June 28, 2009

Book Store and Brussels Sprouts

The Consensual Stalker

She was looking through the racks of old novels when suddenly she felt someone pressed up behind her, leaning against her shoulders, and then, hands on her waist. "It's nice to see you again". When she heard his voice, she knew, and she stiffened. He had told her she would be "seeing him again soon", though she had never actually seen him. Her only contact with him had been on Yahoo chat, off and on for the past few months, and that first and only encounter at the vegetable market while shopping for Thanksgiving dinner last November. She had come to think that all they would ever do again was chat. She felt him lean forward and whisper into her ear, "It is so nice to see you, and feel you, and smell you." As he talked, she flashed back to their one other encounter.

She had been standing at the produce counter picking out Brussels sprouts, when she'd felt a man come up from behind and press himself against her. She heard, "Be still", from above her head. By the voice and angle, she knew it was that tall man she had been chatting with; he had said he would be around soon. She stirred and he said, "Stay, close your eyes."

He'd reached around and put his hand on her throat up under her chin, pushing her head back against his shoulder. He whispered into her ear, in that soft deep guttural voice, "When I let go of your throat, keep your eyes closed, stand up straight, and make no attempt to interfere."

While still holding her neck, he'd used his other hand and reached up under the waist of her sweater, and loosened the buckle of her belt. Then he had undone the button of her jeans, and lowered the zipper.

Then he'd released her neck and she stood passively in front of the bins, and her whole body tensed as she felt his hand slipping down the back of her jeans, sliding across her skin, down into the slack space he had created, his hand had slipped deeper into the back of her jeans. His finger tips were pressed into her cleft, further and further down as his fingers parted her cheeks.

Just then she felt him once again wrapping his arms around her, lifting her t-shirt and unbuckling her belt, deja vu. And then, he undid her jean's button and zipper. As he was ministering to her jeans, she had the strangest sense of, almost, comfort. She felt strangely at ease with the feel of him leaning against her back, being pulled back against him, feeling very short and fragile, seemingly surrounded by him, wrapped in his height and size, and long arms and big hands, impossibly close. She felt herself relaxing.

Then, as if reading her mind, he said, "This makes you feel very small and submissive, doesn't it? Being enveloped by a man, not a known lover, but a man who understands that he can do whatever he wants with you, and you will acquiesce." She knew he was right, but felt her head shaking, denying what he said, but remaining absolutely still as he had instructed.

While she realized he had undone her jeans, she had been so preoccupied with her conflicting thoughts, she was barely conscious of him slowly rubbing his hand up and down her stomach, gently caressing her from her navel to the fringe of her pubic area, realizing she had worn a very skimpy pair of bikini panties. She instinctively moved her hand and put it on top of his, wanting to stop him, but also wanting to press his hand more firmly against her skin. But just as she was taking hold of his hand, he removed it, and took hold of each of her wrists and moved her hands around behind her, stuffing them down between the slack of her leather belt and the denim of her jeans. Once her wrists were inside the belt, he leaned forward to trap her hands in place, reached around and fastened her belt again, very tight, pinning her wrists against her back with the tightening of the belt, binding her so tightly she could not pull her hands out. She suddenly felt very much trapped. And then she felt the scarf being placed over her eyes and tied at the back of her head.

She felt him leaning harder against her back again; felt his growing arousal pressed against her wrists and his jeans filling the palms and fingers of her trapped hands. She heard his rough, raspy breathing in her ear, his hot breath, his faint guttural whisper, "Holding you like this, my nose buried in your hair, smelling you, I can sense your surrender to my touch and control, you are so lovely. Holding you this way, drinking you in, feeling your breathing grow longer and deeper, your surrender and submission is intoxicating. I'm glad we met." She shivered, struggling to steady her breathing.

Then, his hand was back on her stomach, sliding up under her t-shirt, pushing her bra up, his hand surrounded her breast, squeezing, massaging, pulling, pinching, grasping. And just as she was about to speak, to ask him to stop (did she really want him to stop?) his other hand moved to cover her mouth, and she heard someone walk by a couple of aisles over. He held tightly, and they were both completely still, except for his slightest movement, steadily working her breast and nipple. After the person passed, she expected his hand over her mouth to move, but instead she felt him slowly, methodically, sensually tracing her lips with the faintest touch of his fingertips. And then, his hand was clamped over her mouth, firmly. He was holding her in such a way that she could not breathe and she feared a lack of oxygen. But his grip over her mouth loosened and she was able to take several long, deep gulps of air, catching her breath as he continued fondling and groping her breast, pinching and rolling her nipple so roughly, almost painfully.

Suddenly she felt his hand move away from her mouth, and almost feared what might come next, he was continuing to roll and pinch her nipple, making her arch her back and squirm. But she was worried; she remembered where he had moved his hand last time. Moments later, she was almost relieved when she felt his fingers on her neck; he was pulling her hair back, and brushing his fingers across the side of your neck and jaw, tilting her head to the side as he did. And then she felt his hot breath on the side of her neck, sensed his head moving down toward her, then a kiss at the base of her neck. In combination with her aching stiff nipple, the pressure of his mouth on her neck and shoulder made her shrink aside and try to move away, but he grasped her more tightly and held her in place. She began again to ask him to stop, but could not draw the breath to speak the words. Still she felt herself instinctively trying to shrink away from his grip, but her arousal was overpowering her resistance.

She felt his kiss open more and more, his teeth scrapping across her neck, and then the pressure of him slowly but deliberately biting down, and the movement of his tongue, working her skin between them. As he is moving his teeth up her neck, his tongue is moving rapidly. And then his teeth were clenching down on her neck, just below her ear. Hard, hot, tight, his mouth closed down on her neck, and still, his fingers were incessantly working her tender, aching hard nipple. Her back arched and again she reacted by shrinking down, moving away from his mouth. His hand grabbed her neck from the side and pushed her back up against his mouth, harder.

The quiet struggle was interrupted by the sound of heavy doors and hurried foot steps. She felt his grip loosen, his mouth relax and pull back, and his hand withdraw from under her shirt. Still the sound of footsteps somewhere on the floor and she is suddenly afraid of being discovered, like this, restrained and blindfolded, in the clutches of this stranger.

His hands moved, firmly gripping her biceps just above her elbows as he whispered to her to walk forward, after several steps he slowed her down, and she felt her shoulders bump up against something solid. He pushed her forward even more and she felt almost wedged in. He let go of her arms and she felt his hand on the back of her neck, fingers pushing up into her hair, and her head leaned forward until it felt something solid on both sides also. She guessed he had placed her facing into a corner, with her head leaned forward against the wall, his hand pushed firmly forward, fingers laced in her hair. Then suddenly his hand was gone, and she felt suddenly alone, still and quiet. Wondering if she should move, she started to straighten up, but immediately there was a finger pressing her head forward, so her forehead was pinned back into the corner, "Be still, stay right there", he said.

And then she could felt his arms around her sides as he reached around and unbuckled her belt, and she could feel the tension being relieved around her waist and her wrists at her back. Then again, his touch was gone, but she could hear his breathing behind her. "Count down from 10." She counted slowly down from 10, to 1, and then stood there, in the quiet. She stood up straight tentatively, and there was no reaction. She pulled her hands out from under her belt, no reprimand. She pulled the scarf down off her eyes, turned around slowly, and she was alone, in the corner, alone in the room.

And then, some time in the future . . .

June 21, 2009

grand Father's Day

It was a Father's Day, 13 or 14 years ago, and most of the family and friends had come by, with a barbecue planned for later in the day. I remember I was sitting on the couch, watching TV, some kind of auto race. Tracy's husband was sitting with me, he was an auto racing fan also. Krista, Tracy's daughter, and her cousin Leslie were running around and playing, like 5 or 6 year old kids would do. Krista was always rambunctious and energetic, often seen as hard to handle, willfulness was a term used often. However, she was always calm and attentive when she would hang out with me, always helpful and cooperative.

On that particular day, from time to time, Tracy would come out of the kitchen and tell Krista, "Be quiet." "Settle down." "Go play in the family room.", and other various attempts at trying to create calm and quiet. Finally, after too long, with little or no result, I called Krista over to me, and said, "Krista, you and Leslie go back and play in the family room unless you want to sit down here and be quiet." Her response was simply, "Okay. Leslie, let's go."

As she was walking out of the room, her mother stopped her and asked, "Why is it that when I ask you to do something, you argue, or ignore me, and go right back to doing what you were doing, as if I hadn't even said anything? But when Grandpa asks you to do something, you just go do it?" Krista looked at me, smiled, and then back at her mother, and answered, "Because when poo-paw says it, he means it." Then, she and Leslie took off down the hall toward the family room.

It had nothing to do with punishment or consequences; it was always about intention, and consistency, and purpose. Her connection to me was very different from others in the family.

June 11, 2009


What is it about being a dominant that satisfies and fulfills?

If it was a six word meme, my answers would be; closeness, affection, trust, respect, pride, appreciation

The relationship between a dominant and a submissive is first and foremost, simply, a relationship between two people. It has all of those feelings of affection, friendship, closeness, loving and caring, in both directions, as does any other relationship. Creating a safe space for a submissive girl to be herself, recognizing the depths of a girls feelings, you will likely bring out sadness, fear, embarrassment, humiliation, and shame, all of these feelings that are often hidden away and considered negative, you open up a huge vulnerability. But, when you acknowledge those feelings, make it okay to have those feelings, it is liberating. Creating a safe place to explore how they can fit in her life, to let her know that it really is absolutely OK to be needy and lonely and afraid, and to have the light of that realization and it's comfort shine back on you, how can you not get something out of that?

There is an affection that is returned that can have an overwhelming intensity and depth. I receive a great deal of satisfaction from being able to make a positive contribution in someones life. I relish the respect and appreciation that I am given in return for the guidance, direction and support. Here I am, a man who has recognized a girl's special needs/desires and not only do I not think she is crazy, I nurture and feed those new feelings, making her feel all the more special. This only magnifies her affection and passion for him.

I think it is that connection to the core of submissiveness within her and there is a greater appreciation and affection returned, there is a feeling of power at having unleashed those intense inner feelings within her, recognizing their acceptability, and having that glow directed back onto me. It is overwhelming in intensity at times; breathtaking, awe-inspiring and humbling all at the same time.

Providing the structure and control - routines that address positive changes, and routines that provide reinforcement and connection throughout her day, to know that I am there in her life, in her daily activities and that I am an ongoing influence, available, active, present and caring. An overwhelming gratitude spills back onto me for having unlocked and found, or notice and nurtured, those feelings she has never been allowed to expose and cultivate, and there is a joy to seeing the warm glow in her eyes, to hear it in her words and to feel it in her touch.

I recognize, sometimes just in flashes, the depth and wealth of what I have given to her, and what I get back from it are feelings of thankfulness, of affection, of joy and pleasure, of admiration, of loving and caring, that makes my heart float. Frankly, there are times that the glow back is overwhelming, frightening, and magnificent. Then, I stop and recognize that I have opened up something very special in her. And, I recognize that I am different, that I do evoke an emotional, psychological and even physical response in her that few ever have, and from her feedback, I am pleased, touched, and humbled.

That's what's in it for me.