Month: June 2005

“There’s only so far you can step back.”

Hands, silk, rope, leather – restraints have a very specific purpose. A concrete shift in control. The removal of choice, mental and physical.

There are several people I know who let themselves be tied down by people they wouldn’t trust with their car keys. Why does this idea, this concept of helplessness, have such an appeal? The one answer that I enjoy taking advantage of the most is quite simple: plausible deniability – they can always tell themselves later that they no choice but to enjoy the way he managed to get three fingers inside.

And the appeal for those who are doing the restraining? A captive audience. A blank canvas on which they can write their desires.

***

07-15-03

D’jaevle considers you silently for a moment, his eyes flickering across the lines of your body, as if imagining you in various positions, bound.”

Emerald arches a curious brow as she watches you, wondering what is going on in that mind of yours.

D’jaevle smiles, an expression that appears for just a moment on his lips. He approaches, taking his time, although its clear that he intends to do *something*.”

Emerald tries to stay nonchalant, but her courage wanes as you get closer to her, one foot stepping back hesitantly as you get in arms reach of you, no fear showing, but caution perhaps.

D’jaevle continues forward, hands at his sides comfortably. His eyes look over your shoulder, “There’s only so far you can step back.”

Emerald feels a flush filling her cheeks as her next step back only manages to confirm your words, her back coming flush against an unforgiving tree, halting her retreat.

D’jaevle hides whatever triumphant reaction he might be having, choosing instead to take the moment of uncertainty to reach down and grasp your wrists, his hands gripping them firmly. He appears content – for the moment – to simply hold them at your side, forcing you to deal with the intimate presences of his body so close to yours.

Emerald swallows hard as she feels your grip on her wrists, her mind screaming to resist you, but her body doesn’t listen, it simply stays pinned between you and the tree, following it’s own desires as you feel the tension in her arms lessening as she relaxes them.

D’jaevle doesn’t relax his grip any, but drawing your arms behind you, he holds them between your lower back and the tree. He’s now close enough that his breathing tickles the side of your neck. Using the tree and his left hand to keep you pinned, he uses his free hand to slide around to the front, drawing your shirt up just an inch or two, testing the fabric strength.

Emerald feels her heart beginning to pound in her chest, your nearness wreaking havoc on her body, yet she can’t seem to stop herself, or you. Her cheeks flush with color as you raise her shirt up, baring her midriff, the fabric tight to her body, perhaps clinging would be a better word as it leaves nothing to the imagination

D’jaevle leans over, his face brushing your breasts through your shirt as he does so – lifting the edge of the shirt he bites, using his hand for leverage, he yanks upwards, ripping a swath of fabric about fourteen inches in length, along the edge of the shirt – leaving your midriff bare and cloth in his free hand.

Emerald’s breath catches , jumping as she feels the fabric rip, reflex forcing her wrists to try and fight you i a vain effort to cover herself, but i her struggles, you sense no real panic.

D’jaevle replaces his free hand along your back, where he is holding your wrists against the tree. With both hands braced against you, he stills most of your struggles and wraps the cloth around both wrists before drawing it down and between the wrists. A sharp snap tightens the bond.

Emerald offers little resistance as you wrap the fabric around her wrists, tho she does wince as she feels it cinch tightly between, ensuring her hands will stay behind her now whether she likes it or not.

D’jaevle moves his hands to your waist, fingers brushing bare skin, the shirt being several inches shorter. Leaning down – again, he bites the ragged edge of your shirt and draws it up, over skin, over breasts, until its bunched over them. Leaning back, his eyes lower, and you can feel them on your breasts, tracing their curves.

Emerald rolls her shoulders with a bit of a grunt as you reveal her breasts, cupped in her silken seamless bra, her traitorous nipples already budding and quite visible under the thin fabric, responding to the teasing touches.

D’jaevle steps back just a step or two, still surveying you. He turns, going to a nearby tree and backpack. Opening it, he takes out two coiled ropes, small and simple, but efficient. He turns back to you and steps close again, slowly lowering himself – his breath leaving a trail down your bare stomache.

Emerald watches as you retreat, her legs tensing to retreat, but her curiosity halts her, , having her follow you a step forward to see what you are doing, before you turn back, immediately stepping back, grunting as she her hands make contact with the tree, her window gone. She squirms a bit as you tease her now bared stomach, legs fidgeting.

D’jaevle takes one of the rope and wraps it around your left ankle – twice, once coiled atop the other. He stands, walking around the tree, coming to face you again. His eyes on yours, he lowers himself yet again, settling a small moist kiss against your bare stomach as he loops the other end of the rope around the right ankle, drawing it tight and forcing both legs back against the tree.

Emerald can only stand there and watch, her body refusing to respond to reason, allowing you to bind her to the tree, ensuring that she won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. She feels the bark of the tree rubbing against her bare calves, giving a small tug to her one ankle confirms she is going nowhere unless the tree goes with her, a highly unlikely scenario given the thickness of it’s trunk.

D’jaevle stands, unphased by your testing of the restraint. If anything, his gaze encourages you to test – to push – to struggle and find the limits of the simple, but effective, bonds. With you relatively held in place, he turns his attention to tour breasts – drawing fingers down across the silken bras, finding the hardening nipples through the fabric.

Emerald offers a soft whimper as she catches your gaze, growing uncomfortably with the heat it seems to create inside of her. She wrestles with her bound hands, stilling only once your fingers find her hardened nipples perking out thru her bra, her gaze shifting down and off to the side.

D’jaevle’s fingers become slightly rougher, as if your struggles are drawing his own tension to the surface. Fingers rake down across the fabric again, but is not content to do so through the fabric – he reaches up and hooks fingers along the top of the bra, dragging it down, knowing the size of your breasts will make it hard to drag without help. A hand to his side draws a sharp knife. Before you mark its presence, he adds two slices to your bra, one for each breast, giving him the room he needs to drag it.

Emerald blinks in disbelief as you slice her bra, the cool air on her breasts draws her gaze upwards, whimpering to no one in particular as she starts to look around, seeing no one but yourself around her, she still floods with color at her cheeks from the exposure

D’jaevle pauses, savoring the sight of your breasts for a moment, apparently unconcerned about the possibility of others seeing you; unconcerned, or enticing. But he doesn’t remain frozen – he takes advantage of your naked skin to lower his lips to the edge of your breasts, lips parted to trace a moist trail down your right breast, to the nipple – not quite touching it, content to circle slowly.

Emerald dips her head back against the tree, a moan rolling free from her parted lips at your teasings. her nipples harden even further, almost painful so with their need, only adding more fuel to the growing fire within her. Her hips shift, the knee length skirt covering them not seeming to be enough anymore.

D’jaevle appears content to remain where he is for the moment. His mouth leaving burning kisses against your breasts, dancing along the edges, circling each nipples, not quite touching, but encouraging your body to respond. Finally, his hands on your waist drawing you forward against his knee, his teeth close on one nipple, not so much biting as dragging the edge along the hard edges of your right nipple.

Emerald groans as you press your knee against her, flushing as her hips grind back against you, making her eyes close tight with the flush of color in her cheeks. her fingers work against each other behind her, fidgeting at your continued teasings, awakening her body in ways she had forgotten previously.

D’jaevle draws the nipple deeper into his mouth, lips closing around it as he sucks slowly, rolling the hard tip against his tongue. Hands slide along the small of your back, against bare skin, tips drawing the edge of your skirt up, an inch…two, knee pressing up between your thighs, giving you something to drive against.

Emerald leans her upper body back against the tree, a deep shiver teasing down her spine from your dual teasings. She doesn’t even seem to notice her skirt rising, her legs even offering to help as they shift a bit further apart, lowering herself a bit onto your offered knee, feeling the delicious pressure, wanting to feel more.

D’jaevle draws back, taking your nipple with him, pulling it taut before he releases it. Fingers slide lower, giving him a better grip to drag the skirt up further, and it doesn’t take long before your bare thighs are pressed against the hard pressure of his knee driving up sharply against you.

Emerald’s breath catches as her nipple snaps back, her head dipping forward, eyes a bit hazed as she looks towards you, meeting your face for only a moment before the pressure from your knee makes her forget everything else but the fire within her loins. As your knee meets her panties, it is quite obvious that she is aroused, her panties soaked thru with it.

D’jaevle lowers his knee, slowly, leaving your thighs empty. But only for a moment – with the skirt bunched around your waist, his hands are free and he reaches up, a hand on either side of your face. With you slightly dazed, he leans in, lips close enough to meet yours, to kiss, to taste…but they merely part and draw your lower lip into his mouth, biting, knee returning to your crotch, rubbing the length against you.

Emerald whimpers a soft protest at the kiss, her lashes fluttering a bit at your kiss, but lose the battle, her eyes remaining closed, tho her lips part a bit further at teh return of your knee, groaning as you see her struggle once more in her bonds, growing restless with her arousal.

D’jaevle tastes you just long enough to bite once more, before letting his hands fall to your waist. You can feel fingers drag down your bare stomach to the edge of your panties – and then curl, dragging it down slightly. Its clear he knows the effect its having on you.

Emerald whimpers at the slowness you take with her, not sure how you can go so slow, when she is so hot right now. Her feet shuffle restlessly on the ground as you start to peel off her panties, the fabric burning into her the longer it’s on her. Youw atch a flood of color tinge her cheeks as she averts her face, her mind slipping in to chastise her, before you see her turning forward again, the struggle evident in her dazed eyes as she looks towards you.

D’jaevle does seem to enjoy watching, feeling, tasting your growing need. But as deliberate and slow as he may be moving – it is in definition of an act. And as the panties are drawn down your thighs, as they come to rest, like your bra, just below what they are meant to hide – fingers plunge inside, three of them driving into you, all the way.

Emerald suddenly has no care as to who might be able to see her on her current state, your fingers plunging into the source of her heat and restlessness nearly undoing her, making her moan loud enough to echo in her own ears, her sex wet and ready, greedily taking the offered fingers.

D’jaevle slowly slips the finger from inside you – slow enough for you to feel each knuckle inside. And then they drive in again. His fingers move in, drawing each shudder from you, his eyes on your breathing, your moans, your hunger.

Tested and Tied

Conclusion to my scene with NE…

***

And now, to the sordid details. What did I do when I had NE tied securely to my bed? I shouldn’t give it all away. Your imaginations are quite good enough to fill in the blanks.

Still, why not help the imagination along? I’ll share some of the highlights.

…spreading NE’s thighs, seeing her glistening wet from the simple glacial strokes of my fingertips over her skin, broken only by the occasional bite along her neck.

…enjoying the heat of her skin when I moved to fully sit astride her waist, my weight an instant reminder of where she was and whom she was under in every sense of the word.

…the guttural sounds NE made as my knee pressed between her thighs, giving her something to grind against.

…tugging on the chain clipped to each nipple. The sharp gasp when I tugged hard enough to pull it free from first one nipple, then the next. The way she twisted, nipples reddening even further, swollen tips beautiful in their agony.

…the way her skin tasted of vanilla and musk. I took my portion in bites along the back of her legs, along her hips, across the top of her breasts, on her stomach, and against each cheek of her ass. I cleansed my palate with small tender kisses left along her collarbone, only to gorge myself on her deliciously tempting thighs a moment later.

…the way she couldn’t stand by herself after I had untied her and helped her to her feet.

…slowly removing each piece of jewelry but leaving her the slave bracelet as a comfort and reminder for the rest of the day.

Much of the time, after the intense moments of a scene, I will take her out while forcing her to maintain her role as my submissive. I want to give her time to relax back into conscious control and this gives me a chance to test her in a setting that isn’t very conducive to her role as submissive. How well do the lessons linger when there is not a constant reminder of where her place is?

She did quite well for the first few hours, but things began to fall apart for her at the bookstore. I punished her appropriately when we got home (several solid spankings that left her ass red but not too sore) and that was the end of it. I formally ended the scene and we spent an hour or so smoking cloves and enjoying each other’s company.

Only a week later , while outside enjoying the last light of a summer evening, NE asked, “So…when is the next scene?” (keep in mind that we usually have around two formal scenes a year, so they are spaced fairly far apart).

She is such a glutton. A wanton wench.

She should be thankful I am even hungrier then her. The wolf sleeps lightly under my skin.

Open Women, Closed Men

NE shared an intriguing comment with me tonight. We were considering how women have actual sex together (not just foreplay or teasing). We discussed several of the possibilities and towards the end of the conversation I asked, ‘How would you have sex with SB?’ (SB is a close friend to NE and I and NE has been exploring the boundaries of this friendship over the last couple years – an exploration that had gone to some interesting places, but has yet to cross certain borders).

Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this.

I listened to her answer, which included going down on SB, and then asked, ‘How would you do that? Slide one of her legs over your shoulder?’

No, she replied. That’s something men think of. She leaned over, and said in a soft voice – as if passing on a secret, ‘Women like to be open. Spread and then feasted upon.’

Women like to be open.

In my mind, I’ve equated this openness with vulnerability. When I spread her thighs or tell her to do so, it is to let her know how accessible she is to me. I want her exposed and knowing it. But from her words, I now think there is something more to it then that.

I still think the idea of slipping a leg over the shoulder is erotic (such possibilities to nuzzle the thigh, nip at a calf, feel her heel dig into my upper back). But now I must consider where true consummation is found.

Front and Back

The last three questons I had NE submit to me.

3. What is your most favorite place on a woman’s body? (And I don’t mean the place that she likes the most…I mean what place makes you go crazy.)

Now this is a delicious question. I have to pick just one? It is all in the curves…

I am extremely fond of a woman’s neck. The lines of her throat, especially when it is tilted back, creating a gentle curve. It speaks of vulnerability. Submission. Wolves will go for the throat when establishing dominance within the pack (of course, they will also go for the throat when attempting to kill). The pulse is found there – teeth on bared skin, the heat of the heart tasted in a kiss.

Breasts are…quite nice. I love exploring those invisible strings between nipples and clit. Tugging on them with teeth and fingers, plucking a melody that has her writhing under me. Again, curves – small or large, breasts are beautiful.

I have found, on NE, that I have a particular fondness for legs. Drawing lines that start at the ankle and go to the top of her thighs. Hitting all the right spots – calves, just behind her knees, the smooth delicate space along her upper thighs. Mmmm.

But favorite? I’m going to have to say the small of her back. The curve that draws the spine down to her ass. It is an oasis, a place hinted at when she leans over and her shirt is drawn up over her back. Horizon is drawn by a gaze along a path to each cheek. Ah – her ass. Where reds can be teased to the surface with bites of hands or…canes, floggers, paddles, and any number of other gleefully evil implements at hand. But it is the path to here that is my favorite place. It links hips, where hands can grip while pressing her over my desk, to her ass, which I force into the air by drawing her back hard against me. The small of her back is where my fingers like to rest when I wrap my hands around her.

4. How difficult is it for you as a dominant balancing the desire to let go with someone physically and knowing that you have to be very self-controlled? And is that part of what makes it so great for you?

To be honest, I have difficulty letting go completely – so balance is not a real concern. At least, on the surface. I am quite sure that letting go completely once in a while would be good for me. I just haven’t had an opportunity/found the right person to do that with yet.

5. For total real…what is one thing that you haven’t done with a woman in a scene that you really want to do with her?

Something in public or semi-public. Sitting in a cab or limo with my hand under her skirt and fingers buried inside her pussy. Bending her over the sink in the men’s room of a restraunt. Fucking her up against the wall in a closet during work’s winter party. It’s one line, one naughty area, I haven’t really crossed yet. Once I do, I’ll find something else to take it’s place…

Bearing Fruit

Upon reading this, NE had this to say: “My darling master, your post was lovely…but you forgot the most important word. The word that actually put me down. ‘Concentrate’.”

So I did. Consider it included.

***

“Kneel.”

She went to her knees beside the leather ottoman I was sitting on. I reached over and removed the plastic wrap on the large fruit bowl sitting on my desk. Her eyes followed my hand.

“Let’s start with a grape.”

She leaned over, selected a large grape, and brought it quickly to my lips. I shook my head. “Too fast.” My fingers caught her wrist and I drew it back to the bowl. “Do it properly. There is no rush. You are making an offering to me.” I wanted to be clear. This was for my pleasure. She was merely the instrument of it.

She tried again, going slower this time. I parted my lips and bit into the grape. It was juicy, succulent. I gave her a small smile and nod. “Better, but still not quite right. Try a strawberry.”

Her hand trembled and it took her a moment to draw out the strawberry. The trembling spread to her arms and shoulders. By the time the strawberry had reached my lips, her entire body was shivering. I accepted the strawberry, enjoying the slightly sweet bite it carried.

There is a beauty in the naked form. An honesty of lines and curves. She had nothing to hide behind, and as she fed me cantaloupe, grapes, and strawberries, she slid deeper into a role her subconscious craved with a keenness that made her shake.

It was my pleasure that she feed me – and my pleasure to see her fed. I lifted a grape and brought it to her lips, feeding her from my own hands as she had done for me. She understood I would take care of her. In placing herself into my hands, she was trusting me with her body, mind, and soul.

I could be cruel. I could be kind.

I am often both.

“Enough. Stand.”

Having been on her knees for so long, she had difficulty drawing herself to her feet. Being in the slightly disorienting space of submission did not help matters. I lifted her up and indicated that she should follow me. We crossed the hallway to my bedroom.

My bedroom is simple. A bureau, a nightstand, a bed. Today, the bed was stripped of everything but black silk sheets. I pressed her onto the center of the bed and told her to close her eyes.

From the nightstand I drew out two leather cuffs. Lacking rope, I had been forced to be creative in how best to use them. A black pillowcase, cut in half and tied at one end to crimson silk would work in place of rope. The silk end tied to each leather cuff, and the black cloth of the pillowcase tied to the top posters of the bed.

I placed her wrists in the cuffs, fastening her hands up over her head. “I want you to test them. Pull on each hand slowly.”

This served two purposes: I wanted to make sure they would not come free over the course of the next hour. I also wanted her to know how strong the bonds are. There is understanding, and then there is knowing.

She tugged. The cuffs remained secure.

“Harder.”

She pulled harder – and the silk tied to the left cuff came undone. I retied it, making sure that to keep it tight.

“Again.”

She tried again. This time they held.

Now the real fun could begin.

Sell your soul?

I was going through some old letters and came across some rolled up parchments that I hadn’t looked at since I collected them last October. Halloween, to be exact.

Can you guess what I dressed up as for Halloween last year?

So, I have four or five contracts signing over the souls of several friends into my keeping. They came rather cheaply, as I recall. A massage, a sandwhich. A quickie in the bathroom.

Here’s my question: if you had to sell your soul – and for the sake of this excercise, you do – what is the one thing you’d want in return? (or at least comes close). It can be anything – mind-reading capability, prince charming, that nice hand-made doe-skin flogger you’ve had your eye on…

Me? A tavern. Something well-made, but broken in. Smooth oaken bars, solid wooden tables. Comfortable chairs. Lantern-bright. Good food (pretzels, shrimp, nachoes, pastachios). A couple of real pool tables, not those bar-sized ones. A dart board. Jukebox hooked to my music collection – I’ve got playlists that cover everything from sultly summer nights to jammin’ spring evenings. Microbrews, top-shelf liquor, and a decent wine collection (with a few really rare vintages for those special ocassions, such as, oh, every Friday night). A piano. Baby grand. Smoking blonde in a black dress to accompany it. Back-room with couches so those without designated drivers can sleep it off safely. Make the hours from four in the evening till whenever the last person leaves. Have it make just enough money to cover expenses.

And good friends to make it a home. Yeah. I’d sell my soul for that.

How ’bout you?

And now, a word from our sponsors…

Assuming new work responsibilities this week, which makes regular writing a tad trickier.

So instead of another illicit account of my bad behavior, here are some rather interesting thoughts on the role of women. Agree or disagree with her words, but do not ignore the fact that the dance between our sexes has only become more intricate with time, not less. As human beings we can treat each other with respect and honesty. As men and women we stand ready to employ whatever guile and tricks we may to win points when we can.

There will always be a balance of power, one men and women (as well as men and men, and women and women) will struggle over.

[audio:DangerousLiasons_WomenAreMoreSkillfull.mp3]
Marquise Isabelle de Merteuil and Vicomte Sébastien de Valmont, Dangerous Liaisons

Slave Bracelet

A couple of months ago, I asked NE to select a scene from a book that she would like to explore. She was quite reluctant – it is one thing, she said, to fantasize about something. Another thing entirely to experience it. Being the cruel man I am, I forced her to select one anyways.

Today, she acted it out.

***

My home office.

“I’m going to have you undress. Jewelry, first.”

She had on a lot of jewelry; all gold. Two earrings. A ring. Two necklaces.

“Now, your shirt.”

She started at the bottom, quickly undid the first few buttons.

“Slower. Take your time.”

A pause, and then she resumed; her fingers were more hesitant, but she tried hard to obey. The buttons fairly came undone just by being touched, making it difficult to slow the process. A moment later, the shirt hung open.

“Now slip it off. Place it on the chair.”

She rolled her shoulders back, letting the shirt slide free. Gathering it in her hands, she placed it over the arm of the large leather chair. I had her remove her shoes next, and then her skirt. A few minutes later, she was standing in just her black panties.

“Do you understand what I am doing?” I lowered my head slightly, watched the way she held herself. She has a tendency to want to clasp her hands behind her back. Quite often I have to remind her to keep her hands at her sides. “I want you naked.” Watched her breathe. “I want you bared, body and soul. I want you exposed.” I paused, “There is naked, and then there is naked.”

NE has two ways of giving it up to me. The first is an offering. This path is very fragile and I have to handle things just right for her to want to give it up without a fight. The second path is more direct, harsher – I take it from her. To force her to place herself in my hands. Both have their rewards, but the first path, although much harder on her, is what I wanted today.

“Now your panties.” There was no hesitation on her part; off they went and she stood naked in front of me. I let her feel the weight of my gaze for several seconds before reaching to the desk beside me and lifting a long silver chain. I settled this around her waist. My fingers lingered on her hips, but only for a moment. Patience is key; the feast would be later and I could wait.

Slave bracelet was next, on her left hand; silver and black beads along the top, chain around the wrist, attached by a ring slid onto the second-finger.

Details are important. She knew the weight of each piece of jewelry; knew that I was dressing her for my own purposes. People often forget the small things, believing that if they can achieve the larger picture, then they have suceeded. But the larger picture is made from the little things. It is the hint of cologne. It is the way the carpet feels when on your knees. It is the heat of fingers. All of this will fade into background noise when she goes under – but, and this is important – these details are what draw her down. Drowned in sensation, in particulars.

Next was something entirely new for us; a silver chain with nipple clips at each end. NE does not seek pain, but she does not shy away from it either. I ran my fingertips across her breasts slowly, taking my time to awaken the nerve endings. I knew how sensitive her nipples could be, and I enjoyed feeling them harden against my hands. Once ready, I attached a clip to each one. She didn’t flinch and I couldn’t hold back a small smile. My pet takes a lot of pride in how she deals with pain – but this went beyond that. She was withdrawing, becoming, descending. Believing.

Finally, the leather collar. I had let her try it on once before, a month ago. But this was her first time wearing it in a scene. I slid the leather over her head, drawing it close and buckling it. I made sure she could breathe, but kept it tight enough that she could not forget it was there.

She was almost ready.

Earlier, before I formally began the scene, she muttered that she had been too open with me the last few months, offering too much in the way of her fantasies – she had developed a false sense of security due to the length between scenes and, as she exclaimed, “You’re going to use it all against me!”

Damn right I was.