He couldn’t believe he did it.

He’s checked in 4 more times since the first.

Once from a crowded lobby where he’d said it’d only been a quick check-in.  He’d felt a “flutter of excitement”

The second time was for insurance in case he couldn’t check daily like I’d initially asked of him and he instantly hardened as he began to text me the update, he said.

He only got to mentioned staring at my profile in his third note during a very long and very busy day of mine.

And the fourth was from his bustling shared office — his cock had been “pressing [him] to steal away glances” as he could — and it got engorged from our exchange, but he didn’t think he had anywhere private enough to take care of it.

The Neighbor used to ask for things to do, little subby tasks, but he would inevitably fail despite him agreeing to the terms and the tasks beforehand.   That meant I was left with punishing him, which ultimately is what he wanted in the first place I suspect, so I wasn’t dominating anyone: he was topping from the bottom and I was left with the shit end of the stick.

I hated every second of it and couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong; it highlighted my insecurities with him and make me feel inadequate in an area where I’d once felt competent.  It was a colossal mistake to keep trying…

But this man, this boy, he seems so different already.  I hesitate to be hopeful, but I will admit to experiencing a sense of calm, a gentle lick of joy as I see him go to great lengths to meet my expectations.

It is a wondrously quiet thing for me to experience as all the vanilla men in my life either drop off the face of the planet after days of warm exchanges, pander to me until I push them away, or rocket off into the outer limits of some crazed hysteria revolving around unresolved childhood traumas.

This kinky, submissive man is cool as ice and he’s melting in my hand.

    Checking into CS. Today i can’t stop looking at your breasts. My goodness.

    Mm
    And?
    What’s happened?

 Well i’m by myself in my office so i’m playing with myself a little. Someone could come in though so i have to be careful.

    Can you lock the door?

    It’s locked. I share an office w 4 other ppl and we all keep long hours, so hard so get privacy. Some of them are still here just in a meeting right now. I can hear them when they unlock the door so i’m ok with what i’m doing. But i prob can’t take it out right now.
    I’ll run to the restroom. It’s not very private but i can at least take it out and hold it for you if you’d like

    Mm yes

    Ok i’m here. Holding my cock. It feels heavy in my hands :)
    Stroking gently to that photo

    Wow
    I’m doing mommy things >:)
    While imagining you

    Haha should i stop?

    No, it’s ok.  Was at sports class with all the moms lol Headed home now
    Pretty sure I was the only one there with a good boy stroking himself to me across town

    Hahaha
    Do you have an honorific you’d like me to call you?

    Are you hard?

    Yes and stroking

    Yes.  Call me Ma’am and Miss
    I don’t care if they’re capitalized or not.  I imagine you saying it

    yes Ma’am :)

Mm fuck
    Gets me every time!
    And you?  What gets you?  

    Do you prefer one or the other?

    I prefer Ma’am, but also like Miss

 good boy, but i also like to be called slave or pet or slut. Haha i’m def blushing now
    Any of those work?

   I like boy and pet and slut – in that order – and also each deepens the meaning and is dependent on the context
    Boy feels right for now.  Pet later, possibly as things progress and for certain things, and slut for when you really are my little slut

 Ok sounds good! I mean i’m stroking my cock in the public restroom, flushed red, Miss… pretty slutty  
    :)
    i mean you can call me anything you like, sweet or degrading, if there’s something you like. i’ll like it more if it’s what you want
    those are just things that have got my blood running in the past

    I want to call you my little pervert right now ;)

    :)

    Perfect little slutty pervert playing with himself in a public restroom bc I want him to >:)

    that text is going to make me cum, Ma’am

    Can you hold on another minute?

    yes Ma’am

 Can you cum by the time you count to 50?
    Sooner?
    What if I counted down?  Could you cum that way?

    doubtful. i take a long time. i always fail at those countdowns

    It’s ok

    I can try

    Mm

    I wish i could! I could try if you like, ma’am

    Yes

    Are you going to count?

    From what number shall I count down?  What do you need, pet?

    Try 50

 Ok
    Imagine me laying on my bed
    50, 49, 48
    42, 41

    Yes

Imagining you
    36, 35, 34
    In a stall
    29, 28, 27
    Jeans unbuckled
    24, 23
    People in the halls
    20, 19
    Your hand wrapped tightly
    15, 14, 13
    My breath held
    10, 9, 8
    Your hand moving
    5, 4
    Your cock so hard for me
    3
    Hot and dripping
    2
    Aching to spill for me
    1

Came
    haha too soon

Hardly

    It was hard to gauge exactly

    Seemed fucking right to me
    I drew out the last 10 ;)

    I can’t believe that worked

    Oh yeah?

    That was so hot

Mmhm
    It was :)
    Very

    Haha all those texts are still coming in. My service is slow!

According to my thread, you came the second I counted 1
    Lol
    So you were reading my mind, apparently

    I got 1. The late ones were all out of order

   Lol
    How funny
    So you came from even less  from me!

    I can’t believe i did that tho, good thing no one came in

    Good thing indeed
    You were a perfect little slut :-*
    I loved it
    I feel warm all over

    :)

My wish is his command.

I told him to text every time he checked out my profile on CollarSpace; a first little test of our roles and how well we play them.

    just checked out your profile on CollarSpace

    Mm
    Did you get aroused?

    and texting you about it made me hard

    Yesssss
    So your cock is throbbing for me

    yes it’s pressing so tight against my jeans

    Omg
    What a good boy you are
    I’m pleasantly surprised by this

i would love to come show you the effect you had
    it would be embarrassing to walk out in public with my jeans bulging out though. i’d have to use a book to cover it

    I would pay good money to see that
    And to touch it
    Feel the fabric warmed by the heat of your skin and flow of your blood
    Mm

    oh please yes

    So very hot
    As a little reward… I’ll tell you… I’m going to cum to this
    I’m going to read your words and cum

 oh yes please cum!
    my cock is pleading with my jeans for release

    Are you somewhere where you can take it out?

    yes

    Then do
    Take it out and stroke it
    I’m about to cum
    And imagining you somewhere stroking to me will make it more than I can stand

    i took it out and it flopped heavy into my hand and i started stroking earnestly

   Mm good boy
   I just came for the first time

    i want to help with the second so badly. i’m aching for your summons

    My summons?

    if you asked me to come i would come. i’m swept up in the thought of it

    Yes, and be loud as you dare
    Mm imagining you cumming right now has me so aroused
    Think of your face buried in me, barely able to breathe

    just came so hard

    Me too

    haha again?

    That very moment your text came through I’d finished
    Yes

    excellent

    Vibrators are beautiful inventions

    hahaha

    As are words ;)

    yes, that was fun

    Mm indeed
    You like that little reward?  Lol

 haha. yes, very much
    thank you :)

    You’re welcome

Being assertive: How domination has taught me to stick up for myself in the vanilla world

The journey towards myself has been a journey of equal measure away from others.  Away from The Neighbor, away from my exhusband, away from my mother and father.  What do I need?  What do I want?  Who am I within those constructs??

As a woman I have been raised to acquiesce, to be demure, dainty, and gentle.  Imagine the struggle I had as a loud, bossy, effervescent, creative little girl who could never be pushed high enough on the swing or spun fast enough in a hug.  I always wanted more than I got and I wished every night to be like the little girls in my class with the perfect pigtails and clean dresses and neat handwriting, to be soft and quiet. But I was an athletic girl and competitive, driven to surprise people who thought my bright blonde hair and love of dresses meant I was afraid to get dirty.

That spirit saved me.  I loved being strong, fast, and impressing everyone — especially the boys — with my skills versus my sweetness, but still I figured out early on that I was a square peg and the world wanted a round one.  Despite abandoning the outward appearance of what was expected of me, I still fell prey to how I was expected to feel.

I was afraid to be angry, to demand to be treated in certain ways, to stand up for myself.  Those were not only unattractive traits, but completely unacceptable in both my world and family, and so I created a life for myself where on the one hand I was big and bold, but on the other meek and passive.  The life of the party and unafraid, yet a complete push-over who would accept any kind of treatment because she so badly didn’t want to be abandoned.

My parents rejected my pleas to be heard, my exhusband was incapable of mistakes, and my last love always had one foot out the door at the first hint of dissatisfaction.  But it was with him, The Neighbor, that the bold inner-side of me began to grow: he wanted me to dominate him.

TN and I never had an open discussion about his needs or wants regarding domination and submission.  From my perspective, one day he started agreeing to my outrageous demands to vacuum while in my panties.  I was confused and turned on all at once as I watched this densely muscled, hung young man push my vacuum cleaner around in my lace underwear.  He was acquiescent, boyish, happy and utterly exquisite.  It thrilled me.

Eventually we semi-formalized the exchange and I would tie a little black velvet ribbon around his neck and he’d kneel with his hands behind his back and wait for me to come home.  In the candle light I’d draw on his pale skin and finger fuck his tight little asshole while he was bound spread eagle to the bed.  His nipples were conduits to his cock and I’d eagerly pluck and suck on them until he writhed and begged me to stop and when I’d worked us both up into frothy messes I’d set him loose on me and cry big, fat tears of  release.  It was darkly beautiful, our little secret, and felt like I’d slipped into my real skin for the first time in my life.  He got me.

But then it went sideways.

He asked for tasks and wouldn’t do them.  He’d pick and choose when he would submit and for how long.  He’d create online profiles on D/s sites and keep them hidden from me.  I took aftercare seriously, but he would reject my advances to care for him.  He didn’t need me.  His submission seemed to be a limit to his sexuality, not a condition of it.  Submission was just a kink, not a state of mind.

I felt off-balance, weak, and used.

To assert demands which I had been taught my entire life were repulsive meant I crossed into treacherous territory, a landscape of power which was completely foreign to me, and he never joined me there.  He stayed on the sidelines and kept the gift of submission, his presence with me, to himself.  And it gutted me.

Standing in that spot alone, the only thing that could replace the energy lost to get there would have been his compliance, his submission.  Instead I was the asshole with my dick in my hand and he got to laugh all the way to wherever it was he wanted to go.  Without me.

Domination and submission are a symbiosis of energies, one does not exist without the other.  We can throw as many tricks into the ring as we want, but unless someone is there to witness them, to value them and hold them close, they’re useless and invisible and our energy is completely wasted.

That was me: a fool in the spotlight all alone. 

Our relationship failed for many reasons, least of which was his shadyness, but I didn’t limp away empty-handed.  As I’ve left my parents, my husband, and then TN, I have stood taller and understood better what it means to insist on something and through D/s I was given a glimpse — though a very tiny one — of how that could feel in real life.

It’s not enough to just be bold in life outside the walls of my home, I must be bold within them, as well.  If I don’t respond appropriately to bad behavior then I only have myself to blame and if the person behaving badly doesn’t have a reaction I like then that’s the correction point.  That’s the moment to assert myself.

Until recently I’d only dabbled in D/s much like a non-runner might commit to running at dawn each morning.  In other words: half-heartedly and not at all consistently.

I let my lovers toss me around and pull my hair and I tied up a lover, but I had’t invested myself in dominating anyone; it was far too demanding.  Men in general are scary, untrustworthy and dangerous.  It’s why I keep them safely on a shelf with just their hard cocks lined up like so many sausages on a conveyor belt.

Lately, though, a desire deep in my belly has grown to an incessant need: I need to dominate someone.  I need to use him to pleasure myself in an overt way, I want to own him and take care of him.  I want him to know what I’m doing and I want him to revel in it, to be my boy, my pet, mine.  More simply put, I want to state a need and have it met.  And so I have begun the search in earnest.

The wild little girl meets the woman who’s denied her inner self for most of her life and what I hope to happen is to find a partner who can meet me in that ring, to stand beside me and hold my hand even as he kneels beside me.  But this man has proven to be as elusive as any other unicorn.

Men in the D/s world who claim to be submissive, much like TN, seem to be more enthralled with the idea than the practice.  The low hoops I set for them to step through prove too much to bear and unlike the Hyacinth in the vanilla world, the Hyacinth in the D/s world does not allow for such mistakes or false claims.

Domme Hy asks that you reply to her messages in a timely manner.  If you don’t she politely reminds you of this requirement and gives you a chance to improve.  If you do not comply then she ends the connection, period.  She tells the man she has no time for games and is looking for someone who is serious about proving their submission even in small ways as they begin to get to know oneanother.

Domme Hy doesn’t accept ambiguous bullshit or bad behavior and the revelation that it’s not only ok to feel this way but also to to act upon it has stopped me cold in my tracks.  I hadn’t realized how hard I was still trying to fit into that round peg until I found a square hole.

And the light has been shed on all of my relationships.

Instead of telling others how I want to be treated and feeling as though my work is done I have come to understand to the fibers of my being that words really are meaningless.  As much as I love them, they’re literally worth the paper they’re printed on.

If I say I want to be treated a certain way and I am then treated in a different way the only reasonable response I have in the D/s world is to correct it and correct it immediately because that’s what a Domme does.  And what has become crushingly obvious to me over the summer is that’s what vanilla Hy needs to do, as well.

The veil of unattractiveness I have long associated with honesty regarding my feelings has been lifted and I am less afraid of someone abandoning me because I am displeased, angry, or unhappy.  Go, motherfucker.  Go.

Recently a beautiful submissive man hovered over me and sucked on my fingers.  His eyes were tightly shut and my free hand felt the muscles along his ribcage ripple.  “Cum for me, beautiful boy,” I said and his hand began to beat harder on his cock.  He moaned and jerked and I crooned to him, “My beautiful boy,” as hot globs of his subby jizz landed on my belly and breasts.

I pulled him down into my arms and stroked his temple until he fell asleep.  Our play had been very light, mostly vanilla by all rights, but I had bade him to spank my flank and fuck me and directed every candlelit movement.  He slept for a few hours and awoke stiff and awkward.  I released him to return home knowing something was wrong, but he was shut down.

The next afternoon I reached out and asked if he was ok.  He took many hours to respond and when he did he appeared still shut down.  I offered my support and told him he may be experiencing subdrop.  Three days later I still hadn’t heard from him so I asked for him to please let me know if he was ok.  He never responded.

Vanilla Hy would be mildly devastated, but Domme Hy recognizes with great clarity the limitations of her responsibility and energy required to resolve this.  I have done everything I can and he has gone to ground.  Whether that’s because it was the perfect night for him or the worst, I don’t know, but we had spoken for many hours about what we wanted and how we would proceed and as far as I was concerned I followed all of those rules.

If he ever reaches out to me again I will tell him I have no desire to interact with someone who is capable of mistreating someone like he mistreated me.  As Ferns has shared with me, many submissive males believe Dommes have no feelings and may be discarded like chewed gum.  Fantasy level: Achieved.  Next!  And it feels all too familiar.

It’s difficult to explain the long road to this place, the odd twists and turns I’ve experienced, but if I could shout to all the corners of the earth to everyone to be unafraid of their feelings and to express them freely and without fear I would every day for the rest of my life.  When you express a need, those worthy of you ask you how they may meet it.  Period.

Whether it’s a friend or parent, or a naked lover at my feet, the people I want to let into my life will accept me in my entirety or not at all and I can’t accept less than that.  I simply don’t need the inconvenience.  I deserve to be who I am — a woman with feelings and a woman with needs — and the people in my life deserve my honesty.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This is so important to who I want to be, I can feel it deep in my heart and I know it’s true because the tears in my eyes tell me so.  Ok, Hy.  You can do this.  Just be you.  It’s ok. 

 

 

 

e[lust] #66

Elust #66

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Photo courtesy of CurvaceousDee

Welcome to Elust #66

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #67? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Small Breasts

Watching Her Cum

An Ode to Blow Jobs

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Of Skeletons and Secrets
Would you be bored?

 

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

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Lust Fish

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Fiction

Unbroken by Oleander Plume
A Meal And A Show
Fucking Snow
Getting Off Is So Much Fun
Wicked Wednesday – Merry Christmas
Advent Calendar 24

Erotic Non-Fiction

Christmas Drinks At The Y
Nothing But Mouth
The things he does
The First Submission
Canadian Mist, Eggnog, Ginger Ale and You.
A Peachy Night
Skeletons In My Closet
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 28
a most pleasant fuck
Sex on Meth
Unwrapped

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Stat
Masturbation Fantasy’s Unintended Consequence
All Health Care Costs Are Not Created Equal
Keep Private Lives Private
The Myth of Magnum

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

My Subby Not-Quite-Year
He’s Got The Look
On femininity and rebellion
What Fifty Shades Doesn’t Tell You
Humiliation: hotness and hard-limits
Beginner’s Guide to Electro Sex – Essentials

Poetry

Because of the Way He Held Me
Cricket – A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

7 Signs You’re An Erotica Writer
Why Do I Do What I Do

Blogging

Best & Worst of 2014 & New Years Resolutions

Events

Munches, The Club and Beyond (Part 1)

Thoughts and Advice on Sex and Relationships

He brought me bacon.
Menstruation. Does it weird you out?

 

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Being a Domme can be a lot like shooting yourself in the ass.

Being dominant over The Neighbor often reminds me of parenthood. Much like the average parent, I end up screwing myself because of my strict adherence to consistency and follow-through (widely accepted as the parenting practices that will fuck up your life the least).

For example, a child won’t stay in his seat during dinner out, instead wanting to eat on the floor under the table and count ABC gum.

The mother says, “Jimmy, please sit on the seat. It’s not ok to do that here.” Jimmy ignores her.

Mom asks, then eventually orders Jimmy to get his butt in the booth. Jimmy is unfazed and continues to ignores her.

Finally Mama Bear has to put down the gauntlet: if this, then that.

“JIMMY,” she says, “if you don’t sit up there right now, WE’RE LEAVING.” Shit.

Maybe Mom is really enjoying her sushi lunch, but because she just laid down that ultimatum, she’s given Lil’ Jimmy the power to end her lunch because SHE HAS TO FOLLOW THROUGH or else he will never listen to her again and there will be weeks of whining in her future.

And there’s the rub.

She overshot the mark and accidentally got herself right in the arse.

Much like I’ve done.

TN jerked off without me the other night and didn’t follow any of the guidelines for that situation and therefore I was required to punish him. 

I must have been drunk or just coming out of surgery because I could only come up with this brilliant idea:

20140210-141619.jpg
Major Domme fail.

I love sending him pics of my tits and let him knead the big doughy things that they are pretty much any time he likes, but I don’t want to seem like a total dipshit in all of this, so I’ve bitten my tongue and followed through and now we skip 1st base and I can only send him something like this until Wednesday:

hyacinthjones_b&w_ass_tights
Sigh.

I’m pretty sure I’ve ruined my own sushi lunch.

Next time, I’ll make sure to make the punishment catered just to him so I can avoid any ricochet shrapnel.  Something like he can’t wear any of his nice new underpants, or he has to clean my apartment, fold my laundry.  Or maybe, I’ll require 10 minutes of cunnilingus before he can stick it in.  Hmm, now that has a nice ring to it!

What do you guys think?

He gets a [very lovely] punishment.

It’s been a few months now since The Neighbor and I entered into another layer of D/s and I became in control of his masturbation practices.

Our original foray into D/s was borne out of intense curiosity to see if it would fit us; he’d been spanking me for nearly a year and controlling our interactions, but I was miserable and he was a slippery little thing, perhaps miserable, too. That was definitely not working for us.

When I finally heard him, actually listened to his words about being submissive in the past — deliberately and with a real Domme — and how much he loved to vacuum for me bound in my skimpy lace panties, I opened a cupboard door into a part of me to which I hadn’t given any merit. And then it liberated us.

We dipped our toes into the power pool and suddenly we were both more relaxed, tall and serene. He still wasn’t committing to me or saying he loved me, but there was something else there, a stronger, newer connection that bound us even tighter. Roots were growing.

There have been mostly ups since we started this new side of us and I have learned mountains of information about the both of us: like how I am not a sadist, but I like welts, how I like having control over his pain because I can make it stop, how my position better allows me to express my needs from strength and not fear; and how he needs to feel trust and kind words during moments of consensual weakness, how he wants me to stand up for myself and keep him in line.

We fuck an average of a dozen times a month and 2-3 of those are me in total charge. Spankings, nipple clamps, him falling the fuck apart. The rest are laced with my domination and I top from the bottom with a big fat fucking smile on my face. And mostly all of our clothed sexual interactions are via D/s.

The innuendos, the spanks, the demands, the rules. So that means I also have had to come up with punishments. A real punishment, not something he would outrightly enjoy, though, that is how I prefer to deliver my blows.

He confessed to me the other day that he had masturbated without my permission. I thanked him for telling me, because I knew he was afraid, and we talked about why and I shelved it for later.

The next morning, I came up with a plan:

Ok, I’ve thought some more about you jerking off. I’m upset bc you didn’t send me a pic like I always say to do (& you broke your promise, but that can’t be helped now). So, to start over fresh, this is your punishment: you’re allowed to jerk off 3x bn now and next Tuesday but you must 1st ask my permission, 2nd, if it’s late and I don’t respond, then you must make a video of it, and 3rd, regardless of 1 or 2, you must take pics. So this means I expect 3 pics at least, if not some videos, of your gorgeous cock. You can also jerk off in front of me, too, thereby eliminating the need for pics :)

He said it was “tough, but fair.”

I said, “Good boy,” relieved to hear it, but knowing there was really nothing else he could say.

Thursday night, sick as a dog, I convinced him to jerkoff next to me. It was, quite literally, the highlight of my miserable day to watch his body tense and vibrate then jerk into his blurry hand, milky white jizz quickly mopped up by a tissue I had ready. I had three boxes of them littered about me, after all.

And this morning, this happened:

hyacinthjones_text_tits
The tits were for encouragement.

I’m not certain if he actually jerked off right then or of he was asking for his lunch break, but either way, I’m looking forward to the pics and I feel strong in my position yet again.

I never would have guessed how hot him asking me for permission could be — never — but goddamn. This punishment stuff sure does feel good. Almost as good as everything else with him does.

I take the plunge.

hyacinthjones_curve_waist
I wake up with feelings.

In the blustering storm that is life, where all the leaves are bills and worries and exes and money and illness and the bright sky and warm sunshine are jubilation and health and bonds and friendship, there is always a center.  It’s our soul, our heart, and it can be found in purpose.

My center is Peyton, which equates to love; I am anchored by a precocious, sensitive little person who has a wee lisp and a wild imagination just like the mama in the story, me.  And my other center is The Neighbor, a different kind of purpose and love, a grown up, complicated, left-of-center, warm, sloppy, and wanting love.  Between the two of them, I am filled to the brim with sunshine even as the leaves twist and flip about me.

On the 21st of December TN and I had our Christmas.  One of my gifts was going to be my declaration of love, but I was nervous.  We lit a fire and I cooked for us — filet mignon with a wine reduction sauce, fried Brussels sprouts and roasted acorn squash with brown sugar.  We drank wine and talked, opened many wonderful, thoughtful, loving gifts (I gave him a shirt I made that said, “Logically Logical,” a throwback to an inside joke).

We held hands as we stumbled into my bedroom and undressed each other in the candlelight.  We kissed with soft, wet tongues and beating hearts.  He pounded into me and I arched back into him, the words so close on my lips, yet held tight behind a seal.

I came and came and my heart melted then blew into glittering bits.  He was business as usual, ignorant and blissfully so.  We lay in each other’s arms and I thought to myself, “Now is the time.  Now,” but I couldn’t bring myself to be so vulnerable.  There was every chance that he would be angry, that he wouldn’t return the words, that we might even break up.

TN has always been reluctant when it comes to me, in his words, at least.  He’s called Peyton “6 strikes against” me. he’s said he never wanted to date a divorcee, a mother, or someone this much older than him, that I’ve read too much into his actions, and that he takes me for granted.  He’s said such terrible things in an attempt to keep a distance between us and I’ve believed him intellectually, but in my heart I always believed otherwise, miraculously so.  Such a tangled dance we did for almost two years and here I was on the cusp of tipping my hand completely; giving it all away.

I took a deep breath and splayed my fingers through his chest hair and trailed my fingers down between his legs and squeezed his wet, thick cock.  “You know I love more than just this about you, right?”  It was all I could do.

He nodded and said he knew.  I quietly chastised myself, so weak, so scared.  He was leaving in two days to go home for Christmas.  This was the moment.

While he was gone shit hit the fan with my ex.  I found out via social media once removed that he was getting remarried (“once removed” would mean that a friend texted me about my ex’s relationship status change) and that he was keeping it secret from Peyton for some reason.  Between my head exploding in rage and the barrenness I felt due to our physical distance, I felt more than ever the urge to tell him how I felt.  It wasn’t because of the news, but in spite of it.

Life is short and I love him.  He has the right to know.

His flight arrived late the day after Christmas, about the same time Peyton and I pulled up in front of our apartment from a quick out-of-town trip to see friends.  “The eagle has landed!” he texted.

I tucked in my baby and rehearsed what I’d say to TN.  My plan was to just blurt it out the second I saw him.  “Hi, TN!  I love you!” and just see what happened.  But when the time came, I was seized with nerves again.  We hugged and playfully sobbed into each other’s arms over our stressful family holidays.

I took a deep breath, “I have to talk to you.  I have good news and I have bad news.”  He looked alarmed as I led him to my room and sat down on the bed.  “Which do you want to hear?”

“The bad news first.”  I sighed with relief.

“The bad news is, Exhusband and Kathy got engaged Christmas Eve, I found out via Facebook, and he still hasn’t told me about it.”  TN knows that whenever my ex does stupid shit, it can affect my moods and my feelings about our relationship, in particular.  “And the good news has no connection to this bad news whatsoever.”

“Ok..” he said speculatively.

“You know how I feel about you, right?” he slumped down and covered his face with a sheet.  I felt every element of oxygen enter and leave my lungs.  “I love you.”

He dropped the sheet and looked at me.  “And I always feel it more when you’re away and we’re apart and my friends are asking about you.  I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you and you never heard the words from me.”

He looked at me for long moments, blinking.  He thanked me.

I didn’t fall apart because it was what I expected, but when he asked for me to lay down with him, I refused.  “No, thank you.  I don’t feel like it right now.”  I sat against his thighs, my arm straddling him, but the last thing I wanted to do was lay down with a man who didn’t return my love.

We talked about I don’t know what for a long while until finally, for some reason, he suddenly said, “Of course I love you, too.”

I sucked in my breath and looked at him intently.  “Really??”

“Yes, really.  I’ve known I’ve loved you since we broke up before 4 am girl.”

“What?!” I said incredulously.  All those stupid, wasted weeks of torture and tears could have been avoided.  “Then why did you date her?!”

“I don’t know,” he said simply.  I let the silence hang between us and my heart softened towards the man who couldn’t help himself but love me.  I quietly laid down into his nook.

“So I tell you I love you and now you want to be close?” he asked, not without sarcasm.

“Yes, pretty much.  I didn’t feel close to you before.  Now I do.  It’s simple.”  He squeezed me and I sighed into him.  “I really do love you.  I’m sorry.”  He cringed and my heart broke for him a little knowing that this complicated things in a way he’d been athletically avoiding for at least 18  months.  “At least you’ll have a lot to talk about with your therapist: ‘Theresa!  It’s terrible!  Hyacinth admitted she loved me and I told her I loved her, too!'”

He chuckled at my dry humor and said it was true.  I felt simultaneously angry, relieved, and blessed.  And royally fucked.

When he left that night I said the words I’d wanted to say so many times before as he headed for my bedroom door, “Goodnight, I love you, TN.”  He paused and turned with a twinkle in his eye and through a tight smile said, “I love you, too, Hy.”  And then he was gone from my doorway, still my center, but also still somehow a new leaf.

I beat his ass.

hyacinthjones_white_shift_belt
The morning after, no underwear.

“Take off your underwear,” he said smiling and with no fanfare.

I looked at him and burst into giggles.

We’d been laying on the bed talking and it’d come out of no where, well, if “no where” was laying in bed and lavishing attention on your man and there was a rule that he wasn’t allowed to wear pants in your bed.  Then, yes, it came out of no where.

I lifted my hips and removed my panties and he kneeled between my knees.  We both still had on our shirts.

He pressed into me and watched each other as he split me open and I gave way with a soft moan.  His eyes so blue, so intensely locked on mine.

His powerful hips began to move and instantly I felt a spark and arched.  I pulled him down to me and we kissed and kissed and kissed as our bodies gyrated onto one another, our breath sweet puffs of passion between our locked mouths.

His tempo increased, I lost my shit as my pussy gushed and my temperature rose.  I tossed my head from side to side and clung to him with my limbs, desperate to feel his cock deep in my throat from below.

When we were exhausted, he stopped and handed me my vibrator and played with my breasts and nipples, told me how hot I was and how beautiful as I sprang into an orgasm from the wand that ripped a scream from me.

I went limp and giggled.  He kissed me.

He left shortly after that, saying he had only stopped by for a quickie before he vacuumed.  When he returned later it was a surprise.  I wasn’t ready for him to clean, yet.  But he wanted to cuddle again and so we did and after laughing and talking for several minutes and me absentmindedly playing with his cock he said again, “Take off your underwear.”

I held still, a smile plastered on my face and a twinkle in my eye that matched his.  And so I lifted my hips and took off my panties once more.

And again he impaled me with his magical cock and we moved together, this time fully nude, and rocked against each other with all our mights.  I gripped the iron bars of my headboard and squealed each time I felt the tip of his cock nudge my heart.  I bloomed and blossomed and lost myself in little orgasms until, once again, we were exhausted and he flopped next to me, my Hitachi wand in his outstretched hand.

I took it, I died, I wept a little, but not too much, and I saw myself in bits of confetti that rained down around me.  His hand rested on my breast, his words of encouragement lingered on my ears.

He left again and we made plans for when I needed him to come over “for real” and vacuum.

When he returned he wore his little white briefs.  The thin cotton transparent enough that I could see his shadowy Caucasian skin piled behind it as he moved the vacuum cleaner about my apartment.

He picked up chairs and moved ottomans as I scurried around the house tidying up, lighting candles, making my bed.

Vacuuming is our chore-play, our gateway activity to the head space to play Dominant and submissive and I was roundly fucked and more than capable of focus.

When he was done he coiled the cord and stowed the vacuum away, came back to my room and looked at me expectantly.

“Good boy,” I purred and pet his red-bearded face.  The tables had turned.

His eyes were round and impossibly light blue, his bowed mouth slightly parted.  I caressed his shoulders, ran my fingers down his furry chest and grabbed his hardon beneath the fabric of his underpants and peeled him out of them.

“Wait here,” I said softly and grabbed a couple of things off the bedside table.  He looked at me inquisitively then with muted horror as I showed him two tiny hair clips, the kind a woman uses at her temples to stay fly-aways.  “Relax,” I said from my throat and kissed his warm lips.

He took a breath and let his arms hang at his sides as I clipped the hungry little beasts on his itsy bitsy nipples.  He cringed and winced and made a big production of it.  I scoffed at him and told him to knock it off.  “Bend over and assume the position,” I said.

There he was bathed in candlelight, in pain, back arched, bottom impossibly full and bare.  I swelled with lust, delight, and nerves.  The white shift I wore pulled taut across my breasts as I breathed in deeply the scent of his cologne and submission.

I reached for the brown leather belt that saves my weak little palm and lashed at him.  “Beg for mercy,” I hissed gently, “Beg.  But I will not stop.  You may writhe, you may cry, and you may beg, but don’t move away from me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said huskily and he held still, waiting.

I lashed and lashed at him then and he did cry and beg.  It was gorgeous and terrifying and infuriating all at once.

When the begging came in earnest I hit him some more and told him to stop telling me what to do.  “But you said –,” he began.

“It doesn’t matter what I said,” I told him.  “You can do this, but don’t tell me to stop, beg me to stop.”

He understood.

I picked up where I left off; I wanted to leave a mark on him.  So I hit and I hit and I panted and I writhed inside of myself as I watched him squirm and shiver and shout.

I was hurting the man I love.  This is wrong, I thought.  And then I kept on lashing and petting and reassuring.

I swayed beneath my gauzy slip, drunk on passion and power and I pressed my mound against his hip and stroked his hot back.  A welt was beginning to appear.

I told him to stand up and he was skittish, but stable.  I kissed his jaw and was careful not to bump the tiny clips clinging to his nipples.  And then I said, “Hold very, very still,” and his eyes widened as he saw me carefully remove one clip and then the other.  “Get back down,” I said.

I reared up again to my full height and concentrated on the belt cutting through the night air and landing exactly where I wanted it to.  Careful, deliberate, my nipples erect, my cunt warm, wet and buzzing, my eyes glazed with other worldly focus.

Slap!  Slap!  Slap!  Slap!

He trembled and shivered, but held himself in position.  He whimpered into the down comforter and gripped it with hands locked into fists.

The smack of leather on skin began to sound like a drum beat and I turned myself inside out, concentrated on my own voice which encouraged him to take more and praised him for his powerful, meaty, indisputable beauty.  I was him in that moment feeling my own hand on him, checking in and feeling around.

And then, I was suddenly done.

I was there, he was there.  There was nowhere else I wanted to go.  And I couldn’t take one more lick lest I burst into tears.

My hand stilled and he lay and panted in big, giant breaths splayed heavily in the middle of the bed now.  I moved closer to inspect my handiwork and gasped at the blister of color I’d caused.  It was beautiful and awful.

I kissed his ear and cheek, his face buried in the mattress, and told him to stay exactly like that while I ran and fetched some ice and a cloth.  I slipped the cool chunk over his scorched skin and blotted up the trickle with care.  He insisted he didn’t need it, the careless, needless submissive man that he is, but I ignored him feeling as though I knew better.  At the very least, I needed it after brutalizing the man I love for 20 minutes.

I cooled his cheeks, his crack and his hip and dipped my hand between the cleft of his backside and stroked his balls.  He lifted his hips for me and the arch and offer nearly made me grab my belt again, but instead I wrapped my hands around his chubby cock and played with the heavy bag behind them before returning to icing his welt.

He wasn’t able to hold a conversation and he giggled.  I swelled with pride and love and contentment.

When the ice had disappeared, he pulled me into his arms and kissed my temple.  I snuggled down into the warmest nook in the world and lazily stroked his growing erection, my lids heavy, my heart full, spent as fuck.    “Hey,” he said with a grin, “take off your underwear.”

He may only cum when I am present.

ass_up_nude_hyacinth_jones
Since I won’t share pics of his pretty naked body, you get mine.

I had been feeling out of control and my libido had dropped a few rungs when I received a provocative and thoughtful email from a friend who happens to be dominant. He reminded me that if I wanted something, I had the power to make it happen, the responsibility to be kind, and the wherewithal to know the difference between recklessness and pushing boundaries.

I mulled it over for days.

A part of my real life had been spiraling out of control and I had to flex that muscle I’d built up while masturbating myself into true acceptance of all things The Neighbor. In other words, I had to just let go.

It’s worked, thank God, but it took a lot out of me and I could focus on nothing but that problem for most of my waking days.

It robbed me of my will to write like I wanted to and it’s the culprit behind the lowered libido, too, but somehow, insanely, my friend’s words continued to percolate and in the midst of my chaos I turned to TN one night as we cuddled and said, “I don’t want you to masturbate without me anymore. No touching, no cumming, nothing, unless I’m somehow present. You can have me involved or just in the room, but whatever it is, I’m there.”

I probably said it a lot more kindly than that because I am a very soft-hearted woman and a clumsy Domme. I probably also gave some reasons behind it — thinking I had to — but with a slow smile and a squeeze TN said simply, “Ok. I think I can do that.”

That was 3 weeks ago and he has kept his word like a good boy.

My bond to him has deepened and my trust in him has blossomed. I am also in utter disbelief.

There has been a time or two when he has admitted to waking up humping his pillows, a pained look on his face, and I just laughed and rubbed and loved on him like a giant puppy. A great, big, wonderful, love and sex puppy.

His hard-ons are epic and easy as usual, but there’s an air to our interactions that is different. I’m holding invisible reins and he’s wearing an equally invisible bridle. His reliance on masturbation to self-soothe and regulate his emotions throughout any given day is heavy and I take it seriously to be in control of his outlet.

I grip and stroke, and find my face buried between his tree-trunk legs far more often than I have in previous months, and I’ve found that magical prescription that milks the cum from his body despite his control tenfold more times than before my new Rule. And even my pussy has coaxed him to orgasm.

Whatever connection we had is growing stronger as he learns to rely on me and I learn to trust myself. It vibrates, it soothes, it’s sweet and sexy, it’s everything to me.

When I ask him if he wants to cuddle now, instead of saying, “Maybe,” I get, “Of course.” It’s been months since he’s missed a night anyway, but nowadays, he gets upset if I try to carve out some space alone. I hesitate to write the following words, but he might just need me.

On a new level, somewhere between primal and elevated, he needs me and his body knows it. I’m sure his heart does, but maybe now his head is beginning to realize it, too. And it’s the confluence of the three that I’m sensing in him. It just has to be. Either that or I’m just drunk from all the semen and Domme-y power. That can happen, right??

My Domme skills need work. Or do they?

I had a dream last night that basically epitomized my feelings about being a Domme to The Neighbor: I’m a hack.

I was somehow partnered with a pixie-haired blonde girl, lithe and curvy with little breasts and a sweet, flowy energy.  There were two men with us, TN and her man and they were both eager to please.  I was awkward and weird where she was sure and innovative.

In my silences she gave them tasks to do and I watched somewhat horrified as my guy did as he was told BY SOMEONE ELSE.

She was encouraging me to engage, but I couldn’t, I felt like I was at a dance and they all knew the steps, but I didn’t.

TN was sweet and kept looking to me expectantly, but I kept hiding inside myself.  They kept going without me.  I was alone with my dick in my hand, feeling silly and horrible.

I don’t think TN really feels this way about me — thank God — but it’s enough that I do.

Lately, life has put the brakes on our libidos and the quantity and quality of the sex has gone down slightly (it hurts to write that, by the way, but I will avoid any self flagellation for now).

We still talk and see each other every night and day, cuddle and kiss and I stroke his big hardon and he suckles my breasts, but for some reason 10 o’clock at night no longer calls to me rise up.  Instead, my body yearns to shut off and I answer the call.

I do my best, though, and if I look at it objectively (and more kindly) I dominate him considerably through a multitude of non-sexual ways: my tone of voice, my requests (aka demands), my moods, and my needs.

And the magical, impossible, ridiculous thing of it is: HE COMPLIES.

He complies and he yields and he bends and he offers.  Always.  He never says NO.

To be fair, I think I’m fair.  Rules to follow include things like not teasing me about my age in a disparaging way (he may tease, of course, but I better not feel like it’s a dig); he is to kiss me before leaving the house; he is to do any favor I ask of him no matter how big or small (how many boxes of Topo Chico has that man lugged up 3 flights of stairs in 2 years is beyond me); he is to wear panties when he vacuums for me; and more recently, he is not to masturbate or cum without my presence.

In the absence of physical, sexual play, these little rules are what connects our dots.

Dumb Domme made an incredible list of her House Rules recently and it brought a tear to my eye; and Kink in Exile and Ferns have also both written about rules and their relationships to them.

What I’ve taken away from all of this is that it’s whatever fits the couple.  It’s sorta like how a therapist is trained: they learn the theories and how they work and then they personalize the exchange for each client.  We all take what we know about consent, D/s, power and play, and make them into our own.  It’s a hodgepodge of rules and limits and we gotta take what we can get.

I don’t know whether or not I’m actually dominating him in his eyes, but I know I’m trying in mine.  Perhaps he’s so wired to submit he doesn’t even realize it.  Can that even happen?  Or does he know on some level that I am always exerting myself over him?

My dream denoted my worst fears — that I’m a goddamned stupid idiot who doesn’t know what she’s doing — but I guess I can take that as a positive: I don’t want to be around anyone who thinks they know what they’re doing and that includes me.