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Dungeons and Dommes

I am off to a party this evening.

It’s someone’s birthday, but it isn’t a birthday party. She will be handing out spankings though.

There will be plenty of ladies, but not ladies of the night. Dommes who will happily put you in your slave boy place.

There will be food, but not hot dogs. The wieners and buns will be body parts out for play.

There will be party favours, but not those little loot bags you’re used to. Here will be cuffs and collars and corsets, whips and floggers and crops.

There will be shoes and rugs, but the rugs will be human. Foot fetishists to lick your toes and suck your heels.

There will be men and women, subs and slaves, Doms and Dommes, and a variety of sexy kinksters.

This is a house party, but the house has a dungeon with plenty of toys to play with.

I’m going to a party this evening.

What the hell do I wear?

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Another timely post by Vile…

thekinkyworldofvile

Your a new Submissive or Slave a you recently became interested in the BDSM lifestyle. You have done your research , you have read blogs, been in chat rooms and stil no luck.

Fetlife can be an awesome site. You can learn a lot from the different groups, tons of information made available to you for no cost, unless you want to Donate so you can watch video’s

Then comes ALT.com at one time Alt was a very good site to meet singles. That was before computers became so popular, I am going back some ten years. Now the site consist of mainly spam, and those Doms who are lurking in the dark for their next victim.

Then the one that is used the most today is Collarme.com. Mostly spam I have seen men spend a lot of money , sending money to females they have never met for a…

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More of my beautiful friend’s story. This was the first. Her name was Ann…

 
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Most of what I describe happened because I started late. This is what I tell myself, this is what I think. Which is my polite way, although as you are seeing, not very direct, not very to the point at all way, of my beginning to say I started late. I started when I was 23, in college, in Florida. That’s where this begins. It’s as good a place as any, except of course lot’s of things happen in Florida, so much so you’d think things didn’t happen at all in say, Georgia. Except don’t think that, because what I have to say is very boring, except here and there.

A friend of mine, an astronomer, actually an astrophysicist, he had a girlfriend, Ann. She was older, probably ten, maybe twelve years older than him, and since she was his girlfriend, not mine, once I looked I pretty much forgot her. Oh, she was interesting, but she was attached to someone else. I remember they would laugh together and they seemed to be good friends to each other, for each other, quite good friends even. Which just shows you how much I knew. Well it was a long time ago, I know more now. Here it is:  If anyone had asked me I would have said they were good friends, that’s it. I was innocent, I really was. That way at least.

My guess, I think she just wanted to be young. That’s not wrong or bad. It is foolish, but not unusual. Of course she wasn’t young, and not just because of her age. She did a few things, different things, she was a business student, near graduation.  Those things she did? Not good.  Not for her, not for anyone. I didn’t know. I found out but I didn’t know, not for months. And, very informally, Ann taught. In her home, she taught. Not accredited, not the way the university was. It wasn’t official, but she taught just the same.

As college students we were pretty much, socially, nearly indeterminate. At least I was. And allowing for Ann’s age difference, we were all just random college students. We’d have lunch maybe one day a week, just casually. I might see them in the cafeteria and go over to talk. Nothing planned. They were friends. After a few days I began to see they were a couple, my friend and Ann. Weeks passed and I observed more and more they were friends, more than friends, an actual couple. It was weeks before I began to get it, they were a tight couple. Because you know, there’s a difference between love and sex and just sex. That’s what this is about. Love and sex, but not love with sex together, which is the stuff new people should be made from.

Actually, not love. Not exactly. This is more about anti-love, or maybe non-love, but don’t think it’s the usual love and sex because it isn’t. For me that was years away. But that is what this is about, transitioning from sex to love and sex, learning about love.

All of this happened while Richard Nixon was President of the United States, except I’m pretty sure my friends didn’t discuss such things, not with each other, and most especially not with him. I’ll try to get into the political stuff later if we have the time. For now though, recognize that he was a man cheated, that he had won that first election, the 1960 Presidential election fair and square, and been cheated. Such things change people. Don’t forget that, because that’s what this is about too.

You think I’m just saying this, but no, this is part of our story. You’ll see. Just wait two years. Key Biscayne. You’ll see.

So getting back to Ann. Ann enjoyed dating college men. No, more precisely, Ann enjoyed doing college men, one at a time. Initially I didn’t know this, I was, well, I was beyond being merely oblivious. But that’s what else this is about, because I was next on her list and I didn’t even know she had a list. But that’s how it was. Ann looked demure, and indeed she was a very sophisticated woman, and she gave lessons. How do I know? I attended her classes. her advanced classes, and I did very well in them.

Remember? I mentioned that she taught. What she taught, the subject, wasn’t sex. No, she taught a kind of anti-love, although yes, some sex was involved. I mean now that you mention it, sex was involved. Okay, it was 100% sex. No love. Sex. Just sex. Because she taught her class of willing students how to avoid falling in love, how to avoid being in love, how to avoid love entirely. How to have sex. How to have sex.

One day, it was the late fall of 1969, my astronomer friend came to see me explaining that he and Ann were breaking up. He must have said this two, no, three times. Three times, minimum. He was expecting me to ‘get’ something. As things happened though, he had to spell it out.

It was later, literally, years later that I discovered some girls didn’t like to swallow. But this woman, and the girls at college, well, as I say it was years later that I discovered some don’t. We don’t have to discuss this now, we can wait. We can do this another time, really.

Moving on…

I didn’t want to pressure my friend at the time, and I didn’t say any of this to him, not with his date in the lunch-room, but looking back I would say their breakup must have been for an actual reason and I doubt if it was a loss of intimacy. Not that I was prepared to discuss the habits of the girls on campus. Interesting? Compelling? Worth all my attention? No question. But some times the right way to proceed is not to look head on, it’s complicated. I just had nothing to contribute, not to that conversation.

Some things, if you want to really look, you have to kind of glance out of the corner of your eye. No, I’m not talking about looking at girls. Not regular looking, at least not the same way a high school kid might do. No, I’m talking about a different kind of looking, looking at their lives, looking at who a couple are, how they fit together. The habits of the girls on campus, that was one of those things. It’s this way, you want to know, you have to experience it. I know, lot’s of things are like that.

It had been his idea, the breakup, no reason given. And then it came out, kind of all at once. She had asked him, as his going away present to her, to set the two of us up, her and I. He agreed to ask so now he was asking. Once he had spelled it out things progressed quickly. We established that I would be where I was most of the time, in a particular computer lab, and that she would come by at 5PM. I could be there or not. My choice. So that’s where I was, in that computer lab.

She and I went to the student union. We just talked, quietly. No under the table feels, no kissing. Maybe one serious but also brief kiss, I think so, but I don’t really remember. This was a long time ago, over 40 years, nearly 45.

We had made a date for a day or two later, for Friday dinner.  I’m generally not a fan of organizing one’s life around the weekend and adhering to protocols of business unless one is actually in business but what could I do, it was already Wednesday or Thursday, so Friday it was.

Swallowing is important. Did you get that? Swallowing is pretty important.

Do you realize that each woman is a work of art? They are wonderful creatures, soft, normally pretty wise, comforting. Plus, they swallow, most of them, and they are wonderful to love. They really are. They are wonderful to love, to care for, to come home too. To be so aggravated from work that you can’t talk and then you come home and your wife meets you at the door and changes everything for you. Wonderful creatures.

So after that date, which was a very formal getting to know each other dinner, she invited me to take her home. We drove to her house where, at her door, she invited me in for coffee. She made a big deal of this, telling me that she didn’t want to have to fight me. Of course I assured her she wouldn’t, that it wouldn’t come to that and that was true, I wasn’t about to force her. I couldn’t. I didn’t. Within a few minutes, less than half an hour, after some easy necking on the sofa, Ann invited me to stay and we went into her bedroom. Ann was a slender woman and she wore an attractive night gown to bed, which was utterly wasted on me as I’ve never wanted a woman to wear more than very simple panties and if she wanted to, a bra. But a man can adjust. I did.

She spent the first few months I knew her teaching me bad habits. I never mistreated her, not those kinds of bad habits. A couple of times she might have been encouraging me to do such stuff, it was very subtle, I’m not sure, but whatever she might have wanted, or not wanted, whatever, what we did was old-fashioned fellatio. Nothing else. politics.

I’m not sure. She said something, that I could hit her. I was unclear, asked her what, and she said something else. No, that’s just not how I was brought up.

This much I’m certain of: she enjoyed kneeling. I say this because she set us on this course from that first night. I didn’t understand at first, and she talked like it wasn’t sexual at all, that it was complicated, with far reaching sexual and even political implications for our relationship and possibly for the world. Possibly she was right, considering that here I am writing about what she did for me so many years ago. She didn’t seem to think our man-woman thing itself was particularly noteworthy, only that she had decided to be completely sexually compliant, that this was important. Indeed.

The second, maybe the third time I came over, afterward, after taking the time to give me all the pleasure I could realize that night, she explained she was sure no other woman I would ever meet would take me in her mouth whenever I wanted. I let her talk a bit, and every time I came over, she demonstrated that she was serious about her promise. Whatever I asked of her, not that my requests were difficult or unusual, they were, I suppose, very routine, but what she had said, anything at all, that’s what she did.

She was older than me, she was experienced, and I was close to being a virgin, but she had chosen me and that’s what she did, she gave me as much sexual pleasure as I wanted, as I could contain.





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Last week’s prompt for Wicked Wednesday was “mindset”. I didn’t specifically address it, though the idea of it did run through the piece I had written. I have been thinking about it quite a bit over the week.

Sometimes all we need is a little change of mindset to make a big change. Sometimes it has to be a conscious decision, but other times it just evolves naturally.

You may have heard me mention Jay or seen his out of focus body in a pic or two. I am still working on getting my mind around him. At first I thought he was just shy but he isn’t shy, he’s passive. Shy I can get past as that goes away eventually, but being passive is something I am really not used to at all. He is open to all kinds of experiences, which is great, but I have been having a difficult time getting my mind round the fact that I will always need to be the dominant one when we are together, the one deciding what we are going to do and how we are going to do it.

I was trying to make him change to meet my needs, to take control and have his way. I realized that is never going to happen. Do I move on or do I change my mindset and continue? It is not my natural tendency to be dominant and it is not easily done with a partner who shows little excitement or desire . If I want to continue I really have no other choice but to change my mindset where he is concerned. It would be easier to move on as even if I try to change it will only be a matter of time before it’s too much for me.

Then there’s Daddy. Yep, you read that right. Never, ever, EVER, did I think I would have a Daddy or be a babygirl. It was a type of play/relationship that did nothing for me. The idea of calling my partner “Daddy” was more of a turn off than anything. I felt it was more about stroking his ego of being with a younger partner. I call my own father daddy so it just didn’t work for me in a sexual context.

Turns out something changed there all on its own. “Sir” lasted only a day or so then it naturally became Daddy. We were talking one night and I almost called him Daddy then caught myself and stopped because I wasn’t sure how he would take it, and also because I wasn’t sure how I felt about saying it. He said later that he almost did the same thing in telling me to be a good babygirl for Daddy. Once we talked about it and realized we both had the same inclination we just let it be. Now I couldn’t image him being anything but.

This is another relationship I doubt will go any distance, but I am enjoying this one immensely at the moment and have decided to roll with it. I am learning more about what I actually like versus what I thought I would never like but had actually never tried. Each relationship gives us something, teaches us something, regardless of whether it is a full on romance or a role we play online. And I say a role we play but I mean that we are actually embracing that role rather than just acting it out. Yet another mindset that is changing for me.

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Bad Things

Sitting here, alone, thinking bad things. Thinking really bad things…

Thinking of your hand around my neck, pulling my hair, slapping me, pinching me.

Thinking of your mouth kissing me, licking me, biting me.

Thinking of your words, berating me, humiliating me.

Thinking of your cock, gagging me, fucking me, sodomizing me.

Thinking of the pegs, the tails, that hardwood paddle.

Thinking of the clamps, the wheel, those vampire gloves.

Thinking of you watching me, with others, men, and women.

Thinking of being bound, punished, tortured.

It’s the bad things I love so much.

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This is a continuation of the Life With Victor (LWV) series. You can catch up here if you have not been following along.

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I love you baby. Everything is going to be ok. I am here, I have you, I won’t ever let you go. It’s ok baby. Let it out, let it go. I’m here…

And he was there, every moment of every day. He even took time from work so I wouldn’t be alone. I honestly didn’t even realize, I was so caught up in my own little world, processing my thoughts, emotions. It is funny, in a really not so funny kind of way, how things from so long ago can affect one so deeply. It shook me to my core.

I don’t know how long we were there, in that field, me crashing and him supporting me while I did. The rain, unnoticed, had started at some point and had drenched us both. There are fuzzy memories of him leading me back to the rental house, undressing me, bathing me, and putting me to bed. There may have been some aspirin involved, or a sleeping aid of some sort, I don’t quite recall.

The next week would be filled with little more than fuzzy memories. Even the weeks at home following it were little more than what amounted to sleep walking, going through the motions. He went back to work and eventually, so had I.

We still hadn’t talked about it, but I knew. I knew ending up there was no coincidence. I never talked about my Mother, rarely ever speak of my family at all. How did he know that was the place? I had never told him about it, had I? Yet somehow, he knew not only the place but that I needed it. I needed to remember that moment, to bring it to the now, to let it go. It had been such a burden on my soul. It’s one of those things you don’t even realize until you actually do something about it. I was thankful he had led me there, still, I was pained.

When Victor came home from work today I greeted him with a cool drink, a hot meal, and a kiss. The first I had initiated since that day. He looked at me, concern still present, searching my face, my eyes, to see what was going on inside. I could see the question in his eyes, he wasn’t sure if I had begun to move forward or back to denial. He should have known denial was no longer an option. I smiled and nodded, my eyes closing for the briefest moment, and in that moment I was relieved of all the pain, the angst, the questions, the weight that had held me down for so long. It was magic. When I opened my eyes again I saw in him the recognition of that, the relief that spread almost instantly across his face.

He leaned down and kissed me gently, tentatively, still unsure if he should press further. I realized then just how hard it had been for him, watching me suffer and struggle and not being able to help in the ways he was used to. He could not force me to process more quickly. He could not beat it out of me. He could not control any of it. He was left helpless, at my mercy. Knowing he was doing what was best for me in the long term had left him in complete turmoil and unknown standing in the short term. How could I have not noticed? How could I have not seen the pain my pain was causing him?

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I moved into him, into that safe warm place under his chin and against his chest. I held him. I squeezed him. I stroked him. I told him I loved him. I thanked him for doing that for me, for releasing me from a past that held me back for far too long. I told him it was the most loving, unselfish thing anyone had ever done for me. I told him I would never, could never, leave him. I told him he had my heart, that I was his alone and always would me.

He told me that he loved me more than he ever thought possible to love another human being. He told me that he would always do what was best for me. He told me I was forever his and he would be forever mine. We belong to each other, he said. Then he led me by the hand upstairs to our room and we made love, gently, tenderly, as if for the first time. There were no commands, no toys, no whips or gags or binding. There was no protocol, no Master, no little whore. There was just us.

I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
~ Pablo Neruda



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You finish filing your last report and you are ready to head home. As you reach for the office door, the lights go out. What happens next?


Damn, the power went out again! Didn’t I tell Clara to make sure she paid the bill on time this month? I was thinking it might be time to let her go and find someone who can actually follow direction to do the job. Every month it was something. Forgot to pay the hydro bill. Put the wrong detergent in the dishwasher. Didn’t get the Murdock file out on time. She was pretty incompetent at times, why was she even still here? I was going to have to have a talk with her, bring HR in on it, and give her a formal written warning. It was long overdue.

I would deal with that on Monday, right then I needed to make sure everyone was gone and lock up. Most of the employees left early, Friday of a long weekend and all, but I still had to be sure. Since I wouldn’t be able to set the security system or check the scanner to see if anyone else was still there, I would have to go check the place myself. The wife was going to be pissed if I was late again. It was becoming a regular habit and she was getting suspicious. I needed to make this quick and get the hell home. Another night of her silent treatment wasn’t nearly as nice as one might think. It came with accusing looks, a scowl, and banging of things on the counter, the floor, even slamming doors. Her words may be silent but nothing else she did was.

So off I went to start at the far end of the building. That way I could work my way back to the front, be efficient about it. The back entrance was secure and the first two rows of offices were empty. I was about to start on the next row when I heard a noise in one of the boardrooms. There weren’t any meetings scheduled, who could it be at this hour?Viewty

The door was slightly ajar and I could make out Clara’s frilly sun dress. That was another thing I needed to talk to her about, inappropriate office attire. We were a professional office and all employees should dress as such. Enough with the frilly sun dresses and skimpy outfits. They were distracting.

My hand was on the door, about to push it open when I heard a mans voice inside. It was Andrew, one of the sales managers. He must have had her working on a special project.

There was some shuffling and I saw Clara kneel in front of Andrew. He was sitting in one of the brown leather club chairs at the side of the room. My position at the door gave me a clear view of the two of them.

“Now, let me see those perky tits of yours, babydoll.” Andrew opened Clara’s dress and pinched her nipples.

“Ohh,” and a giggle.

“Do you think this is funny?”

“No, Daddy. It’s just, well, I kinda liked it and it surprised me is all. I am sorry for giggling. How can I make it up to you Daddy? I’ll do anything.”

“Yes you will babydoll.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Babydoll? Daddy? What was this Daddy business? Andrew wasn’t her father, and he certainly wouldn’t be touching her that way if he was. They must be into some kind of kinky role playing thing, like on those old porno movies I had stashed away in the garage.

“Be a good girl babydoll and make me a happy Daddy,” and with those words Andrew pulled his dick out and Clara took it in her mouth. Her pouty little mouth, with its full lips and shiny pink gloss. Yes, I had noticed them before too. Another distraction. As her head bobbed back and forth, a slick wetness was left on Andrews dick. She would take him in all the way, her lips kissing the base and her tongue barely caressing his ballsack. Then she would pull back, slowly, dragging her tongue along the base, until only the very tip was at her lips. Clara looked up at him, her eyes searching for a sign he was enjoying it, while continuing to suck and bob.

Fuck, I was getting hard watching her. She could call me Daddy if she was going to suck my dick like that. Hell, she could call me whatever she wanted. Last time the wife sucked my dick was before the boys were born and they were graduating university next month. We barely had a sex life at all these days.

Andrew was getting into it now, thrusting his hips, making sure his dick went all the way in. His hands held her steady, pulling her toward him as he shoved it in again. Then he picked up his rhythm, full on fucking her face. I heard her gagging, there were tears welling in her eyes. He kept going, not letting up, and I could tell he was about to blow his load. Another thrust, a grunt, and he was exploding into her mouth. She couldn’t take it all and I could see it seeping out, dripping down her chin. It was like watching a real life porn flick.

Oh, to be him right then, blowing a big load of hot salty cum into that beautiful pouty mouth. Rubbing my own cock, feeling it strain against its confines, I could feel the pre-cum oozing, making a wet spot on my pants. I needed to get out of there before I blew myself. They could lock the place up when they left, since they obviously thought they were the only ones still there anyway. I quickly made my way back to the front and out of the office.

As I headed home all I could think about was Clara’s mouth and how it would feel wrapped around me. I couldn’t help myself. I pulled my zipper down and came all over the floor of the car. Wet pants and a messy car, how the hell would I explain that to the wife?


This weeks challenge from Rebel was to write a story about what happened next, after the lights went out. Apparently one challenge wasn’t enough, I also decided to write from a mans perspective. I’d love to know what you think of this guy.
Click the link below to see what others did after the lights went out.

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This story has also been submitted to The Fellatio Project on Stranded In Toronto.

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