Hmmm... Maybe. You'll Have To Make Sure I'm Completely Immobilized. If You Can Show Me Who's Boss I'll

Hmmm... maybe. You'll have to make sure I'm completely immobilized. If you can show me who's boss I'll purr for you.

hmmm... I never lose and have been known to fight dirty.... very dirty.Love a man who purrs for me. :) one of the best happy sounds.

Investigaton

This is my first time writing anything like this so please forgive any clumsy writing or dialogue. I’m in the bath, waiting for daddy to get home. I make sure I’m extra smooth all over for him and that I’ve cleaned my back door as well. No one likes a mess after all, especially my daddy. I’m in the shower now, cooling off after the hot bath and getting squeaky clean. I use daddy’s favorite brand of Axe, dark temptation. He can’t smell it without getting at least a semi and that’s when he’s tired. I go to my room and get dressed, I’ve bought new clothes for him. Nice skinny jeans, a comic book t-shirt, he’s always loved batman and robin. I wonder why? Sometimes when he’s fucking me he will call me “The Boy Wonder.” I call him my “Dark Knight.” God, I don’t think we’ve ever been able to sit through a Batman movie without having sex. And I got some new underwear, our favorite. I’ve been waiting days for it to arrive. A brand new jock strap. He loves fucking me with it on, “Something to hold on to so I don’t get too far away,” he likes to tease. I’m upstairs when I hear the keys in the door, already I feel myself arouse. I run to the front door, ready to jump into his muscular arms. I stop when I see the look on his face. “Is everything alright, daddy?” I ask, tentatively taking a few steps forward. “Bad day at work?” I go to take his jacket as always but he hangs it up himself. I know something’s wrong “That,” he begins, “ is the understatement of the fucking century.” He removes his pistol holster and puts it on the hallway table. He never does this. He always puts it in our room. “Wanna talk about it?” I go to him and place my face against his strong, muscular chest. I thought I was tall at 6ft 4. He towers above me by half a foot. My tall, strong, African-American hero. From Louisiana and at 45 looks like he’s in his late 20s, with skin so dark it makes the night look like day and eyes so brown your swear they were pools of the best melted chocolate. Unlike me, twenty one and I barely look like I should have my learner’s permit. A slim, but toned, Irish white boy from New Jersey who can’t even tan. Only thing I’m missing is the ginger hair. I got the freckles up and down my arms and tracing their way from one side of my nose to the other, waiting for it. I hope he would smell the shower gel, instead he gently but firmly pushes me off him. He walks by me into the kitchen, either not noticing or he chose to ignore it. I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is wrong and not a small something. It would have to be earth shattering for him to act like this. I tentatively follow him into the kitchen. He’s already poured himself a scotch and swallowed it in one. He pours another and stares at it. He leans against the far counter. I approach him carefully and place a hand on his huge bicep. His shirt sleeves strain against it, he has it tensed for some reason. I try again. “Is everything alright, daddy?” He looks up from his drink, eyes that are usually so warm now seem cold, distant. “Where were you today?” It’s more of an accusation than a question. He sounds flat, neutral. Making it impossible to read him. I recognize the technique from his work. It’s the same voice he uses when interrogating someone he has arrested. It catches me off guard. I don’t speak, shocked. “Where were you?” He presses. I stutter, unable to comprehend what’s happening. “What do you mean?” I know it’s a mistake as soon as I say it. Answering a question with another one is as good as admitting your guilt to him. I back away from him. He stands up to his full 6 foot 10 inch height. It’s another of his intimidation tactics and it works. “I saw you today downtown with another man. You told me you were going to be at Darryl’s.” He pauses, I see his drink shaking. If he squeezes any harder he’s going to shatter the glass. “Why would you lie to me? Are you fucking him?!” He steps forward, I step back. “Well? I don’t know him and I know he isn’t from your group of friends. He was too old. So, are you fucking him?” I’m scared. No, not scared, petrified. He steps forward again and I realize it isn’t fear I fell, its anger. I can’t stop myself. I slap him with all my might. “How dare you, Tyler.” I don’t shout, in fact, it’s barely audible, yet it has more effect. I never call him Tyler at home. It has more force than the slap. “How dare you think I would ever do such a thing to you?” I take out my wallet. “He was a personal shopper. He was helping me pick out this outfit. One I got especially for you.” I throw the receipt at him. “Before you accuse me of something, you’d best look at the evidence first.” I storm out of the kitchen and into my room. I say my room, it’s actually the guest room but when we’re role playing it’s my room. I am furious, too angry to cry. Instead I grab a pillow and scream into it. Scream so hard and long that my throat hurts. I lay down on the bed with my back to the door. That’s when the tears start. I try and stop them but I can’t, they just flow. I don’t know how long I lay there for but the next thing I know I’m being woken by the door opening. He comes into the room, trying to be quiet which is pretty hard to do when you have size 14 feet. “What do you want?” I spit at him without looking around. He sits on the bed and it sinks so much that I have to stop myself from rolling towards him. What do you expect from a guy who weighs 260 pounds of muscle? He puts a giant hand on my head and begins to stroke it. Damn him, he knows I love this. I don’t try and move from it. He doesn’t say anything, he just keeps stroking my head. “I’m sorry, baby”, it’s barely more than a whisper. So sudden I nearly jump. “I’m so sorry.” His accent is thick. Normally he’s careful of how he talks, tries to play down his Louisiana accent but he isn’t trying here. It’s then I notice his breathing, its deep and shuddering, he’s crying. I sit up. Any anger I had has disappeared in an instant. Huge tears spill down his face. “How could you even think I could do that?” He’s not the only one who can make a question sound like an accusation. “I don’t know. I saw you downtown and my mind went to the worst place. I have to look at every scenario in my job. Normally it ends up being the worst case scenario that happens and that’s what I thought today. I was so angry all day that I nearly swung for a guy in work when he bumped into me.” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine and places a hand on my face. It’s warm and tough, just like him. “I love you. The thought of losing you drove me damn near crazy.” I grab his hands with both of mine and hold it. “I love you to, but you have to trust me. Your work is not an excuse to accuse me of cheating.” I look at the mark where I hit him. “I’m sorry as well.” It takes him a second to realize what I’m talking about. “Oh, that. It’s OK. I’ve been hit a lot harder in my life. It was a good shot though.” He smiles, a thing that makes me melt every time. “I love your t-shirt. Let me see it properly.” I stand up on the bed for him. He twirls his finger. I roll my eyes and turn around for him. I know exactly what’s coming. I feel his hand grab my ass. “I do love your butt in skinny jeans. Are they new as well?” I nod. “Damn boy, you know how to work me.” I feel his fingers go under the waist of my pants but I pull away. I get on my hands and knees on the bed and he stands up. I can already see his monster dick pushing against his work pants. He knows what I’m after. “I don’t know, boy. I don’t think you’ve earned it.” I know exactly what he’s looking for now. I’ve been bad and he knows it. “But daddy,” I kneel back and put on best puppy eyes, “I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you.” “For one, take that shirt off.” I obey. “Good boy. Now stand up.” I obey. “And off with those pants.” I obey, but with difficulty. They’re too tight and hard to get over my feet. I end up falling off the bed. “Fuck,” I shout. “Watch your language, boy.” I pop my head up over the edge of the bed. “Sorry, daddy.” I go back down to try and get my pants off. So far, a losing battle. “Do you need help there, boy?” Daddy walks over to the other side of the bed. I’m on the floor trying to pull my pants from over my feet. I look up at daddy and he chuckles as he beds down and grabs my pants. He is yet to notice my jock strap. With one deft pull he has them off. I jump up onto my feet and try to look sexy, a hard thing to do when you’ve just fallen off the bed and had to get assistance to get your pants off. It seems to work as he throws them behind him and drinks me in with his eyes. He lifts his left eyebrow. “Another new jock?” I nod. “Well, give me a good look.” Again I spin around for him. I stay on my feet this time. “Boy, I don’t know how you do it but you cuter every time I see you.” I walk over to daddy and he wraps me with one arm and grabs my ass with the other. I go up to kiss him but he holds me down. Teasing me by moving his head in close and then back out, brushing my lips with his. He knows this drives me wild. Eventually he relents and kisses me. Softly at first, then I feel his tongue push against my lips and onto my teeth. I open them and I feel his tongue delve deep in my mouth. I taste the scotch from earlier, I enjoy it. He slaps my ass and I moan. He does it again harder. I moan louder. He does it a third time with force. I put my head against his chest and whimper. He lowers his mouth to my ear, “You were very bad earlier, boy. Calling me by my name. Very disrespectful.” He growls into my ear. Breathing hard each time. He knows this makes my knees weak. “Yes, daddy, I know. I’m very sorry.” I pray for the words that I know we will bother enjoy. “You will be boy.” The exact words I was praying for. He lets me go and sits on the bed. “Over my knee now.” I obey. He slaps my ass. Not hard but enough to sting a bit. I moan and wiggle a bit. He holds me down by the back of the neck. “No moving, boy.” I try and be still but he slaps again, hard. I can’t help but jerk in response. I can feel my pale white cheeks go red. He goes again, harder again. I can’t help but cry out. This just makes his go again and again and again. Until it’s just a torrent of stinging to my sensitive cheeks. I lose track somewhere around fifteen. Tears are running down my face, but I love it and does daddy. He lifts me by the shoulders and stands me in front of him. Even with the pain in my butt I still have a raging boner. Even at only five inches hard it tries to stick out of my jockstrap. I stand there, looking crest fallen as he stares me up and down. He starts to unbutton his pants and I move in to help him. He grabs my wrist. “I didn’t say you could move.” I place my hands at my side and stand there, desperate to be on my knees for daddy. He deliberately and slowly lowers the zip and I see the outline of his huge cock press against the fabric of his boxers. Ten inches and all mine. I look him in the eye and he nods, that’s my signal. I get down on my knees and hungrily kiss his cock through his boxers. Already they are starting to soak through with precum. I want it out in the open but I know he won’t let me pull them down. He has to decide when I’ve earned it. So I lick and suck and chew on his dick. He pushes my head away and, with his other hand, pulls down his boxers. There it is, head glistening, thick and dark with a trimmed bush of curly pubic hair, Heavy set balls hanging low from the base. Even with its size, his dick stands straight up his belly. I grab it with one hand, it doesn’t even cover half of its length. I devour the head, trying to suck his life through it. I eat hungrily making daddy moan and call me a good boy. He holds my head with his hands and begins to thrust. Fucking my face with his beast of a dick. He lets go but keeps thrusting so I keep my head still for him. He removes his shirt and I can see his six pack, his firm chest. I love every part of him so much it hurts. He picks me up and throws me onto the bed face down. I feel his feet push my ankles apart. I know what’s coming and I moan in excitement. I feel his mouth press against my tight, smooth boy hole. His stubble rubs my cheeks. It’s a feeling that I can’t help but get hard even thinking about. I feel his tongue probe the familiar territory of my ass. I relax and it penetrates my hole. I gasp in pleasure as I feel it moving in me. I squirm against his face as he slurps and licks. He lifts his face away and I know what’s coming. I prepare myself for his fingers. Something pushes against my hole, but it isn’t a finger. “You ain’t getting the luxury of being stretched out tonight, boy. I’m having that ass as tight as possible.” I try to protest but before I know it he’s pushed inside me. I gasp in both pain and pleasure. He doesn’t go in slow either. As soon as he gets past my hole he thrusts the rest in me. I try and move away a bit but he holds on to my hips so I can’t. He begins to pump my boy pussy, grunting with each thrust. The pain subsides and the pleasure takes over. He hits my g-spot every time. I moan and cry every time. “You like daddy’s big cock in you, don’t you boy.” I try and speak but I can’t. I nod my head and moan louder so he knows I do. He pulls out and flips me over onto my back. Immediately he grabs my ankles and hold them up with one hand while he uses the other to guide his dick into my boy pussy. He finds it with ease and drives his full length into me, maximum penetration. He holds an ankle in each hand and pumps me, sweat dripping from his chest onto me as he leans forward. “Show me that little dicklet of yours.” I pull out my cock from my jockstrap. I’m rock solid and it pokes up my tummy. “Yeah, boy. That’s what daddy likes to see.” He starts to go faster, I know he’s getting ready to blow and so am I. I start to spasm. My hole clenching and relaxing over his thick shaft. I cry out in ecstasy as my cock starts to shot creamy white cum onto my tummy. This is too much for him. He pulls out and quickly kneels over my face. I open my mouth expectantly as he pumps his load into my mouth, over my face, everywhere. It’s the most I’ve seen him cum ever. After he collapses on to me, exhausted, as am I. He wraps his arms around me and holds me. I instantly start to feel tired and drift off to sleep. The last thing he said before I succumb is “I love you, baby boy. I always will.”

So let me know what you guys think. If it isn’t too horrible I may do some more writing. Message me any ideas or scenarios you would like done and I will see what I can do

Also a big thank you to inchargedad who took a look through it and helped me with some editing. Check out his blog, I insist.

Oops....

Who knew there was a noise ordinance at the bath house? This weekend the manager asked me to stop spanking my Boy cause they could hear it clearly over the blasting radio in the front of the bath house (we were in the back).  Oh, and it wasn’t my Boy’s mouth making the noise, the smacking of the paddle was the concern.

Ooops. :)  Sorry to the crowd that had to disperse due to lack of show.

So very proud of my Boy.

Wonderful news chastity boys! I just had my first anal orgasm! Never really had one and thanks to my chastity cage and my Sir I have achieved my long term goal of having an anal orgasm :) I can’t wait to have another one and another one. Hehe next goal: anal orgasm thru Sirs cock pounding my pussy hehe

Hi sir, I hope you guess this message. Recently when me and my master were practicing different types of rope work he blindfolded me and bound me so I was immobile and then dripped hot wax over me even though this was one of my limits that I was completely against. Afterwards he said that as a dom he could do what he wants to me and that I could not stop him. I've lost trust in him because I have not been his sub long. Is he right?

No. He is full of shit. 

You need to tell him that you have lost trust in him and you won’t be doing anything else until earns that trust back. I would just walk away from doing anything else. A violation of trust is a very big deal in BDSM. Trust is what allows us to explore. 

I'd be curious to hear your perspective of domspace as compared with subspace.

As it turns out I had my most intense dom experience recently, and this has been on my mind a lot.

We talked about the scene a few times. A couple days before, I told him how much I’d enjoyed a brief flogging with him previously, and mentioned that I’d like to repeat that experience but deeper. The night of the scene we talked, over dinner, about what each of us would like to get out of it–I wanted to share the endorphin high with him, the experience of subspace, and the sense of vulnerability and trust. He wanted to be let go and be hurt, to be pushed further than he wanted to go himself–and he trusted me to guide him through that.

To have someone extend that trust to me is both exhilarating and humbling, particularly because I dom so rarely. I think that in many ways it’s more difficult to be the leading partner because the responsibility for safety–and fulfillment–falls on your shoulders. Both in an emotional and a physical sense.

Just before the scene we checked in again: I asked whether I could restrain him, whether I could gag him, and outlined the warmup and apex I had in mind. He asked whether he could pass on a safeword and I told him that for this scene it was mandatory, and we practiced verbal and nonverbal signals.

As I cuffed him, spread out for the flogging, I reminded him where he was likely to lose circulation and feeling, and showed how I’d check in on each hand to make sure he was OK. This was his first time fully restrained, and he was clearly nervous–I spent about ten minutes just reassuring him that he was going to be OK, telling him how proud I was of him, how good he looked in that position, and so on. Just caressing, squeezing, and kissing him, to get him eased into a place where he felt comfortable giving up control.

As we warmed up I introduced him to the flogger–across his face, across his back, letting him smell the leather, and continuing the same physical reassurance from before. When he was ready I started in with light strokes, then a gentle massage. We went at that for… maybe 20 minutes or so. A friend of mine is an excellent impact top, and I try to draw on his technique, his ritual, as it works so well on me.

At forty minutes we were going full throttle–aggressive strokes in varying patterns across his back, and he was moaning and whimpering and… things started to click for me. I *owned* him. I *protected* him. I’d expected him to abort much earlier, to call a stop, but he let me beat him harder and harder until I was swinging as hard as I could, and still he took more. Took more of me.

Our checkins became more and more aggressive–I’d draw my hands gently across his back still, and squeeze his hands, but as that sense of ownership grew I started to growl, to tell him what a good, obedient boy he was, how much he needed this. Fingers deep in his mouth, biting down hard at the nape of his neck, as he rolled his back moaning, just on the verge of panic. I choked him and forced a ball gag into his mouth–and that was enough to break him. His sobbing, his raw heart imploring me to stop, but asking for more… I don’t know how to describe the admixture of ferocity and compassion that rose from me in those moments.

I beat him as hard as I could, more and more amazed at his endurance and trust. I own him. I protect him. When he dropped from screaming to a limp, shuddering, silent hang, I came in again to check. His hands had just given out. In the space of a few seconds he’d gone from checking in to nonresponsive, and I knew that was his time. I’m not sure how many levels of resistance we’d broken through, but that was deeper than he needed to go.

And it’s… in the aftercare, really, that I felt most dominant. I ungagged him, reassured him, unbuckled the restraints as fast as I could, and held him up while he sagged limp in my arms, sobbing. Poor guy couldn’t even walk. I’d poured a glass of juice for him before we started, and had him drink a little to recover. Carried him to bed, and undid the restraints completely. 

And then… I held him, for an hour and 45 minutes.

Kept him warm, kept him safe. Easy voice, calm strokes down his body. His eyes wild as I ordered him to breathe with me–count in, count out. And as he came out of that whimpering, inchoate subspace the most… small, plaintive questions came rushing out, and it broke my fucking heart. I was so worried I’d taken him further than he could go, that he was somehow broken forever, and promised him over and over that I would *never* strike him again, that he had been so tough, so brave, so giving of himself. I didn’t know how to make myself a big enough shield for him, but I held him, and told him everything he felt was OK, and little by little he surfaced again, and laughed, and shivered, and cried and held me more.

Like metalworking, the fire of a scene makes one’s psyche ductile, deformable, workable. Push the wrong way, and people can easily bend out of shape. But fold and hammer in the right places, and the soul becomes stronger. Your bond as partners becomes stronger. In the cooling process of aftercare I feel our annealing; him cleaving to my strength, my cladding wrapping around him. I feel past wounds come oozing to the surface, and hopefully, healing stronger.

That’s domspace for me. The utmost compassion and responsibility for another human being; to see them at their most unguarded, their most fragile, and reassure them that they have value; to accept whatever they feel, whether scary or ugly, and create a space for them to heal. To push them in the ways that they need to be pushed, but can’t see through on their own. To love them completely. To see yourself through their eyes as protector, as guide, as all-powerful and terrifying and merciful all at once; and to give all your physical and emotional reserves to bring them through that experience, and back home safe.