the rest of my life. And yet, I knew I needed to put her out of her misery.

Oh GODDD!!! PLEASE may I come now sir?”

I chuckled a bit. “You may babygirl.”

With that she groaned a bit too loudly, so in deference to the houseguests downstairs I firmly cupped my hand over her mouth, which not only silenced her but sped up the process of a very powerful climax which rode on the tail of an even more powerful one. I removed my hand as she quieted and I held her tight, spooning her from behind with my arm firmly slid between her beautiful breasts. I could feel her breathing quiet and she slipped off to sleep. It would be another wide awake hour for me before I would let her go.

I will never regret watching her that night or the many other times I have done the same. I cherish her beauty and my ability to exclusively bring her to the peak of that mountain, again and again.

There will always be time to fuck.

Sometimes I get to watch.

I love when Felicia dresses up for me... this is definitely one of my favorites...

And she KNOWS she looks damn sexy in it!

I wanted to post a link to a podcast Felicia and I participated in a few months ago (yes you will hear our voices for the first time on the cage).  In it, we discuss the intersection of faith and kink in a healthy, round table discussion.  I hope it finds you well.

https://dsroundtable.podbean.com/e/ep-7-faith-religion-and-kink-with-kal-foster/

I am aware that faith can be a sensitive topic, but I hope that we can all keep our comments civil and positive.

Thanks!

~Kal and Felicia

I’ve often said it seems crazy Felicia has loved me all these years...

Coolest cake EVER, courtesy of the coolest kinky wife EVER, at a sex club so cool they played Star Wars music and movies while we had the time of our lives!!!  May the Fourth Be With You!

Sundae... Felicia style

I set out to do this as more of a celebration of collar and leash, but the pencil went in a different direction.  I love when it does that!