The Key to Making a Successful Blog

I started this blog with the stated purpose of collecting a bunch of links that had been lost with the disappearance of another blog. I wasn't sure what I was going to write about, but I had some experiences and opinions that I thought might be worth sharing. I quickly began building a relationship with some of my readers. But part of that relationship was making posts good so that people would want to read them, and would come back. Then I took a shot at writing a story, an enhanced description of a first meeting, knowing it would be less but wanting to convey the desire, and energy, and anticipation, the affection. And, so, now, 2-1/2 years later, I am curious, what brings you here, and brings you back? So, for fun, please take a couple minutes and complete the poll over there in the right margin. Leave a comment if you would, just ticking a box or two is too easy, speak up! But, most of all, thank you so much for coming back, again and again, for whatever reasons you do.

cartoon from xkcd.com

Poll results = blog list - 10%; wisdom - 35%; stories - 40%, recordings - 5%; cmnf pictures - 10%

On the Bed, then Sleeping

The Consensual Stalker

"Take away my sight please, then I can focus on feeling you . . ."

part 1 - - part 2

third -

He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. Everything seemed exactly the same. Except, on the nightstand, tossed against the base of the lamp, was the scarf which had been twisted around her wrists when he was there last week. He picked them up, there were two silk scarves, tied together at opposite corners to form a large enough loop to twist around 3 or 4 times to provide some bulk and substance. He untied the corners from each other and laid one on top of the other forming a double thickness. He folded them in half diagonally, and then folded in thirds, a nice wide blindfold.

Folded in half, he put it on the corner of the bed next to her pillow, and walked over to the window. He twisted the blinds shut and pulled the curtains across, throwing the room into even deeper darkness. The light from the clock projecting onto the ceiling was now the only illumination. He walked around to the foot of the bed and stood and watched her sleeping. He noticed the water glass and prescription bottle were not on the nightstand. He walked into the bathroom, looked around, looked in the cabinet, and the drawers of the vanity, but the bottle was no where to be seen.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and placed the blindfold over her eyes and held it firmly in place across her face while she struggled with awakening and realization. He leaned forward, put his head down on the pillow and whispered, "It's me, relax." He held her stationary until the reality of recognition settled over her and she calmed herself. Once she recognized what was happening, a smile crossed her lips; and she lifted her head so he could tie the blindfold at the back. As he tied the knot, he noticed the ribbon was no longer pinned to the headboard. "Where is the ribbon bow?" she smiled, but did not answer. "Answer," he muttered, and in response she lifted her head up further and turned her face away from him. He could see the ribbon tied in her hair down by her neck, tied around gathered strands of hair. He took her face in his hand, turned it back toward him and softly chuckled, and kissed her eyes through the blindfold.

"And where is the hobble rope?" he asked. She kicked and flailed at the sheet which was over her legs until they were uncovered, and he could see the rope around her ankles. He burst out laughing, deeply, she was laughing too. When he stopped laughing, he said, "How long have you been wearing these things to bed?"

"This is the fifth night", she said, and they laughed again, and then she looked seriously, "I was beginning to wonder if you might not be coming back."

"Silly girl, you must know me better than that."

He got up and moved to the foot of the bed, and tended to the knots of the hobble rope, cinched them tight so her feet were bound closely together and could not be moved independently. He dragged the back of his fingernails across the soles of her feet, over the tender skin of her instep, but it drew no response. Clearly her feet were not ticklish. He wrapped a hand around each foot; his fingers were over the arches and down the inside, his thumbs pressed into the underside of her arches and the balls of her feet, a massaging motion. He felt the muscles of her feet tensing, a feeling of her trying to pull them away, and moaning and complaining as he pressed harder and deeper.

The more he manipulated her feet, the more she tried to move them. While they were bound at the ankles; she kept moving them side to side, to evade his ministrations. He paused for a minute, and made a little loop on one of the tag ends and slipped it over her big toes, holding them together. She was no longer able to wiggle her feet away from his touch. He kept pressing his thumbs into the muscles of her feet, and she continued to try and pull them away, and continued her moaning and complaining.

He took hold of her ankles and pushed them up the bed, bending her legs at the knees, then with his hands, pressed her knees outward. As her legs fell open, still bound at the ankles, they formed a diamond shape, her crotch, her knees and her ankles. He placed his hands on the bed between her knees, and crawled up onto the foot of the bed, leaning over her legs, kneeling on all fours, with his arms against her knees, keeping them spread open. He moved his head down between her thighs, kissing and nibbling at the tender inner flesh of her right thigh, as his head moved further and further up her leg.

He turned his head downward, opened his mouth and took hold of a good bite of the inner lower back of her thigh, and slowly bit down on it, focusing his senses for any reaction. First he heard a gasp, the sound of a realization of what was happening, but no sign of fear, or dread, or pain, just a gasping and moaning sound, and a reactionary tensing of her thigh muscles. As he bit down harder, he felt her leg try to pull away, but his bite held firm. He was metering his bite so as not to leave a mark, at least not yet, and he as he bit down harder, he waited for further reactions. It came only in the form of her struggling to close her legs, which was blocked by his arms in the backs of her knees, holding them open exactly as they were. He bit down even more, and heard her cry out slightly but she did not make any further attempt to escape.

He let go of the bite and moved his mouth to the top of her thigh and took hold once again. Again she tensed and moaned, but did not offer any resistance or make any move to evade or escape his assault. He bit down even harder this time, realizing he was not biting into such tender flesh, and mostly had a grip of muscle. He held the bite for another minute, working his tongue over her skin, and then let go and moved a few inches further up her thigh. Again she moaned and gasped for air, which seemed to be her only reaction. He let go of the third bite and started to move his head across to her left leg. As his nose passed close to her panties, he got the aromatic confirmation of the effect his attentions were having on her.

He paused and nuzzled his chin down against the front of her bikini panties, she immediately thrust her hips up, pushing hard against his chin. He pushed back with equal force, as he moved his chin back and forth, side to side, up and down. He could feel the hardness of her mound against his chin and lower lip, and he opened his mouth and took in a mouthful of the material of her panties, and a substantial amount of her pubic hair as well. They held each other that way, him locked onto the material of her panties and hair, and her pushing up, grinding against his chin while he moved his jaw slowly, pressing back against her thrusting.

Startled, he felt her hands on either side of his head, fingers curled in his hair, gripping him and lifting him up, and away, and he let go of his mouthful of material. She has originally had her hand tucked under the pillow, under her head, and he had neglected to bind or restrain them in anyway. He let her guide his head up and toward her stomach, and he moved his arms from between her knees, up to either side of her waist, pushing down on the bed, and crawled up so his hips were now where his arms had been, still occupying the space between her flailed out knees, maintaining the open diamond posture.

Once he had himself balanced on his knees again, he taking hold of each of her wrists, pulling them down to her side, and pushed them down under the small of her back. He held them there with his own, and balanced on his elbows. He shifted his weight forward, and pressed up to kiss her. She felt his movement, sensed his target and turn her head to meet his lips, and they kissed, long and hard. The weight of his body lay completely on hers, pressing her down into the mattress, overwhelming and nearly completely covering her.

As they continued the kiss, his hands moved to lift her legs and bound ankles, so they were wrapped around his hips, also lifting her knees up toward her shoulders. He reached down and pulled the leg band of her bikinis to the side, his fingers spread her open, and he slid in. He pressed deep, and slowly filled her completely, deeper and deeper, pressing, moving just slightly, a slow rocking motion. They kissed more passionately, both clenching their muscles, feeling each other pulsing, pressed closer and closer together, filling, accepting. Her body stiffened, legs clenched, release, and he collapsed forward down on top of her, still kissing her mouth fully. His fingers were buried in her hair as she was shook, stiffened, and clenched; hips rising, pushing up. Then easing, and relaxed, but being still, fully engaged, connected, breathing in unison.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and he shifted and rolled them onto their sides, arms and legs moving and disengaging slightly. She rolled over to her other side, with her back to him and her head resting on his arm. She shifted and pushed hard back, spooned against him, and pulled his other arm over and around her, and tucked it between her breasts, and held it firmly in place, hugging it. She was still bound at the ankles, blindfold still in place. He buried his nose and mouth into her hair and neck. He nuzzled and kissed her softly, tenderly biting into her neck and shoulder, enough to apply pressure, more for presence/comfort than challenge, and she drifted off to sleep. Listening to her soft breathing and sleeping sounds, he drifted off too.

He awoke to the light of the sun rise shining visible around the edges of the curtains and blinds, feeling very relaxed, deeply sleepy. He slowly and gently disentangled himself, kissed the back of her neck, between her shoulder blades, ran his fingers down the length of her backbone, caressed her hip and bottom, and carefully moved himself out of bed.

He walked over to the chair, pulled on his clothes, picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.

And then, much later, one Sunday afternoon . . .

On a Bed, Sleeping

The Consensual Stalker

part 1

second -

He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. Everything seemed exactly as it was previously, a place for everything and everything in its place. The night stands were the same, the bedspread, sheets, the furniture, everything looked the same. He looked at the clock projection again, and then his watch, and smiled, perfectly in sync.

He walked over to the left side of the bed and looked down at her. She was sleeping curled in a nearly fetal position, on her right side, facing him, knees pulled up, back curved, and hands down between her thighs. She was sleeping very close to the left side of the bed, not in the middle like before. He noticed with a smile that she had a scarf twisted loosely, but effectively around her wrists. It was an instruction he had issued several times and she had said she complied, but this was the first time he was actually seeing how she looked bound that way, and he found it stimulating in a strangely satisfying, "Mine", sort of way.

She was wearing a pair of bikini panties similar to last time, and again, her breasts were bare. Last time she had been laying flat down on her stomach, but this time, they were squeezed between her upper arms. Her ample breasts appeared even larger being contained in that way and her nipples were semi erect. Not hard and prominent as they were when she was aroused, but there was clear definition and swelling up from her aureoles. Her hair was tousled about her head, neck and shoulders, and it appeared to be longer. Obviously she was letting it grow longer; another "suggestion" he had made.

As he stood there, he looked around at the bed and night stand, the armoire and then at the headboard. In the dim moonlight, he noticed something at the center of the headboard, at the top edge. He leaned closer and saw that a stick pin was holding the ribbon and bow that he had fashioned in her hair the last time he visited. He reached down for the prescription bottle on the night stand and could feel it was full, and new, compared to the bottle that had been there last time. It suggested that she was using this sleeping aid on a regular, perhaps even on a nightly basis. He leaned in close, wiped her forehead and temple, hair smoothed out of your face, and looked at her eyes, looking for any sign that she might actually be partially awake.

Since she was sleeping so close to the edge of the bed, and facing in his direction, he gently settled himself on the edge of the bed, almost up against the front of her thighs, rather than down further where he might normally have seated himself, closer to her legs, her thighs and her bottom. As he sat there, lightly brushing her hair out of her face, suddenly he was startled and nearly jumped up. She abruptly stirred and shifted, she pulled her arms up and out, and placed her forearm on top of his thigh, her bound wrists hooked over his knee. She stretched out and put her head onto her arm, resting the side of her face and her temple directly against the side of his knee. Her position also pressed her breast and nipple hard against the side of his leg. This would not have bothered him much, but being spring time, with warmer weather, he had worn a pair of baggy surfer style shorts, and her warm soft flesh was pressed up against his bare leg. He was excited by the feel of her skin against his.
.
He sat there mesmerized by the feel of her breast pressing into his thigh, and the surges of warm air puffing through the hair on the back of his thigh as she breathed. As he sat there, he lightly touched her hair, decided that rather than try to move her, or slide himself out from under her embrace, he would just wait a while until she changed position again. The next time she rustled he would be able to slide his leg down off the edge of the bed as she was shifting around and extricate himself. He was in no hurry to go, and while this predicament was impeding his plans for the visit, he was very much enjoying his entrapment.

Again, like the last visit his attention was drawn to that spot near her bottom, that spot where her buttock turned to her thigh. He'd always had a fondness for that shape of her body, and the contour of her bottom. He reached over and placed the palm of his hand fully on the upper part of the back of her thigh, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin, and gently slipped the tips of a couple fingers up under the leg band of her panties. Just as he was about to move his hand further down in between and inside her thighs she started to stir again, he froze in place. She rolled toward the center of the bed, nearly on her back and drug her bound wrists across his thigh and back onto the mattress. As she moved, he pulled back his arm, and hand fell to the mattress. She pushed her hands up under her pillow, rolled back over and put her cheek on the pillow on top of her hands. She twisted her torso so she was once again nearly flat on her stomach. He sat still, waiting to see if she had settled, looking up and down the length of her lovely body, at her smooth skin and her well toned muscles. She seemed to be back sleeping soundly and settled again.

He walked over to his jacket, reached into the pocket and took out the length of soft cotton rope he had brought with him. He returned to the bed, walked down to the foot, where her ankles were lying side by side and lightly placed the center of the rope over her left ankle. He then took the tag end and passed it under her ankle, pulling up most of the slack and then made a figure eight cross over between her ankles. He wrapped the each end of the rope twice around her right ankle, made a second figure eight crisscross back to her left ankle, once around again and then between her ankles tied a double knot with the small bits of rope left. It was effectively fashioned in the style of a loose hobble. Clearly she had taken the sleeping pills again tonight, or all of the fussing with her feet and ankles would surely have woken her up. He stood back, admiring his handiwork and watched her breathing, listening to her slight snoring sound and looked up and smiled again at the ribbon on the headboard.

He walked over to the chair, picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.

As he drove off, he said out loud to himself, "Third time is a charm."
. . . continued . . .

In a Bedroom, Sleeping

The Consensual Stalker

first -
He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. There was the bathroom door off to the right, and on the opposite wall, the closet door, and in between a large armoire that held some folded clothes and a television set. He thought, what an interesting place to conceal a small camera. And on the wall opposite, there was a queen size bed, with a nightstand on either side, each with a lamp, and one with a clock that shines the time in a circle on the ceiling:

12:55 A

Sunday

He looked at his watch, and noticed a difference, pulled out the stem and adjusted it to 12:57, centered the second hand at zero, and waited for 12:57 to appear on the ceiling, then pushed the stem back in; there, perfect.

He got up and walked over to the bed, and looked at the items on the far night stand, just the lamp, the clock, a couple of magazines and a paperback book. On the near night stand was the matching lamp, a cell phone, a glass of water and a prescription bottle. He picked up the bottle and read the label, Dalmane, Take as needed for sleep.

She was sound asleep, making a soft slow breathing sound, not quite a snore. She laid flat face down, arms wrapped around her pillow, head resting on her left cheek, her hair spread across her cheek, her forehead, her neck and shoulders. Her right leg was pulled up and out, bent at the knee. She was wearing a pair of bikini panties, nothing else. He put his hand on the headboard, and leaned over looking down at her, she seemed to have the slightest smile on her face, but was definitely deep in sleep.

With his free hand he began to ever so lightly trace one fingertip across her shoulders, and down across her biceps, over her elbow and down her forearm to her wrist. Then he ran the fingertip slowly back up her arm, across her shoulders and down the other arm. She did not stir or seem to sense his touch in any way. He wondered if she was that sound a sleeper, or if the sleeping pill had dulled her senses. He ran his fingertip back up her arm, to her shoulders and ran it up and down her neck, at the back first, then up the sides and back, and still there was no reaction.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he put two fingers at the base of her neck, and begin tracing then down either side of her backbone, circling it, over, back and forth, and then down to the next bone, pressing ever so slightly, a tender teasing touch. He continued working down each vertebrae, down to the curve of the small of her back, and then back up the rising slope toward her buttocks, lightly massaging her skin, up and down and then back up, an inch or so at a time. When he reached the waist band of her panties, he turned his hand and pushed the fingers under the waistband spreading her cheeks apart just slightly as his fingers slide deeper and deeper into the cleft. The waistband slipped up his fingers and onto the back of his hand, and he stopped. With his fingers resting between her cheeks, he suddenly considered how much he had touched her, with absolutely no response, what so ever.

He stopped and was very still for a moment, not moving his hand, listening for her breathing. It was still soft and steady, calm and nearly that same soft snoring sound. He slowly began to reverse his movement and trace his two fingers back up her spine, back toward her neck. When his fingers reached the base of her neck, he massaged her neck at her hairline, up the sides and back down to her shoulders, still, no reaction. He lifted his hand off of her skin and just sat, looking at her back heave and settle slowly as she slept, undisturbed. He was tempted to jostle her and awaken her, but decided better of it, thinking that he ought to leave soon.

He looked over her body, so lovely and calm, so relaxed in her sleep. His gaze went to the back of the thigh of her bent leg, and that spot where her buttock turned to her thigh. He reached over and placed the palm of his hand fully on the upper part of the back of her thigh, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin, it aroused him to touch her so intimately. He thought better of it, removed his hand, and stood up, looking up and down the length of her lovely nearly naked body, her smooth skin and her well toned muscles.

He moved back to the headboard, braced himself and leaned over again, and looked down at her face, she still had that same partial smile, partially covered by her tousled hair. With the fingers of his free hand he gently combed her hair back, off of her face, up over the side of her head and tucked as much as he could behind the back of her ear. He could now clearly see her face and the side of her neck. He walked over to his jacket, reached into the pocket and took out the length of ribbon he had brought with him. He returned to the side of the bed, combed more of her hair back into the semblance of pony tail, and tied the ribbon around the gathered strands of hair, and then fashioned a bow.

He walked over to the chair, picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.
. . . continued . . .

Bring Your Stalker to Work Day

The Consensual Stalker

"Designed to be more than a day camp, the Bring Your Stalker to Work Day program goes beyond the average “shadow” an adult. This will provide your stalker an opportunity to share how they envision your future and begin steps toward their end goals. We have designed the day in a hands-on and interactive manner that’s key to their achieving success. Each year, development of new interactive activities assists us in taking stalkers to the future they dream of."

I had followed her to work on several occasions, and was now familiar with her morning routine. She would pull into the parking garage, emerge and walk several blocks to the office building, and board the elevator. A very consistent routine, little variation in time or pattern. Most mornings she would talk on the phone and/or send text messages, juggling books and folders, and a purse and tote bag. For the past couple days I had boarded the elevator with her and selected the top floor, noting which floor was hers when she left the elevator.

I rode up two floors further, got off the elevator and took the stairs two flights down. I surveyed the hallways and corridors, and peeked into office areas where doors were open or ajar, and finally found her. I noted that her office space was a small odd shaped room and appeared to contain just two desks, hers off to the right, and a older man was at the desk to the left. One whole wall of the office was outside windows, but the door was solid, with no glass security panel. Once the door was closed, there was no way for intruders or visitors to see if any one was in. I had noticed that the older man seemed to be away from the office this week. Today would be different . . .
.

Today I watched her arrive at work and head into her building. I waited about ten minutes and boarded the elevator, went one extra floor up, walked back down one flight and down the corridor. As usual, the door was open and slightly ajar. I glanced through the opening and saw her busying herself with her computer, putting on headphones, swaying to some music and sipping a cup of coffee. I pushed the door open just slightly more . . . the door moved about a foot, with no noise, or apparent commotion. As I looked around the edge, she seemed oblivious to the movement, so I slowly pushed the door the rest of the way open, up against the cabinet behind it, and stepped back just to be sure.

After a few moments, I stepped into the doorway, paused, and them stepped into the room. No reaction, so I quietly swung the door closed and stepped up behind her, still nothing. I moved slightly to the right when she swung her chair to the left to open a drawer, but still there was no recognition of any presence in the room, or directly behind her. As she settled back to her workstation she seemed to catch a reflection in the window or her computer screen, I knelt down on one knee behind her and her chair as she glanced around, and then shrugged.
.

I stood back up, leaned forward, and simultaneously pulled her glasses and headphones off with one hand and placed the other hand over her eyes. Then I quickly moved the first hand, covered her mouth, and whispered into her ear, "It is me, just relax." I held her as stationary as possible as she struggled, until the glow of recognition settled over her. Even as she struggled I moved my hand from her mouth, onto her throat, up under her chin, tilted her head back and placed my mouth over hers. I held the kiss, long, longer, I had forgotten how wonderfully soft and warm and pliable her lips were, how her kiss felt and the way she moved, both her jaw and her tongue. I lifted momentarily and repositioned my mouth onto hers again, and savored the sound of her breathing through her nostrils and the swelling of her breasts as she struggled for air. I lifted my mouth slightly so we could both breath through the corners of our mouths without ending this prolonged kiss.

Even as I sucked air out of her lungs, pumped it back in, I was drawn to the pulse of her breathing through the expansion and contraction of her chest, and the swelling of her wonderfully full breasts. I was captivated by the sight of her hardening nipples, pressing through her shirt and sweater, and presumably even her bra beneath them. I reached down and took a grip on one nipple through all of that clothing and pinched tightly, and felt her gasp for air, nearly sucking my breath right out of my mouth this time. I continued to twist and pull, and elicited the most wonderful, guttural groan from deep in her throat, followed by a soft humming sound. I moved my hand and tore open the top two buttons of her shirt so that the opening matched the contour of her v-neck sweater.
.
As I placed my palm on her upper chest I could feel her warm skin, and her breathing, and as my hand slid inside her shirt, I could feel her heart beating and her long deep breaths. Once again heard that guttural growl, and I detected a slight chuckle, and her mouth was moving as if she were trying to say something. I shoved my hand down inside her shirt, into the cup of her bra, forcing my fingers across her flesh, and took a solid grip on her right breast, pinching and mashing, squeezing and massaging roughly. She squirmed and wiggled in her chair, not trying to escape so much as adjust to the excitement and arousal my continued groping of her breast was provoking.

I lifted my mouth from hers, trailing my tongue across hers, teasing her lips. I continued to hold my hand over her eyes, pulled my hand out of her bra, and said, "Reach down and release the ergo-control so that the back of the chair tilts back."

"What?" she said.

"Release the chair backrest."

She nodded her understanding, and dropped her arms down between the armrests and the seat cushion, and fumbled with the control levers. Suddenly she found the right paddle and the seat back dropped to a 45 degree angle, startling us both. "Close your eyes, tight." She did. I leaned back down and kissed her forehead, her temples, her closed eyes, the sides of her nose, one cheek and then the other, then one last time, her mouth, a slow, tender, full lip kiss.

Now she was laid out with her head fully back, tilted over the edge of the seat back, almost dangling back. My thumb on her chin pushed her lower jaw down and my palm pressed her forehead down and back, forcing her mouth open further. Her body stiffened as she heard the sound of my zipper, and I stepped forward . . .

and then, at her home . . .

Moving with Force

Read enough blogs, documenting relationships ranging from the most extreme M/s owners, to the sweetest Daddy/little girl connections, and you begin to see the wide range of methods and techniques used to move things along, particularly the degree of influence imparted by the dominant member of the relationship. This is particularly true of training techniques but in many instances actually apply to the entire conduct of the relationship, influencing the entire interaction. It becomes apparent when something goes wrong, when things are off track and corrective action needs to be taken.

The previous post, force, was an attempt to put the idea out there and clarify my thinking, and engage with a few readers from their reaction to that small offering. It came to me during this process that control = force. I had always thought of force as a S&M practice, and overlooked the subtle but effective use of force in all methods of control. The concept of force runs the gambit of techniques employed: force, enforce, reinforce and reinforcement, each an exertion of the dominants will and dominion, over the behavior of the submissive but with radically varying degrees of application. I think a large degree of that is implied by the kind of connection that is present between the parties involved. It is also clear that some aspects of all four categorizations are likely employed at one time or another in nearly all relationships.

Force:
a powerful effect or influence; to cause to do through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, coerce.
I think the strictest Master/slave relationship involves the potential for the greater degree of pure force - a powerful effect or influence; where the Master is likely to cause things to be done through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, by applying coercion.

This may well include the routine application of moving a girl along, literally, physically, by grabbing hands full of her hair or tightly gripping her collar and literally dragging her to where she needs to go. It may likely not involve any degree of intellectual instruction at all, but rather just the absolute application of physical force. Even routinely grabbing her and pulling her along, come this way, follow along, and she will, because she is yours, and trusts you or fears you. So, you could MAKE the sub do something through force.

This might include prolonged restraint, caging, physical restrictions, and whippings and beating, real and earnest applications of force.

Enforce:
ensure observance of rules; compel to behave in a certain way - to keep up, impose or bring into effect something, not necessarily by force.
When you talk about how your girl might feel about being restricted, and she thinks the control might be interesting, "really like the idea of somehow being controlled."

You set rules for her, that provide direction and guidance but at other times she has to walk the path, with you right behind her, offering words of encouragement, or correction or perspective, "if you do this or that, here is what will happen". Or, provide a good environment in which she can do something that one time, and then enforce the repetition of the behavior.

Consider the idea of a control that insists, rather than restricts? So many times, we Doms/Tops implement directives that take away something desired, but what about the idea of requiring something that is not a burning desire? An example might be orgasm control, which is often exercised as orgasm denial or limitation, but can also be a rule that insists on orgasms.

This might occasionally blend in some of the rougher, dragging approach, with an ebb and flow, harsh, aggressive at times, friendly, slow and smooth at other times.

Reinforce:
to strengthen, especially by addition or augmentation; to emphasize or review; to encourage a behavior or idea through repeated stimulus.
There are times when the dominant backs off, giving a certain degree of slack to see how well the lesson has been learned. But he may still be nudging with a slight tap or push for the left or the right, correcting the course, needing to watch, pay attention, but not always intervening, teach her the way for herself, with guidance. This involves observing behavior, and reinforcing the positive actions while criticizing but not necessarily punishing the missteps. Ultimately, submission is what the girl gives, not what the dominant takes.

Reinforcement:
a process in which a behavior is strengthened; increasing the probability that a response will occur by either presenting a contingent positive event or removing a negative event.
Where do you want to go? What do you want to change? How can my guidance, dominance, and reinforcement be applied to your life in such a way that you accomplish your goals, and then set about to do it, with subtle and not so subtle reminders, go do it "now".

Some times you might even let go so fully that she doesn't even feel the control any more, or in fact she feels the absence of the control, the looseness, at odds, at wits end. Once having had the comfort and safety and assurance of guidance and control, what does it feel like to have that taken away, quite nearly the complete opposite of force, the complete removal of influence, other than presence, reinforcement of the feeling and idea of control rather than cranking down the control.

Or it might include setting up ongoing situations where doing that thing brings her peace and contentment and rather than feeling forced, she feels embraced and wants to do it of her own volition and to please. This kind of commitment to purpose is at the heart of submission, it is not compliance by force, but simply reinforcement of her dedication to purpose. It might also include companioning, guiding her along as she deals with an issue. Or, slowly and methodically moving her forward, clearing the path of obstacles, hers and the worlds, like curling?


It is always interesting to read blogs and see what kinds of force are employed, or not to correct misbehavior or a failure to follow rules. It is just as common to read about overly lax responses as it is to read about overly forceful actions.

Bedtime Baby

You, sitting at the foot of the bed, knees bent over the edge, legs apart.

Me, standing with my shins against the end of the bed, between your thighs, combing my hands and fingers through your hair, savoring the view of your wonderful body.

You, squeezing your thighs hard against the outside of my legs, holding them, caressing me, rubbing the veined underside, watching it grow and stiffen, licking your lips.

Me, holding your head and tilting it back, straining your neck, kissing your forehead, temples, eyebrows, eyes, left side of your nose, right side, back and forth from one cheek to the other, then fully over your mouth, tender, slow, firm lip kisses.

You, moaning, humming, smiling, leaning your head back, pulling away from my kiss, pulling your head from side to side, sneaking down under my chin to look at the handiwork of your hands. Grasping me, guiding me up to your mouth, teasing between your lips, running your tongue along the underside.

Me, pulling your head closer, moving slowly in and out, rubbing against the insides of your mouth, moving my hands to your jaw, pushing it down to reduce the tightness, opening your mouth more, encouraging you to moisten, lick and coat me with your saliva.

You, looking up into my eyes, looking down over you. Cupping your hands under your breasts, lifting them up, offering them, squeezing them together, wrapping them around me, all wet from your mouth, and so hard.

Me, grasping a nipple in each hand, pulling, twisting, lifting, pinching. Stepping back and kneeling down at the edge of the bed, fronts of my thighs up against the end of the mattress, resting on the surface of the mattress. Wrapping my hands around the small of your back and pulling you forward, moving your bottom forward up the edge of the bed.

You, grasping hold of me and guiding me into you, wet, slick, as you are pulled closer and closer, opening your legs wider to accept my hips more comfortably between your thighs.

Me, taking hold of your wrists and leaning, guiding you back, pushing you to lay down flat on the bed. Pushing your arms down against the mattress and pulling you harder toward me, slipping deeper inside, my upward curve tickling that hot inner spot.

You, rocking back and forth with the pull and push of my hands on your wrists, working your muscles, massaging me inside you, bringing me closer and closer. Sweating, huffing, deep breathing, humming.

Me, releasing your wrists and guiding your hands down in between us, encouraging your fingers to dance and play with your swollen button, pushing them down deeper and deeper. Hands tight on your hips, pulling your closer and closer, shoving deeper and deeper. Legs clenched, solid stiff, releasing into you. collapsing forward down on top of you, kissing your breasts.

You, shaking, stiffening, clenching, hands deep down, hips rising, pushing up, shaping our angles. Fingers buried in my hair, gripping and caressing.

Us, coming together, right now.

force

force - a powerful effect or influence; to cause to do through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, coerce.

enforce - ensure observance of rules; compel to behave in a certain way - to keep up, impose or bring into effect something, not necessarily by force.

reinforce - to strengthen, especially by addition or augmentation; to emphasize or review; to encourage a behavior or idea through repeated stimulus.

reinforcement - a process in which a behavior is strengthened; increasing the probability that a response will occur by either presenting a contingent positive event or removing a negative event.

a premise . . . continued . . .

The Second Meeting

Sitting in the calm and quiet, I recalled that first meeting. I arrived early, walked around the lobby, familiarizing myself with the layout of the space. I decided to settle in a big chair in a conversation nook opposite the front desk where I could see the elevator foyer and catch her as she came out. For our first meeting, when she arrived I'd gotten up, and walked in stride beside her, holding her hand and smiling down at her.

Now, all this time later, we would be meeting again, but this time it would not be some uncertain, clandestine tete-a-tete in a vacant foyer or abandoned conference room. I knew her much better now, knew well her secret fears, fantasies and desires.

This time I sat in another big overstuffed chair, in a more private, and secluded conversation nook that was away from the front desk and separated from the usual flow of traffic of the lobby by partitions, large potted palms and fichus trees. This time, that fleeting fantasy I had pushed off my lap and brushed aside would be the fulfillment of the fantasies of a thousand days.

And then, I saw her walk out of the elevators, looking around for a point of reference, and saw a faint smile on her face as she recognized the location of our planned meeting place. She strode purposefully toward the entrance to the conversation nook, around the fichus trees, past the partitions and there she was, standing proudly in the entry way to this small quiet space, off the corner of lobby, a private little alcove.

As she walked across the open space toward my chair, I marveled at the dress, the same dress she had worn so well the last time. Now in a different configuration, more casual, more revealing, and oh so much more provocative. Or, perhaps it was the familiarity that has grown over all this time. My face lit up hearing her stride across the open space in heels that clicked and clacked on the tile, tall and sexy and confident, and once again, mine.

She stepped up to me, took hold of my outstretched hands, and I held her, maintaining her balance as she placed one knee outside of my left thigh near the arm of the chair. Then she swung her other leg across my lap and slid that knee between the chair arm and my other thigh, and settled back.

She settled her weight on my knees, and smiled, and sighed, and said softly, "Hello, my sir." She then slid down my thighs, closer to me, her knees slipped deeper into the cushions, alongside my hips. I took hold of the hem of the dress and spread it out and around, over my lap, the back down over my knees, and the sides down to the cushions of the chair.

I looked up into her smiling eyes, as I placed my hands on her hips. I slid them up the outsides of her waist, and bunched up the material of the dress in my hands so it was taut across her stomach and back, and pulled her up toward me. As she rose up and got her weight onto her knees, she supported herself with her hands on my shoulders. I moved my hands to the small of her back, still holding the material of her dress and toyed with the waist band of her panties.

I could read the anticipation in her eyes as I stretched, and pulled and bothered at the waist band, not yet pulling it up, but teasing her with the possibility. Her grip on my shoulders tightened, she leaned forward, I tilted my head to the side, and I wrapped by arms around her back and pulled her down until her lips met mine.

I moved my right hand to the back of her head. I tangled my fingers in her hair and took a tight grip on a handful. I pulling her head back and out to the side toward my shoulder, and straightened my head up. I turned her face toward me, and locking my mouth on top of hers. My tongue danced over her lips, through in between them, back and forth across them, past her teeth, and against her tongue, both of our mouths full and wide open, consuming each other, and pushing hard, sucking her breath from her, giving it back, pumping her lungs.

We continued to hold this long awaited second kiss as she moved her legs even further down into the cushions and settled her bottom further down onto my lap. I could feel the heat of her thighs pressing against mine as we got closer and closer together. I helped her move as we continued the kiss, pulling her down and forward with my hands in the small of her back/hips.

When she was settled as deeply into the cushions and my lap as she could be, I moved my hands to the sides of her waist and slowly worked them up along her ribs and around her torso until my thumbs were pressing through her dress against her nipples. I applied steady pressure on them, folding them over and up as they stiffened more and more. I could track her arousal by the depth and length of the breaths she was taking through both her nostrils and the corners of her mouth.

Then suddenly she broke the kiss and looked down at my hands as they moved more fully onto her breasts and continued their assault on her now rock hard nipples. I saw a sly grin on her face as her hands reached down between us and began pulling aggressively at the button to my slacks, and then the zipper. As she fumbled to release me from the confines of my slacks, I reached up under her dress and found the leg band of her tiny little bikinis. I worked my hand inside the leg and slowly rubbed, and opened her with my fingers, savoring the joy of her warmth and wetness.

When she finally freed me from my slacks, and held me upright, I guided her toward me, and I moved my hips forward, steering her down onto me. She slowly slid down around me, and rotated her hips, side to side, and circling. I moved my hands to her hips to further control her, helping her balance as she gyrated and rode me.

She settled into a rhythmic gyration, taking me in deeper and deeper, I arched my back, leaning as deeply into the back of the chair as I could, looking up at her. I can see, and feel, her working up toward her climax. She became more deliberate, and steady, and as she peaked, and I took my right hand off of her hip. As her body stiffened and started to shake, I placed my right hand up under her chin, thumb on one side of her neck and fingers on the other, pushing up and back, and applied steady pressure.

She looked at me with questioning and worry in her eyes. I smile back at her, and mouthed the words, "It is okay, relax." I put my other hand on the back of her head. Then, even as her body was still shaking, and her hips moving, her eyes rolled shut and she collapsed forward into my grasp. I guided her torso down against my chest, and I placed her head on my shoulder, and she was completely still . . .

Happy Valentine's Day

Well, I don't really get it, except to say that love has no logic.

Even the identity matrix doesn't work normally

xkcd - A webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language.

e[lust] edition #5

Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers!

♦ This Week's Top Three Posts ♦

Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter - I saw a possible haven ahead: a pilot disappearing into the pilots' lounge.

The Condom Question. Confession #397 - Luckily, this time I had my wits about me enough to reply with a categorical, Yes a condom . . .

No more... - "I'm so sorry, I can't...". Words, words, so many words... reasons and reasoning and things and stuff and none of it made sense . . .

There You Are, Curled in a Ball

I have recently read a number of short stories by Monocle, from a collection of 100 erotic stories in an e-book, Nightmares and Visions: 100 Flashes of Dark Erotica. Most of his stories are written from the female perspective, I altered the gender from female to male, receiver to doer. From that recast wording I made the following recording.

Beware, this recording is NSFW and contains direct, harsh language, headphones would be good, close to your ears, as I whisper . . . I hope you enjoy it.

Happy New Year - 2010

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best wishes for a happy and joyful new year

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Companioning

A few months ago I was in a discussion with a friend about a troubling situation, mostly acting as a sounding board, and offered some small amount of perspective. As we were saying good-bye, she ended the conversation with, "thank you for companioning me on this little journey" and it struck a chord.

It is often said that D/s (separate from BDSM, if they can be separated), is as much or more mental than physical. When thinking about my friends remark, this mental aspect was once again brought to mind. While I was unfamiliar with the term companioning, I immediately got the contextual sense of it - companion - A person who accompanies or associates with another; a comrade. In other words, someone who goes along with another, yes?

Derived from the practice of grief counseling, this notion of companioning focuses the attention of the counselor away from being the person who fixes something, toward being a comrade who is accompanying someone on a journey. A journey of discovery, finding a way from their current state to a condition or place where they understand, and have some mastery over the circumstances of their lives. It is not about thinking for them, putting your wisdom into their head, so they are smarter. It is guiding them, being a companion on their journey of self discovery, or self recognition.

What does that have to do with dominance and submission? Dominants are supposed to be leaders, providing guidance, show the way, give direction, be in control, active, forceful, managing, employing physical and mental control; all true enough. But also, a dominant can and should be quiet, thoughtful, observant, and reflective; more representative of the dominant as a mentor or guide or leader of another kind, a companion. There are times when each approach can be appropriate.

In discussing the application of companioning, she said:

The trick is learning to be dominant enough to accept the position of authority that a therapist must have in a therapeutic relationship in order to help the patient feel safe. Of course, it's not a kind of authority that you take by force-- the patient is always "in charge" in a way, but sometimes firmness is required.

Interesting isn't it? lets substitute a few words:

The trick is learning to be dominant enough to accept the position of authority that a master-mentor must have in a master-mentor relationship in order to help the submissive feel safe. Of course, it's not a kind of authority that you take by force-- the submissive is always "in charge" in a way, but sometimes firmness is required.

I remember a woman wrote about her interactions with a dominant, "I didn't know what to make of his interest. I mistrusted it. No one had ever wanted to know so much about me. But he didn't ask about details that might reveal my identity, not the color of my hair or what I did for work. Instead, he demonstrated a focused interest in precisely defining my feelings. He listened well. He asked clarifying questions - "Did you feel dislike, or discomfort?" He occasionally offered insight, but more often simply encouraged my own answers to emerge. And in every conversation, I found myself discovering more about who I am."
Someone commented, "Quite an experience for you. I fully identified with the experience of being cared for in that way . . . It's that intense interest that is really the key, not the restraints and paddles. He really wants to understand your psychology and make his decisions from that point of view."

pixiepie once said, "Sometimes we just need to be heard… we just need to know that we are valued for our emotions - good and bad…easy and hard…we just need to hear ‘tell me what happened’ or ‘how did that make you feel’ or even just ‘I understand’.
I don’t want or need to hear… ‘what do you need me to do’ or ‘what can I do from here’ or even ‘it will all be brighter in the morning’."

Sometimes what is needed is a comrade, a companion, someone "going into the forest with a lost person and being with them, supporting them, being with them in their fear and confusion, but not showing them the way out, because that is something they have to do for themselves, it is their task of self discovery."

It is very much a ‘guy’ thing to want to fix problems; I know I have heard it so many times: ‘I don’t want solutions, I want you to listen!’ Submissiveness does not need to be fixed, things do not need to be made right.

Quite often what is needed is simply someone who understands, who is willing to come along for the ride, a companion.

Tenets of Companioning

Companioning is more about curiosity; it is less about our expertise.

• Those we support are the experts on their experience
• Being too attached to our expertise may estrange us from those we wish to serve
• “Teach me…”
• Earn the right to offer advice, guidance or direction

Companioning is about walking alongside; Less about leading or being led.

• Key is to “invite” others to take a step toward what might be important
• No judgment
• No expectation
• No pushing or pulling to some prescribed outcome for the convenience of others

Companioning is about being still; Not always about urgent movement forward.

• Finding a place of stillness inside ourselves
• Stillness means heightened awareness, not dormancy
• Holding the moment in anticipation that something important is developing
• Far more important to be in relationship than to make something happen

Companioning is discovering the gifts of sacred silence; not filling up every moment with talk.

• Show up without urgency or expectation
• Practice silence in dialogue. Delay your responses on purpose.
• Chatter may disrupt one from formulating important thoughts
• Pay attention and be curious about your own personal discomfort with silence.
• Watch others for signs of wanted response.

Companioning is about being present to another’s emotional and spiritual pain; not taking away or fixing it.

• Challenge old definitions of “helping”
• Emotional and spiritual pain must be allowed to flourish before it can subside
• We stop people from grieving at our discomfort level
• Spiritual and emotional pain is a necessary part of healing…albeit, in its most distressing guise

Companioning is about respecting disorder and confusion; not imposing order and logic.

• Is life so orderly?
• Companions can provide a point of grounding for others to tether themselves to
• Know where to turn for help
• Understand that some coping and healing has a chaotic look to it
• Reality check with your support; restore your own energy

Companioning is about going into the wilderness of the soul with another; it is not about thinking you are responsible for finding a way out.

• Willingness to walk into regions of mystery with no answers or even clear direction
• Willingness to sift through ashes for meaning while possibly not offering your own opinion
• Willingness to accept whatever state of reconciliation another is able to find with their loss

Source material for this list from Tenets of Companioning

If you are interesting in knowing more about this idea, Google "companioning" or "tenets of companioning".

deux ans - dos años - twee jaar - due anni - two years

(731 days -175,000 hours - over 1 million minutes)

I said this last year and it is twice as true now - I have gotten to know many new and interesting people. Too many have come and gone, but are not forgotten. Some have retired, others have found other direction in their lives. They will be missed, but I am better for having known them, and shared a small slice of life. However, so many more are still here and I look forward each day to hearing what they, what you, have to say, it nurtures and sustains me, thank you all, so very very much.

A catalogue of visitors from quite literally all around the globe, and last year I was amazed by a counter of over 20,000 visits, and that number is now over 55,000 and it boggles my mind.

I have received wonderful and supportive feedback from so many people. I have written less this year than I did the first, considerably more fictionalized encounters, story lines continued beyond First Meeting, to the One Day Visit story line and the whole Consensual Stalker BS series. I had never tried that style of writing before, and frankly I continue to be humbled by the acceptance and response. I have particularly liked these stories because they have given me an opportunity to illustrate through words, rather than discussions of D/s concepts, how I view the connection between a Dominant and his submissive partner. I am also particularly pleased to have written other pieces including A New Master, Prolongation, What's In It For Me and Labels and Dogma.

I was speaking with a friend as I was writing this and she summed it up quite well, "And, what a lot of fun in those two years!"

Thank you all, thank you very much.

Labels and Dogma

"Like people who say that you aren't really owned if you can leave. Well if you were to leave, no, you are not really owned anymore. It doesn't mean you never were."
Are your labels preventing you from seeing what you have? ~ A Dominant Character

Ownership is not a dogmatic principle, it has to be pervasive, it is all in the relationship. When she submits to you, totally and completely, then she is owned, she is owned because she gives herself to you. Her ownership is about her frame of mind, not yours, although you are the vessel into which she chooses to place her well-being, that which she gives away. There is no need for contracts or collars or all of the accouterments; there is just her, giving herself up to you, and you accepting that stewardship.

The outside view of these kinds of relationships almost seem upside-down, or inside-out, words nearly fail in their ability to convey the essence. Ownership is not something you take, it is something given, which the dominant accepts and holds. And just as ownership is a manifestation of what she gives, her submission is a manifestation of what you give to her.

Building Supplies, part 3

The Consensual Stalker

part 2 ~ part 1

She felt his hand on the inside of her thigh, and it startled her so much that her muscles tightened, and her leg jerked out straight. "Relax, it is okay." She felt his hand move up to the back of her knee, and he lifted her leg up and toward the car door so that her foot was flat on the floor, heel against the front of the seat and her leg was against the door arm rest. She got chills as his hand moved along the underside of her thigh until the side of his hand bumped up against her panties, and his fingers were struggling between the seat and her thigh. Then she felt his fingertip push up into the hamstring muscle, and felt him slowly run his hand back up toward her knee, applying a lifting pressure that dug into the hollow of the muscle. He repeated that movement again so that his fingertips worked into the muscle and the palm of his hand pressed along the abductor. She mused to herself, "what a strange and appropriately inappropriate name for a muscle in such an intimate part of the body," as his hand moved back toward her knee again, fingers digging into her hamstring even deeper.

As his hand got to her knee, she felt it move away and then the back of his hand was pressing the inside of her other knee outward until her leg bumped up against the shifter. She felt a rush of embarrassment at the knowledge of how widely her knees were now spread, recalling how short her dress was, and how likely, or at least possible, it was that he was looking straight up her dress at her panties. She could feel his hand rubbing her knee, and then felt his hand and arm lying across her leg, and again heard the rustling of the packages on the passenger seat. Then there was quiet, although she could hear his deep heavy breathing, indicating his had was likely quite close in front of him. She found herself anticipating the likelihood of another kiss? Wishing? Hopefully? Hmmm.

But still it was quiet, and she could not imagine what he was doing, so close right in front of him, but not touching her, but for his arm brushing across her leg. And then she felt his hand pushing the hem of her dress up the outside of her right leg, tucking the loose material under her leg so that the hem was stretched taut across her lap. And then she felt the same movement on the outside of her left leg. Then, nothing but complete quiet, just the sound of his breathing, no touch. As far up as he pushed her dress, and the way he had spread her knees, she was certain that he had a very clear view of her panties now, and she worried how wet they must appear. She could feel the coolness and was sure that the light colored baby blue material was now several shades darker with her dampness.
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Then, disrupting the quiet, there was a whooshing sound, something moving through the air, and then silence again. Then the sound again, closer, then silence again. She felt something cool and rough moving across the top of her thigh, rubbing in a circular motion. Then there was a smacking sound as something slapped down onto her skin, just above her knee. That was followed by another, and a pause, and then another, a little harder, and she began to feel a slight sting in the spot where it had landed three times, or was it four? Then there was another, and she realized what she had heard, and was now feeling, was the flat smooth surface of one of the wooden paint stir sticks. As he began a steady rhythm of slaps with the flat surface of the stirrer, he moved the point of contact inch by inch further along the top of her thigh until it was nearly all the way up her thigh. There was a pause, and then he moved the point of contact down the outside of her thigh, and he started to slap her even harder, each slap bringing a sting of its own. She couldn't help herself, she started to protest, and he stopped. And it was silent again.

She couldn't help but feel a little whimper in her breathing, which had quickened as well. She felt something pushing at her lips, and he said, "Open your mouth." She opened it a bit, and he said, "More." And she felt some kind of bulky cloth pushed into her mouth. "Bite down on this." As she did, she felt his fingers pulling back from the material and she bit down harder onto the cloth in her mouth. It has the warm, earthy taste and aroma of something like a wool scarf, and she realized it was the scarf she tossed on the seat along with a light jacket, just in case it was to get cooler in the evening. As she clenched her teeth on the scarf she saw his hand come up over her face, and she cringed, what large hands he had, she had never seen them before now. He reached up and pulled the blindfold back down over her eyes, and positioned it in place. Then it was quiet again, and she felt him rubbing the stir stick in that same circular motion against the inside of her upper thigh. An involuntary groan, accompanied by a "No." sound, choked up in her throat.
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And then the slapping of the wooden stick against her inner thighs resumed. It was a steady and methodical pace, harder and harder each time as the target moved from the inside of her thigh down near her knee, upward to the more tender upper inner thigh and then over onto the top. As the intensity of the strokes increased, her breathing became shorter and shorter, until he would stop, and then there would just be the sound of her gasping at the air, accompanied by nothing but silence. Then he worked his way back down to the knee. Then he moved to the other leg and repeated the cycle; knee, up the inside of her thigh, as far as there was room to swat, then up onto the top of her thigh at the hem of her dress and then down the thigh again. Then back to the other leg. The pain was not overwhelming but was a constant stinging, and after each cycle he would stop and rub his hand back and forth up her inner thigh, bumping up against her at the far reaches of his stroking. Each time his fingers would bump up against her damp panties, he would mutter an appreciative, "Mm-hmmm," and then pause before starting again. She was alternating between the soothing feel of his hand, and then the sharp sting of the flat slaps of the paint stick, and then a few moments of nothing but a dull ache, before he repeated the treatment.

Just as she was expecting him to start again, she felt his hand on her forehead, and realized he was removing the elastic band. He pulled it up and over the top of her head, untangled it from her hair. He put his hand at the back of her neck and lifted her head into an upright position. Her neck and shoulders were tense from that cramped position, how did he know to rub her shoulder, and the base of her neck?

As she begins to settle down, her breathing becoming more steady and calm, she feels his hand curve around the back of her neck, pulling her head forward, until her lips meet his again. But this kiss is calm, soft, warm and deep, not hurried or urgent, tender but strong, almost like a thank you. And as she settled into and savored the kiss, she felt something cold and hard against the inside of her thigh. Still the kiss continued, distracting her from the presence against her thigh, but not completely.
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She felt his hand, and something cold and hard in it, move further up between her thighs, and then there was something rubbing against the damp material of her panties, the dampness making resistance to the smooth movement of the object up and down. Then his fingers were slipping under the elastic of the leg band, pulling the material out, away, and over to one side. She gasped, now sure that what she had imagined impossible moments earlier was, in fact, true. She felt the hard plastic tip pressing against her, pushing the material of her panties to one side, while simultaneously slipping into her ever so slightly. She moaned and growled louder, sounds of both rejection and pleasure, confused by the feeling, but overwhelmed by the sensation.

As it slipped ever so slightly deeper, she heard him say, "We are going to exercise some muscles, show me some resistance." And his hand pressed it forward, inch by slow inch, rotating and twisting it slightly. "Are your muscles are strong enough to prevent this? Clench and push." Still she felt the pressure and inward movement.

"I am not sure I want to keep you out." she whispered.

"Not me, this thing, this invasive foreign object. It is difficult, even without your resistance." She felt herself shudder and start to shake, her legs stiffen, deep in her throat she growled again.

"Push against me!" And he was pushing in, twisting and twirling, and she could feel the lumpy ridges, she could not exert enough force to overcome his insistence.

"Stop please." And then she was having spasms again, and shaking, she was seeing red. She felt muscle contractions, and this time they did indeed succeed, she gasps, "Please, stop . . . rest." He relaxed the pressure, and let her breathing settle. She felt his hand on the side of her face, caressing her cheek, his thumb wiping the moisture from the corner of her eye.

"Breathe slow, deep and steady breaths, relax," and he continued to rub the side of her face. Slowly she regained her balance, letting out slow, long, deep exhalations.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she nodded her head, and smiled. She was calm again, her breathing settled. She so much wanted to look into this man's eyes, but she just let her head fall back against the head rest, and sighed.

As she settled back, she felt his gentle but firm push again, and she felt slight contractions, anticipating a renewed assault on her senses. Then he pushed her knees together and she felt something being wrapped around her thighs just above knees, holding her legs tightly together. And he pushed gently, deeper again, and her closed thighs held it in place. Again she felt shaky, she felt at the edge of more spasms, but then he relaxed the pressure, and removed his hand.

She felt something cold, hard and metallic against the back of her wrist. "Be still," he said. Then the sound of snip . . . and, snip, at the other wrist. "Be still, don't move your hands yet," he repeated. She sat there in the quiet, flexing her fingers, stretching them out, twisting her wrists, getting circulation back into her hands.

"Now? Can I move now?” she asked, but there was no answer, just quiet. Tentatively she pulled back her hands, nothing. Then she moved her hands to her face, and pushed the blindfold up onto her forehead, eyes squinting from the shock of long being deprived of light. She finally blinked, and slowly opened them, looked to her left, no one there.

She heard a noise behind her, looked up and saw movement in her rear view mirror, it was the large black sedan backing away from behind her car. Over on the passenger’s seat, she hears her text message chiming once again. She picking it up and read the message, "Go home. Take a long hot shower. Lie down for a nap. I will call you later."

trois et fait

And then, sometime later

Building Supplies, part 2 of 3

The Consensual Stalker

part 1

She sat there, quiet and still, breathing heavily with anticipation, head down and gripping the steering wheel, suddenly there was movement out of the corner of her eye. He was reaching in through the window and she felt something being pulled down over her head, and positioned. She realizing it was a sleeping mask style of blindfold. As he settled it into place, the darkness calmed her, and she was surprised how happy she felt to be back under this mans influence again. She instinctively trusted him. There was the sound of rustling packages, and she felt something wrapping around her right wrist, an odd feeling, until she heard the plastic zipping sound, realizing it was a zip tie, binding her wrist/hand to the steering wheel. A sense of vulnerability came over her as she realized she was being restrained in her car, in the parking lot of a building supply store by a stranger, in the middle of the afternoon. And as that thought was sinking in, a zip tie was wrapped around and clinched down onto her left hand as well. Not too tight, but close around her wrist and the steering wheel. She pulled her arms back to see if her hands could slip through, and they wouldn't.

"Yes," he said, "Test the bindings; assure yourself you are trapped here." She pulled and twisted her hands and wrists again, it was certain that she could not disengage her hands from the steering wheel. As she relaxed again, she felt his hand touching her cheek, gently holding her jaw and lifting her head up, and turning it toward him. She was now facing him but could see nothing through the blindfold. As he held her face in his hand, she felt his thumb lightly tracing her cheek, soothing her slightly, and calming her down. And then, unexpectedly, she felt his lips pressing against her. Even before she realized what she was doing, she tilted her head to mesh her lips to his. She was returning his kiss almost instinctively, not really intending to do so, more a reactive gesture, but some how it felt right to her. She was surprised how warm, and soft and comforting his kiss felt.
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He moved his hand away from her, so he was no longer holding her to him, forcing his kiss on her, but she leaned forward, continuing the kiss, opening her mouth slightly to encourage and entice him in, closer, deeper, wanting him to kiss her more fully. He remained neither closer nor further away, his lips were still pressed lightly against her. Boldly she found herself gripping his lower lip with her teeth and pulling, hoping to draw him nearer, but he remained steady, still not moving closer, but not drawing back either. She bit down harder on his lip and pulled back even more; suddenly she felt a startling slap on her cheek, it jarred her head and she felt shock and puzzlement.

"No!" he said, in a stern and deep tone. He had pulled back away from her; she could no longer feel his breath on her lips or chin. There was a long and deepening silence, and she could not sense any movement. Finally, in a soft, slow, almost sad tone, he said, "I thought you would enjoy soft, sweet kisses, but evidently I was mistaken." She was scared, sorrowful, sad, and unsure what to do. She worried that he might just walk away.

In a very small voice, she said, "Please?"

From a distance, he asked, "What?"

Softly, she responded, "Please . . . please." But there was no response. "Oh, please." She turned her head and leaned forward, as if she could look out the window, as if to find him.

Finally she heard, from startlingly close, "Good girl, thank you baby."

She felt him take her head in both of his hands, "Good girl," and gently, his lips returned to hers. His fingers tangled into the hair on both sides of her head and pulled her to him, deepening the kiss, relaxing his lips, opening them slightly, invitingly. Calming herself, filled with relief, she relaxed and settled into returning the kiss, opening her lips to him, matching his motions, allowing his tongue to slip slowly into her mouth. She sighed.
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She was amazed how long the kiss lasted, and then another, and another. He had never been this slow and passionate with her. Still with his hands tangled in her hair, gripping her curls tightly, she moved to reposition her mouth, wanting to feel the fullness of his lips, his nose against her right cheek. Then she shifted so it was against her left cheek, all the while, her tongue moved in and out between his lips, touching his tongue when they met, dancing hers around his. A couple times she started to use her teeth on his lips, but felt him start to pull away, just slightly, and she recalled the recent slap, and she reconsidered, satisfying herself with the tenderness of the kisses.

Faintly she heard a rustling noise to her right and realized his hand had left the side of her head. It sounded like he was rummaging through a shopping bag on the passenger seat, her bag? Or his? Not until this moment did she wonder where the blindfold and zip ties had come from. He must have had a bag also. Just then she felt him release his grip on her hair and pull back, ending the kiss. She sensed the rustling of movement around her, and then felt something on her forehead. She felt pressure pushing her head back and down, she was nearly facing straight up toward the roof of the car.

She felt a pulling back, pressuring her head back against the head rest and felt movement, pulling her head slightly this way or that, and felt hands and wrists and arms movement around her neck and shoulders. She could not figure out what on earth he was doing. Finally, everything was calm, but still she could not move her head up off of the headrest, she could barely move it from side to side, just the slightest bit. "Are you uncomfortable?" he asked? She answered. "I am okay."

There was a band across her forehead and she decided it was one of the wide, large elastic bands she had bought. It was pressed across her forehead and back, so her head was pushed against the headrest. She decided that the fumbling around the sides of her head, behind her neck, was him attaching it to the headrest somehow, so that she was fastened, leaning back, facing up, and unable to lift her head up or forward. It was not so tight as to be uncomfortable, but it held her immovable. Again, there was stillness, lack of motion but she could hear him breathing very nearby, a strange quiet, calm. But she realized again, just exactly where she was, and the "circumstances" she was in.

Then she felt his fingers brushing her face, she realized he was pushing the blindfold up onto her forehead. She was startled by how bright the sunlight was, but the way her head was restrained, all she could see was the headliner. She tried looking down her nose, to lean her head down, but could just slightly see the glass of the windshield. Try as she might, she could not see his face, although she caught glimpses of the top of his head, but no more. As she attempted to look at him she saw his movement as he reached over into the bags on the passenger seat, and heard the rustling, and wondered what he was getting out of the bag. Out of his bag? Out of her bag?

She suddenly felt his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh . . .

Building Supplies

The Consensual Stalker

She'd been chatting with her mysterious friend on Yahoo for about an hour when she decided that she really had tasks to get done before the end of the day. She excused herself, reluctantly, but full of purpose for the afternoon’s chores and the sense of accomplishment they would bring. Principal among them was completing the tiling around the edges of the "new" bathtub that had sat unfinished for far too long. As she was logging off, he had said, seemingly casually, "Good bye for now, I will be seeing you later sweetheart."

She stripped off her jeans, and socks, and then her t-shirt too; wanting to be sure she did not get any caulking or putty or other goop in her clothes. As she walked into the bathroom she saw herself in the mirror and realized she was wearing the pair of baby blue it-se-bit-se bikini panties the mysterious man had bought and sent to her. She had avoided wearing them, even avoiding the suggestion of it, until today. At his request/insistence, she had acquiesced and put them on when she dressed this morning, knowing she would be chatting with him; part of her ongoing "training" he called it, these chat sessions.

She gathered all of her tools and tubes and tiles, and quickly did a mental inventory of what she was going to need. She realized she didn't have everything she needed and was going to have to go to the building supply store and get some more bathtub sealant. It would just be a quick utilitarian trip, so she grabbed the lightweight blue sleeveless dress that was lying on the bed, just to have something on. She pulled it over her head, smoothed it down and slipped on a pair of light-weight black sandals. She grabbed her purse and cell phone, and headed out to her car.
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After having talked with her mystery man she was feeling elated and a bit aroused. When she stopped at a light, she would trace her fingers up the inside of her thighs just slightly, thinking about the way he talked to her, encouraged her. As she drove on, the hem of her dress moved higher and higher, the loose material giving way to her pushing and moving. It was a cool fall day and she was surprised how warm she was feeling, with the windows down, even in such light clothing. In fact she was feeling a little flush and realized just how aroused she was becoming. At the light just before the turn in to the hardware center, she pressed her fingers up against her panties and was very surprised how damp she had made herself. She hoped that it would not be noticeable on the back of her dress once she got out of the car to walk into the store.

She turned into the parking lot and found herself a parking place; she was surprised that they were so busy, in the middle of the afternoon, on a week day. She had to park further away than she liked but given the lovely weather, the thought passed quickly and she strode off. Going into the store, she turned down the aisle with the plumbing supplies and began scanning the racks and shelves, looking for the bathtub sealant. She was feeling lighthearted and purposeful, and noticed herself humming an upbeat breezy tune as she moved along examining all of the different kinds of tubes of goop that she might use. After she selected the sealant, she went to the paint section, remembering she needed a couple of stir sticks for the paint she would be using after she had all the tile work done. She picked out a couple of the old fashioned flat wooden stirrers and grabbed a couple of the newfangled industrial style red plastic stir sticks also. Then, at the check-out counter she found some large, wide elastic rubber bands she had been looking for. She loved going to the building supply store, it always had so many cool utility items. She grabbed her bag of goodies and headed back out of the store, happy she would be able to move forward on her projects.
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As she was walking across the parking lot toward her car, her cell phone chirped that "incoming text message" tone. She decided that rather than fumbling around in her packages and purse she would just wait until she got back to her car to check it. It was a beautiful bright sunny day and the heat on her back felt wonderful. She saw a young man walking toward her, and noticed he was looking right at her with a big grin. As she got closer she realized he was looking down at her dress, and then realized that she must be silhouetted through her sheer dress by the bright sun behind her. She imagined that he was focusing on the shape of her thighs shadowed through the light material. She was embarrassed by how obviously he was staring down at her but she was smiling also, at be appreciated, she loved being looked at, as he walked by she heard him make a sound, "mm-mmm". It was a strange mixture of feelings for her; it was not something she had thought about before but her "stalker" had mentioned, and emphasized her mixed feelings of embarrassment and excitement, and she was becoming more and more aware of the conflict in her mind.

Suddenly she snapped back from her reverie, sure she had walked past her car. But she realized she still had a ways to go, she did not think she had parked so far out in the parking lot. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that the young man was still watching her walk away from him, and her embarrassment grew, she felt herself blushing. As she stood there looking at him, her phone chirped again. Aggravated by the seeming urgency of the messages, she turned and headed on toward her car. As she approached her car she noticed that there were fewer cars around than when she had arrived. She went around to the drivers side, opened the door, tossed her purchases onto the passengers seat, and dug into her purse for her phone, just as it chirped for a third time, she did not often get so many text messages in such a short period.

She unlocked the keypad and pressed the Messages button, and saw three new messages, all from Stalker, the capricious nick she had assigned to his number in her Contacts. She opened the first message, "Such a lovely blue shift dress, you look very sexy." How did he know what she was wearing? She instinctively looked around, obviously a fruitless thing to do, and saw no one, but realized she still did not know exactly what he looked like, never having even yet seen his face, just that he was a tall, of average build. She returned her gaze back to the phones message center and opened the second message, "The boy really is enjoying looking at you, what do you suppose he is thinking?" Again she looked around, now sure that he was nearby somewhere. She looked at the surrounding building, and looked into the other cars parked around her, but saw no one. She continued to look around, double checking to see if she could see him . . . nothing.

She opened the third and final message, "Perhaps you should walk back and introduce yourself to him?" Okay, obviously he was here somewhere, but certainly not within her sight. Equally obvious, the chance to even think about or explore that "suggestion" was past. She just sat there in her car, unsure what to do now. Stalker was clearly nearby. She had a feeling like things were swirling around her, dizzying, turning her head first this way, and then that, looking. Should she just drive off? Get out of the car and look for him in earnest? Just sit here and wait? She was feeling very conflicted and anxious; in fact she was feeling a bit scared, uncertain, not sure why exactly.
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Just then . . .

. . . she saw movement in her rear view mirror, it was a large black sedan pulling up behind her car. Her text message chimed once again, and she read the message, "Put your hands on the steering wheel, and look down, and be still".

Continued . . .