Indecipherable Scrawlings

A friend asked me for some advice on how best to get his girlfriend into the mood.

I told him he should move towards her, confidently using his body to playfully block her in.  Trapping her and leaning down so he looms over her, letting her feel his warm as he gently brushes the hair away from her ear.  Caressing it with his warm breath with whispered magical words.

"I've cleaned up the dishes and drawn you a warm bath."

With a deep throaty moan she tried to throw her head back but I stopped her.  I kept her looking ahead, a gentle whisper caressing her ear and demanding she open her eyes.  Forcing her to drink in the figure squirming futilely in front of her.  See the skin tinged with rose standing out in stark contrast to black silk wrapped beneath glistening breasts and around spread knees to a plain chair.  The gleaming sex; open, inviting, trembling with need.  Make her look at the hips forlornly lunging at the vibrator already slick with lust but held out of reach.  Mostly however I want her to see the eyes alight with wanton desire, eyes that want nothing more than for me to shove that vibe back in, and recognize them as her own.

In the mirror I smile as her lips part.  Before she can speak I give an eighth twist of the handle and the stocking coiled around her neck chokes off the words.  There is no sign of the worry, the gnawing concern, I feel on my face.  Only an indulgent amusement as the vibe taps a light tattoo along her thigh.  Loosening my hold I permit her a sharp gasp as a flick passes the toy across her burning sex.  Then with glacial patience I tighten the stocking as begin to trace her lips.  Pushing firmly into her folds as her throat closes.  Cutting into her neck as the toy slides fully into her.  Loosening only long enough for her to fill her lungs.  Snapping shut as I run my calloused palm over her clit during a deep thrust.

All the while she watches herself.  Rushing headlong towards an edge.  Not knowing what the edge is.  Not caring.  Lungs burning.  Insides stirred by expert twists that touch all her favorite spots.  It was never in doubt she'd fling herself over the edge.  Yet she never expected to see a look of such ecstasy as she lets out a final strangled scream, convulsing and straining against unyielding cord.  Stars exploding across her vision, sparkling into darkness.

"Why do you always pay cash for dinner?"

"Makes it harder to track me down if the waiter notices my girlfriend taking off her panties."

"A riding crop, what do you need one of those for?"

"Some men buy flowers to say 'I love you,' I have a different approach."

"I heard your friend screaming 'Margret Thatcher' last night, is everything alright."

"We get really into Jeopardy...really...actually true...not a metaphor...honestly."

I take her wrist and pull her up and away from the boxes we are supposed to be sorting.  I've had enough of that, my patience has been exhausted, and into the ensuing boredom my impish nature has crept.  We move quickly along the paths between the junk piles who offer clutter but little concealment in this well-lit basement.  She knows that as well so I'm unsure if the quicken pulse I feel under my fingers is excitement or nervousness.  At the back was an antique table of shocking weight but, thankfully, also ease of disassembly.  I had just helped bring it down and it was the only free space down here.

She squeaked as I swung her up onto the high table and I chuckled, "Can't have that."

My fingers snaked up her thighs, drawing her long dress with them, before digging in hard and suddenly.  Her naked bum slapped loudly against the table as with one quick pull I lifted her hips and drew off panties that might not have told me if she was nervous but were definitive she was excited.  Instantly and obediently she propped herself up on her elbows and opened her mouth, eagerly accepting the bunched up garment I forced in.  My hand lingered on her chin in warm and gentle caresses, then closed like iron as I pushed her down and titled her head back.

Above the sound of my opening zipper I whispered through a devilish smile, "Keep a careful watch now, anyone could be down to see how we're doing, you know how they don't trust us young people."

If she had a response to that it was lost in the moan that almost overwhelmed the gag as I slammed into her.  It was true we could be disturbed at any moment and I would prefer not to be found in such a position.  Though at that moment to think about anything else, and given the way her silky warmth quivered around me she was having the same problem.  Her legs tried to close around me, pull me deeper into her, but I caught one with my free hand and pushed it away.  Wrapping my arm around her to drag her body back onto me even while pinning her neck with my other hand.  I pounded into her, daring the table beneath her to slide, to warble, to make some noise to give us away.  She reached down with one hand, her clit screaming the cries denied to her in a bid for attention.  Her frenzied fingers attacked the nub as ruthlessly, stabbing both of us with her long fake nails.

Biting back a curse I manage to grunt out, "Together" not a moment too soon.

Slamming home her spasms attempted to crush me as my mind went perfectly and blissfully blank.  Trembling I had to use both hands to brace myself on the table as I slumped over her.  My teeth found the damp fabric and pulled it aside for a tired but passionate kiss.  Taking the discarded gag and sliding it into my pocket I quickly straightened my clothes.  She did the same with a curious glance at my pocket.

Ignoring her unspoken question I just smiled and said, "Come on, let's find a snack."

And without another word I lead her out of the basement and into the church proper.

Nothing but the soft sheets caressing your naked skin

The air-conditioning on full blast

Sending waves of cold washing along skin already rippling with goosebumps in excitement

Thick restraints wound tight around wrists and ankles

Pulling your limbs out

Exposing your perfect nakedness

A heavy blindfold shuts out the light as classic music swells to fill your ears

You exist only as the sensation washing across your skin

And the knowledge that I am out there somewhere

Your skin burns with a hundred phantom touches

So much so you barely notice the feather

Tickling your arms pit

Tracing along your stomach

Swishing over your hard nipples

The touch grows more insistent

The pinwheel shoots up your leg and you try to scream against the gag

A dab of goo presses against one nipple

The firm pinch fading to ice numbness

That suddenly stripped away by a growing fire

The pinwheel circles the other nipple before disappearing

You gasp as I push the ice cube against the top of your pussy

Shiver as rivulets of freezing water drip into your burning slit

The frigid edges teasing out the fringes of your hood

Your clit spasming with shocks as I start to tickle you

My fingers dancing over your skin as I run ice cubes along your lips

Then all you feel is my nails scrapping along your chest

Mere cover as I slide a finger into your tight pussy, coated in hot lube

The heat almost painful as I push into you

Slowly dribbling more heat onto your needy body

Alternating with sprays of ice water to slack your burning need

And all the while I push deeper into you thrusting harder and faster

Flexing and probing at your hidden depths

The restraints biting as you try and move

But there is no give, no slack.  Only sensation and coming madness

So I was chatting with another Dom the other day.  As we worked our way through various topics he asked me my opinion of consensual non-consent.  I said I hated it.  He was a bit confused, I love making fantasies reality.  My flat out rejection, evident irritation, and lack of any desire to explain myself confused him.

Of course he asked why.

After some prodding I gave in to his curiosity.  My opposition is really simple and logical.  You see after breaking into their houses, restraining them, abducting them to a properly secluded location, and pleasantly tormenting them in a series of increasingly depraved and creative ways I often find my partners in a contemplative mood.  Inevitably, usually with much fidgeting and darting of eyes, they ask a seemingly simple question.

How, precisely, did I get so good at such things?

"None?"  I sounded incredulous only because I was.

"None."  She confirmed with a confident smile, "There is nothing you can do that would make me even flinch."

"Really?"  I gave her a bemused grin.

"Really."  She giggled.

Of course now the challenge had been she fully expected me to rise to it.  Though she seemed almost disappointed a few days later when I merely told her to strip before I collared her.  The blindfold went on next, and that to seemed banal to her.  She did falter a bit as she had to push through plastic wrap as I lead her to the next room.  Yet it was only the cold metal of the chair that made her gasp.  The restraints didn't faze her at all, though her face contorted in confusion when I pulled her left leg out and completely immobilized it.  There was a light gasp as she felt my fingers and a loose strap brush against her sex, but more confusion when I just tied the strap.  An appreciative smile followed as the strap tightened, but I could feel her pulse beginning to race as a light sheen of sweat covered her.  The oddities were starting to worm into her mind

She giggled in relief as she felt the felt tip trace over her skin, "You wanted to write on me?"

In answer I just grunted and moved the marker lower.  Tracing nice, neat dashes just above her knee.  I capped the marker and slid it into her mouth, she obediently bit down to hold it.  That obedience was tested when she felt the cold kiss of steel against her skin.  Still it clearly wasn't a blade and she tried to relax even as I swore.  The loudest sound in the room was the constant click of plastic around plastic.

I muttered and beat on something she couldn't see.  Then her shrill scream covered the sudden whirring next to her ear.  But it wasn't the sound of the saw that reduced her to a gibbering mess, or the flecks of half-dried blood spattering across her face, rather it was the smell of burning bone that finally broke her.

One day a man decides he is going to run for office and immediately sets to work trying to drum up support.  Going door to door he asks everyone he meets for their vote.  He even goes tries to gain the support of those that aren't particularly fond of him.

Like one man who says, "I'd rather vote for the Devil than you.

To which our aspiring office holder replies, "But if your friend doesn't run can I count on your vote?"

"The Old Guard dies, it does not surrender."  General Etienne Cambronne, right before surrendering at the Battle of Waterloo.

"His loyalty couldn't be bought at any price; but it could be rented remarkably cheaply."

When people find out you're a Dom they expect you to be assertive, stubborn, and decisive.  Normally I am, but I am not perfect.  Sometimes I don't care what restaurant we go to or movie we see and am perfectly happy to let someone else choose.  I am a very accepting person so Italian or Chinese matters very little to me.  Marvel movie or slasher flick, couldn't care less.  I am gripped by a fuzzy sense of apathy, that is the mental equivalent of vegging out on the sofa, and am perfectly fine with it.  A comfortable blase morose in which I occasional indulge.

Why am I writing about this?  Is it to encourage a conversation about how not everyone fits into their stereotypical role?  How Dominants should occasionally relinquish control to maintain good mental health?  Demonstrate my humanity?

No.

It is so if we are ever planning something and I say its your choice you don't respond with, "well let's do what ever you want."  Because when I hear that I want to violently throttle you while screaming about how important it is to have concrete opinions.  On second thought let's go with one of those other things.  Make me seem less unstable.

When Thomas Hooker assumed command of the Army of the Potomac during the Civil War it was in rather...disheartening shape.  As such he encamped in around Washington DC for a period of extended training.  During this time the Army began to collect a rather extensive collection of camp "followers."  The press began to refer to this assembly of entrepreneuring ladies of the night as Hooker's division.  Hooker was later removed from command, but the label has stuck around.