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“More tongue, Baby. Use that fantastic tongue of yours.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she obeyed. She would never disobey him, even when obeying was a challenge. Nothing worth having , nothing worth achieving, ever came without a challenge. That is what Daddy always said and she knew he was right.

Julie took the cock into her mouth again, determined to make it pleasurable this time. She let her tongue slip out and trace a trail along the bottom of the shaft to the tip, taking a moment to flick the underside and swirl her tongue around the head. A groan escaped the lips of the man attached to the cock. See Daddy, she thought. He’s enjoying it. I can be a good girl, Daddy. She stole a look and saw approval in his eyes.

The man groaned again as she continued to suck and lick. “She really is spectacular Bob. That mouth of hers, that tongue. Damn! You are a lucky man.”

“That I am, ” he responded. “That I am.” Then, turning his attention to Julie, “Come on Babygirl, show this old bastard some lovin.”

Julie was happy to hear her Daddy talk about how lucky he was to have her, although she knew that she was truly the lucky one to have such a loving and thoughtful Daddy. She would do anything for him and she knew he would always be there for her, supporting her, guiding her, loving her the way only he could.

As she went back to the task at hand she thought about her tongue and the fantastic things she could do with it. She had used it on many a man, and woman. She enjoyed it, the feeling of power she got from knowing how much pleasure she was giving them. It gave her pleasure as well. The feeling of a woman’s body reacting to her tongue lapping at her clit and invading her pussy. That was hot. The feel of a man’s cock going from soft to rock hard in her mouth with her lips firmly around it and her tongue swirling about the head. That was pure delight.

There were times, like today, when she couldn’t find the pleasure in it though. It wasn’t because her partners weren’t into it, often they were the ones being more vocal than not about how awesome she was. She did have a fantastic mouth and tongue, Daddy told her all the time, but it was not for everyone. It was different when it was someone else, though having him there with her helped. Just knowing he was there and hearing his voice helped her get past any initial nervousness or apprehension she might have, usually.

Today she couldn’t get into it. She sucked and licked, she caressed and kneaded, she opened up her throat and took every bit of him in. He groaned in appreciation enjoying every moment but she just couldn’t no matter how hard she tried. She imagined it was Daddy’s cock in her mouth. She loved sucking Daddy’s cock. To her, his was absolute perfection. Big and firm, but not too big as to hurt her jaw, and it was smooth, so smooth, with a little tuft of hair at the base. Julie closed her eyes and imagined.

The man’s groaning became louder and he started pumping, driving his cock into her mouth. She fought to keep up with him, to not just open up and let him fuck her mouth. She grabbed his ass and held him firmly, letting her mouth do the moving rather than him. She was more than ready for this to be over but she knew she had to do it right or Daddy would not be pleased. She had to show control and allow him to release at the right time.

“Are you ready Babygirl?”

She managed a nod while continuing her action on the man’s cock.

“Do it, Baby. Make Daddy proud.”

Julie knew what to do. She took the cock into her mouth with her lips about half way down his shaft. Then quickly moved her head back while her tongue kept pressure on his cock and flicked the tender underside of the head as it slid out of her mouth. A few quick strokes with the same movements, then it was time. She opened up her mouth, her throat, and took the cock all the way in. At the same moment she pressed one finger at the base of his scrotum behind his balls and inserted another well lubricated one into his ass.

“Arggg…” She felt the hot cum sliding down her throat as his body twitched and bucked trying to release every ounce. He was done.

“Great job, Baby. That’s my good girl.”

“Holy fuck! That was amazing! I don’t know where you learned those moves but you are one talented young woman.”

Julie gave him a little smile, thankful it was over. She couldn’t wait to get back to their hotel room, have a nice hot shower and snuggle with Daddy.

 

 

This week’s challenge was to make bad sex sound good. I may have come up with the challenge, but that does not mean I was able to meet it.
Click the Wicked Wednesday button below to see how others rose to the challenge.

  

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“Whether your dog fancies herself dominant or submissive, her role in the pack may have something to do with it. So-called active submission or appeasement includes behaviors like jumping, attention-seeking, nuzzling and performing a play bow. If these behaviors accompany the bone drop, your dog is reminding you that she knows you’re the alpha.”
~ Training, The Daily Puppy

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I recently joined a group on Facebook, BDSM Info, and saw the following posted earlier this evening. (It is a closed group but you may be able to see the original post and comments here) I wanted to share it because it is something we should all ask of ourselves and our relationships. Even if we do not have all the answers it is important we consider them and find the answers along the way.

Questions to think about for a sub/slave

Tell me, my slave, do you do the things you do for me because you want to, because you believe I want you to, or because you have been taught by someone else that is what a slave should do?

Why do you kneel for me, why do you call me “Master”, why do you obey my every command, regardless of how stupid it is?

If I told you I wanted you to stop kneeling for me all the time, to stop calling me “Master” in every sentence, to stop following my every command without thinking, would I be less of a Master in your eyes then?

If I told you I wanted you more as my friend instead of my property, more as my lover instead of my toy, more as my helper instead of my tool, would you lose your respect for me then?

If I relieved you from your bonds, from your commitments, from your promises of obedience, would you leave me then?

Do we shape our relationship from our own common needs and preferences, or do we shape it from a cliché someone else has painted for us?

And finally, am I asking you this just because I am a “true” Master testing if you are a “true” slave, or am I asking you this because I want to know, because I want us to know, because I want you to know the answers to these questions.

Think, my slave, about if you want to answer these questions, about if you dare to find the answers to these questions, about if I really want you to try to answer these questions.

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Holiday House

It’s been a while, but this is a continuation of the original Life With Victor (LWV) series. You can find the previous posts here

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tasha was weary about going away with Victor this weekend. Their last vacation had led to a lot of upheaval in their lives. They were finally back to being them. No codling, no going easy on her. There hadn’t been any truly rough play but she was happy their dynamic was returning to normal. What if going away affected that? She was nervous.

“Why don’t we just spend a nice weekend at home? We could go for brunch at that new place down on 5th, spend an evening at the club. We haven’t been there in ages.”

“Don’t worry Tash, you will have a great time. Trust me.”

“I do trust you. I just…”

Victor put his arms around his wife and pulled her close. “I know baby. I know. This trip will be very different than our last. Now, go pack. I want to get on the road as early as possible tomorrow. You’re still only working a half day?”

“Yes. I’ll be done at 1:00.”

“Very good. I will drop you in the morning that way we can hit the road when I pick you up. We can take our time on the nicer side roads, make a stop or two, and still get there by 5:oo. Plenty of time to unpack and grab a hot shower before dinner. I made reservations for 7:00. Be sure to pack something suitable. That sexy green number from will do. You always look gorgeous in green. Now go,” Victor gave Tasha quick slap on the ass and sent her off to pack.

She was still unsettled about it but she trusted Victor. That didn’t seem to be of any comfort as she tossed and turned during the night, waking up in a cold sweat. She tried to talk him out of it again in the morning but he would not be deterred.

“Don’t you want to be a good little whore,” he chided.

“I do, Daddy. I do,” and with that she no longer worried about the weekend.

 

The sun playing peek-a-boo behind the clouds kept the temperature from soaring and made their long drive out of town enjoyable. They took their time. They stopped for her favorite ice-cream. They stopped to watch the falls and bask in its mist. They also stopped at one of the local wineries to pick up a few bottles for the weekend. Tasha was relaxed and happy. Victor was pleased.

When they arrived at the rental house Tasha was less than impressed. She was surprised to find it was not at all how the brochure had described. It was listed as a grand turn of the century estate with old world charm and modern day amenities. They had passed a large estate house before turning onto the small gravel lane but that was not where they were staying. They were in what looked to have been a servants quarters at one time. It was small, not completely run down but any charm it may have once possessed had worn away over the years.

“Are you ready,” Victor asked, turning the truck off and smiling at her. She looked at him, perplexed. This couldn’t be where they were staying. “What’s wrong, baby? You don’t like it?” His tone showed a hint of amusement.

“Is this really where we are staying?” She tried not to sound like an impudent child.

“It is. Come on, let’s bring our stuff in. I have some plans before dinner.” There was something in his smile, his eyes, she hadn’t seen in quite some time. Beneath his amusement was something darker.

She got out of the truck, grabbed her bags, and followed him. She was looking around, trying to find something, anything, redeeming about the place and not paying attention to Victor. She walked right into him as she rounded the corner of the house. He had stopped and was looking at something off to the right. She followed his gaze to a hitching rail.

“No running tonight little whore. Daddy’s going to take you for a ride.”




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He asked me many months ago what submission meant to me. You can read my response HERE. That was ten months ago and a lot, yet at the same time very little, has changed since then. So, He asked me again… What does submission mean to you?

I said it means finding my home.

At home you are your true self. There are no roles to play or people to impress. We don’t wear the masks we show to the world when we are at home. Home is where we feel safe, where we find comfort.

He said it is the actions that define you as Dominant or submissive, not the feeling or intent. It is a choice, He says, the choice to no longer need to choose.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be your true self, to feel safe and at home all the time? To not have to hide any part of who you are? Yes it is a feeling, but it is also action. Dropping your mask is an action. Being true to you, rather than playing a role, is an action. Submitting is an action. I wouldn’t say being submissive is a choice but I would say that offering your submission to someone is.

I always consider how something feels not necessarily what it may look like or the logistics of it. I do agree with him that it is our actions which define us, but our actions do not matter if there is not feeling and intent behind them and the feeling and intent is not genuine.

Let’s consider what he said for a moment with the following scenarios…

Mary is married to Bob. He works at the local credit union and she at the high school. Mary comes home from work each day and cooks a hot dinner for her and Bob. She has his slippers at the door, the day’s paper on the side table of his favourite chair, and Channel 4 news on the television ready for him. A scotch will accompany the paper on days he has indicated one is needed. She has a hot bath each evening before bed then, while her husband has his shower, she lay waiting for him to come take her. Afterward, she will clean him with her mouth before he falls asleep.

 

June lives with her boyfriend Robby. They have been together a few years and have an open relationship. They frequent a local swingers club where, on most nights, June plays while Robby watches. June always wears her collar when they go out and follows Robby’s rule, eye contact to no one. He chooses the playmates and their activity. He has a proclivity for redheads and big men who like fucking June’s pretty little ass.

On the surface these both look like D/s relationships, their actions suggest as such. They could be, but they may not be. We would need to know the feeling and intent behind the actions to determine that.

Does Mary do those things for Bob because it pleases her to please him? Does she lick him clean because she enjoys it? Or does she play the good little submissive wife because that’s what she’s been taught to do? Does she feel like screaming because she is living a life she does not want? Would she rather greet him when he comes home kneeling naked on the floor with her bare ass to him and have him fuck her from behind with his shoes still on?

Does June enjoy having an open relationship or does she accept it because that’s what Robby wants and she’d rather put up with that than be alone? Does the collar mean anything to her or was she just told she had to wear it? Does Robby choose redheads because he knows June likes them and wants her to enjoy the experience? Or does he do it because he knows she doesn’t like redheads so wouldn’t likely leave him for one he lets her play with? Does June watch Robby when other guys fuck her? Does she get excited by his reactions, does she look him in the eye, enjoy his excitement?

There is much more to Domination and submission than just the actions. You have to go beyond the actions to the feelings and intent. There has to be desire and willingness. There needs to be genuine thoughtful action, feeling, and intent.  It has to feel right, like home.

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Need

need / nēd
verb
verb: need; 3rd person present: needs; past tense: needed; past participle: needed; gerund or present participle: needing; modal verb: need
  1. 1.
    require (something) because it is essential or very important. “I need help now”
    not want to be subjected to something. “I don’t need your sarcasm”
  2. 2.
    expressing necessity or obligation. “need I say more?”
  3. 3.
    archaic be necessary. “lest you, even more than needs, embitter our parting”
noun
noun: need; plural noun: needs
  1. 1.
    circumstances in which something is necessary, or that require some course of action; necessity. “the basic human need for food”
  2. 2.
    a thing that is required. “his day-to-day needs”

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    “I want you to hold me, to hurt me, and to comfort me when you are done.”

    That is what I told Him today. I lied. I don’t want it, I need it.

    Just as He needs to give a beating, I need to take one.

    I need to be spanked or flogged or beaten, maybe all three, maybe more.

    I need to feel pain beyond the pleasure, until it subsides and sends me off into peaceful subspace.

    I need my brain to shut down, to reset itself.

    I need to fight and cry and scream.

    I need to release what has built up, what I have held on to for far too long.

    I need to be punished, for something, I don’t even know what.

    I can’t do it myself.

    I try, but there is only so much one can inflict on oneself before self preservation kicks in and it stops.

    I can’t hurt myself the way I need to be hurt.

    I can’t cause the pain that needs to be felt.

    I can’t let go without being forced to, without knowing there will be comfort once I do.

    I can’t explain it, rationalize it.

    I just know, innately, this is something that I need.

    I don’t want you to hold me, to hurt me, or to comfort me when you are done.

    I need you to.

    I need you to hold me.

    I need you to hurt me, to bring tears, to have me beg.

    I need you to comfort me, to make a safe space for me.

    I need you to make me do what I can not do myself.

    I don’t want you to.

    I need you to.

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More of the his story with Ann…


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I was young, Ann was a woman, and as she had told me that first night, volunteered it in fact, she would do whatever I asked, anything at all. I gathered my courage to ask her to take me in her mouth, and again, a second time while she was on her floor, she told me she would always do anything I asked. I came in her mouth a second time.

I discovered I had a weakness for fellatio. Must be genetic. Most men suffer from this kind of insufficiency, that’s what women say. And she kept her word. I mean she really kept her word. Whenever I asked, even after we broke up.

Now serious again, why? Why did she continue supplying her sexual favors even after we were quits? First, we’d have to ask her, but my guess, she was a hurting human being, completely out of touch with real feelings, with love. Yes, she was connected to her sexual feelings just fine.

And she encouraged me to be selfish, to be bad that way. And I’m a pretty fast learner. I’d come to see her, say hello, we’d get on her couch, it was almost a bed, soft, really comfortable, we’d kiss for a few minutes, either she’d get on the floor, elbows on the couch, I’d stop and stand up to take down my pants, or we’d get up and walk into her bedroom. But she knew where she was going to end up when she opened the door, she knew what I wanted, so their was no real conversation, only hello, how are you, that kind of conversation.

She taught me I could enjoy fellatio. And I did. A couple of times on campus but mostly in her bedroom again and again.

Ann wanted to talk. Not talk instead of satisfying me. She wanted to discuss sexual politics, and who knows, maybe she was right, except I didn’t want to talk, not just then. I wanted to come in her mouth. This is the woman who taught me how to face fuck, so no, I didn’t exactly want to talk.

And so without asking permission, she’d follow me, we’d both disrobe. Unless I was staying, Ann only took off her top. Blouse, bra, almost always. I don’t remember her doing anything else. If I had asked she would have, and she was sexy, incredibly so, just as she was, even as old as she was. No doubt that was the drugs she took, some really bad stuff. From a pharmacy. All legal. Prescription. Possibly she needed them too, I don’t know.

I’d drop my jeans, pull down my underwear, and sit on a couple of towels Ann provided, then she would kneel down. Usually I held on to her head. Sometimes I’d hold her shoulders or back, or her breasts. At first I tried to be courteous, to not to go too fast, that didn’t last long. She had taught me how to “face-fuck” her.

She had said she was concerned that I was lonely. I was. And when we met, yes, I was backward. True enough. She was good at this except, apparently, she thought she was a coed. She wasn’t. She was smart, yes. She was graduating, yes. She was a lot of things but she wasn’t an ingénue. She just wasn’t Besides, how many ingenue’s teach their date about face fucking?

She was near graduation from business school, she was already working, negotiating labor contracts for various unions. The thing is, did she actually need that business degree? Yes, she was an excellent negotiator. She took all those courses, but did she need those courses? I don’t know. I do know she never negotiated with me, not in bed, not that I can recall, maybe it was part of her plan, to always be swallowing my ejaculate, otherwise I don’t know. Maybe that was her plan. She liked me, I assume she valued my youth, my inexperience.

But whenever I asked, literally whenever, wherever, she gave great head. I was 23, a college kid. She was about 35, maybe 38, and she gave me great head. At school she pretended, maybe even believed herself, to be this great woman, this intellectual lady focused on power for women, on women’s rights. Well okay, but she swallowed pretty good too. And that’s what I liked about her.

In any case I didn’t understand sexual politics then, and I’m still not sure I do now. I’m not sure any man does. So I let her have her career, I went to, I think, two lectures. Lectures on union leadership. Well attended lectures. Except, ah, she was pretty close to being a mobster. No, she didn’t carry a gun, not that kind of mobster. But, ah, out of bed she wasn’t that submissive. To me, for me? Yes. But not to small business owner’s with union workers.

She had small breasts. Sometimes I would hold her head, sometimes her back and chest, giving slow gentle clues congruent to my pumping. Other times I would just hold on to her breasts and she gave me a great deal of pleasure.

I was young. Some nights, while I was officially dating her, we broke up but I liked her taking me in her mouth so I continued to come by for that, because I would be staying the night I’d be naked. I’d sit on the side of her bed, with some towels, and she would wear a negligee she liked. I would peel it back so I could cup her breasts in my hands and we would do our back and forths. I was young. Some nights we did this for hours, of course with me resting mostly, and while she waited for me to recharge she’d turn around, facing the TV. At these times she would rest her head against my ball sack, but I never worried about the effect this might have on the European Common market’s recent crisis. She was careful, so was I. In bed she was a pussy. Yes, out of bed she was a hungry tiger, but in bed she was a pussy. So I was safe.

She had a remote, they weren’t so common then, but she had one. I’d use that to turn the TV off when I was ready again.

I’d just take my pants down, sit on her bed, while she took off her blouse and bra and then she would kneel down, letting me guide her as she began to suck me off.  If I wanted preliminaries that was fine, anything I asked for she did. But after I broke up with her our bedroom habits changed somewhat. Complicated.

Only if I stayed, while I was waiting to recharge would she completely disrobe and if I needed it, usually I did, she’d wash me very gently with a wash cloth and I’d gently pet her head or we’d talk and I’d rub her breasts, stimulating her and she’d want to take me in her mouth again. And if we weren’t getting along, which was frequently our situation, once I was sated I’d thank her and leave. She didn’t like that. No fun for me either.

I suppose I should make this clear, she both encouraged me to be like this and simultaneously hated me for it. I had never done this with other women, of course when we met I had never had fellatio. Once I discovered this, well, that was it, that’s all we did. Selfish. Call it whatever you want, that’s what I was, selfish. As we got to know each other, it became clear that we disagreed on many matters but I could stop all arguments by taking down my pants and un-zipping, or by simply asking her to take me in her mouth. She hated me for being selfish, but that’s the kind of relationship she had worked to create and that’s what we had. I never asked her age, my guess, she was 35, maybe 40. I was 23.

So Ann was a brilliant woman, known in the city for certain civic achievements, but their were limits. Her neighbors saw my car, we weren’t invisible. Once or twice her neighbors banged on her door.

But whatever else had happened that day, when I came to her home, I had only to sit on her couch or go into her bedroom and sit on her bed. Then, as soon as she knew, when she saw me reach for my belt or even if I just opened my fly, she would take off her top and get on the floor. Usually she took off her blouse and bra, she had small breasts but I very much enjoyed the feel of them pushing up against my legs.

Ann taught me stuff. That Saturday morning when I had come over and she wasn’t expecting me, that was a serious learning experience.

I had just came over for the sex, we had a scheduled date that afternoon, but I wanted to get sucked off that morning and her house wasn’t far from school. So I just came over, I never had to ask. She saw me, she knew. That’s the way it was. But she had work clothes on and had been working in her yard, I think she had been gardening, and she was sweaty, like any other hard working person. But still, seeing me, she asked me if I wanted her and getting a yes she took me into her garage, closed the door and sat very low against the wall, asking me to help her brace her head and shoulders against the garage wall, by putting some pillows behind her head, I had to run in to her house to get them, the neighbors may have noticed, in some ways we were pretty open. Though if I had to guess I would say no, that they had no idea what we were about to do in her garage. I put some canvas mats down for my knees.  Her head was about a foot above the garage floor, and she motioned me to come close. I adjusted the mats and came very close. I straddled her and took her very quickly. No further instructions were needed! Both of us rested and then I put my dick in her mouth again. That was it for gardening. We went inside, showered together, and she made me lunch and got ready for our afternoon date.

Our relationship had just started, for us this was a typical date, it was Saturday morning and I had just shown up. Besides this is what I wanted, see, I’d never straddled anyone before. Maybe she wasn’t coy but it was still a lot of fun and for her, directness was both becoming and feminine.

After that day we did a lot of straddling in her bedroom, at least until I discovered this position was somewhat rough on her. Of course I liked it, I liked it plenty. This was what she had taught me that morning in her garage. I could never tell if she liked it, I’m not sure of this, possibly she liked that it was different. A plus, it wasn’t rough, apparently some of her past boy-friends had been rough. I thought that at first. Later I decided it might have been just something she knew, that she did it because she was practiced at it or perhaps being in that position reminded her of a past partner. I never asked. I only needed to thrust for a few seconds, a minute at most. I don’t recall if she always swallowed or not, I mean she swallowed, but I never noticed.

Later, with other girls, I began to notice such things.

The Fellatio Project

 


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