The Woodsman

You (yesterday) : "One of these days I need to tie her to a tree in those woods and rip her shirt open, beating her tits with a switch."


Me: (silence)

Dom Versus Domme

I have a friend who was a Dominatrix.  I say “was” because I don’t think she actively pursues clients anymore, having other interests, but I suppose one could argue, “Once a Domme, always a Domme.”

I invited her to the Cape house.  She arrived at the lower door wearing a wig and a tightly belted trench coat.  She entered and we went upstairs to the living area.  She unbelted her coat with a wicked grin, and there she stood before me in all her Domme splendor.  I laughed.  Delightful.  She had a crop and was playfully thwacking at the furniture.  “Bring me a drink, Slave!”

She heard footsteps above her head.  The master floor and bedroom suite.  She looked at me with a puzzled expression.  Footsteps came down the stairs, and you entered.  She gasped.  It had been a while.

I think she wanted to be embarrassed, but something else kicked in and she adjusted her head back and stared at you defiantly.  Domme to Dom. 

I knew better.  I took one look in your eyes and saw it all.  How much you were going to enjoy yourself.   The undoing.   She was my friend, but you were my Dom.  This takes precedence.

She looked at me.  I looked at you.  I fell to my knees and lowered my eyes.  Her mouth opened in astonishment.  Then she looked at you again.

You met her wavering gaze head on.  A slight smile on your lips.   She knew she would have to pay for this moment of frivolity.  “Slut?  Get upstairs.  Now.”  I left.  I knew I would have to bear witness and participate in the falling of a proud Domme.  I dreaded it.

The lessons she thought she so gleefully played at?  She was going to learn the impact of what they really meant, for the first time in her life.  I am sure she was starting to tremble, realizing her error.

But you?  I knew she would weaken.  I knew she would be humbled.  I knew your gaze.  I had paid for disobeying that gaze.  I understood its full power and the need for obedience.  I heard her cry out.  I heard a thud.  I could only guess.  You had grabbed her hair and dropped her to her knees in front of your hard cock.  Such begin the lessons.

May 23, 2012

You command her to bend forward as far as she can without toppling, so that her nipples brush the rough carpet. She moans under her gag when they do. You lie down in front of her and make her now rub her nipples onto your hardened cock. Drool is escaping from under her gag and running down her chest. The rope reddens her flesh as it cuts into her. (I brought her my red gloves and a red corset, then you returned me to the bedroom , bound me to the posts, turned out the lights and left me.)

You continued laying in front of her, stroking your oiled cock. This is the face of checked desire. Her eyes cannot look away. Her mouth wants cock in it. She is writhing, trying to escape and have what she desires. Her eyes beg you to let her have your cock.

The tension is terrible. If she topples she has failed. Every time she leans forward to get closer to your cock, she is in danger of failing. The punishment of this decline is frightening to think about. She shakes the fear out of her head . "No." "I must not fail, or he will punish me, and I will never have his cock." You are aroused at witnessing what is going through her thoughts.

You stand and begin to walk away from her. She is torn. She cannot stop twisting in her bindings. The rope has forced her tits to swell with pressure. She wants you to fuck her tits. The rope is cutting into her clit and the more she moves, the more it cuts. She wants to cum, but she knows if she does, there will be serious repercussions. Her ankles are tied and the rope ingeniously not only cuts into her ankles but her thighs. All of her sensual points are aroused, and yet you refuse her. When will she have release? Or...will she have release? You exit the sliding door and go outside. You can hear her whimpers through the glass. She is ready to be fucked. However. She needs to learn that you decide when that will be. She is in a brightly lit room. You stand outside on the deck in the dark and you watch her. Her eagerness makes you hard again. You glance up at a dark window. Soon enough. You breathe the night air.

April 1, 2012

January 2, 2012

January 1, 2012

A dream of desire--

It is not for everyone.

It takes a special kind of understanding and trust.

A sense of adventure.

A mutuality of desires.

To have your wrists and ankles so tightly bound, you can topple over.

The rope will cut into your flesh as you fight it.

You will fight it.

It will leave it's mark.

I have gone out the next morning and been asked "Why are there rope burns on your wrists?"

What she did not see: I also wore dried cum on my face and had bruised bite marks on my tits.

Will this one be brave enough to not only bear the pain, but to wear it in public?

She is the follower.

He is in control.

Her mouth, her throat, her tits, her cunt are all lifted and exposed to him, so he may do as he wishes.

He stands above her and tells her what he is going to be doing to her. There is--anticipation.

She has been warned previously.

She does not want to fail.

Will she hold his cock in her mouth and not suck?

What is she thinking, being hoisted up and exposed?

I will tell you.

The master must remain dominant.

The spell cannot be broken.

She will obey.

She will not suck.

I passed the test.

So shall she.

Raise up the slut.

Lift her into sexual escape.

Soar into fantasy and flights of higher desire.