I Can’t Promise You The World Part 2

I really don’t handle losing bets well. I had to pay up though. I got a curious look from my bank teller when I said I needed to make a withdrawal of $10. Most likely because I waited in line for 10 minutes to do this when the ATM was right next to me and empty the entire time. “In quarters.”

Oh yes. I took $10 in quarters and hid it around my house. By ‘hid’ I mean I left a trail for him to follow so he always knew where I wanted him to be. Start at the door and work counter clockwise. I handed him the duster. I was going to have him change into his rainbow stockings just for fun but Breaking Bad was on. On because he was kind enough to bring it over for me to watch while he did this. If he was wearing rainbow stockings he would have had my attention 100% and we couldn’t have that. I’d say he found about $8.75 in quarters before we were finished. The majority of the time was spent cleaning some rod that hangs above me that was coated in I don’t even know what and carrying boxes and mirrors and old benches and stools and pictures to the dumpster. It was hot out, he’d been tired, the place looked a lot better, so we called it quits there.

One thing that I’ve found he really enjoys is being pet. In the very innocent sort of way, where I can trace my fingernails down the back of his neck and rub his hair and sometimes he looks like he might drop off into sleep (which promptly ruled doing so in the car out entirely) or start kicking a leg. It’s my way of showing affection as well, so it works out best for us both. I climbed onto the couch next to him and pet him for a while. Then I leaned in to kiss him and he reciprocated well, like he always does. His energy was completely different tonight. A tired puppy indeed. Slow, calm, and relaxed. Not usually the energy I get from him.

I tried to keep things light and innocent for a while but I never can keep my hands off my favorite toy, and since my favorite toy happens to go home when he does, I only have so much time to play with it anytime he’s over. Besides, I bought a paint brush and a sponge to try CBT with. I know, I know, CBT veterans around the world have gone to war with their cocks and have lived to tell the tale: weights, needles, chemicals. A paint brush and a sponge? Let’s just say that most of the time touching him is unintentional CBT and so I wanted to ramp things up a little. It was delicious, in case you were wondering.

The point of the night wasn’t to torture his cock though, it was to show the kind of service that I like and to receive service in a way that I don’t normally. If I were smart, I’d just have pets come over and do things for me for a while and if they manage to do well in that area, move into playing with them. But this one in particular was sought out (oh alright, he sought me) specifically to have someone to try new toys and techniques on. I like to think that someday he will be the best submissive ever to some Mistress and I like to think I’ll have a helping hand in that. Gotta train them when they’re young/impressionable.

Things wound down with him making me a copy of the show, some music, and trying hard not to let me read his resume which had somehow ended up on his flash drive, because I’m horribly embarrassing and always tell him how awesome he is and how adorable I think he is and seeing all of his credentials just makes me grin all the more. He is a good boy. Despite the Nada, Bored comment (and subsequent post) he really is a very good pup. And boy. And he will be a wonderful man too, I’m sure of it.

On top of my cleaned living room, the learning how to better interact with my dog so he doesn’t spaz out quite so bad for quite so long, and the foot rub that I got while relaxing on the floor listening to music last night, there was one comment that stood out in my mind that he’d made just recently.

A few days ago, I was trying to urge someone to join APEX, get involved in our local community, go to some kind of munch so I could just happen to be chillaxing there with a plate of pancakes (and my puppy!) to make a more formal introduction. Because I can’t drive myself on the weekends, I rely on Joey for any transportation that I could possibly want. He’s very good about making the drive, or making stops when he’s already visiting to ensure that I get what I need. This time though, it would have been a special, out of the way trip. So I asked him ‘Could you do me a favor?’ and he replied ‘It depends on what it is’ and of course, I had to tease him. (Right, it might be too soon to be teasing him about bad remarks, but that’s me.) ‘I think your response is supposed to be ‘Whatever you want!” and his response to that was ‘I can’t promise you the world’.

Ah, yes. I know how that might look. I even know how it might sound coming out of the mouths of most people. However, when he said it, I grinned. I wished I could hug him, but sadly, they haven’t created a way to hug via text effectively. Strange response? I find that one of the faults of many, many people, submissives and vanillas alike, coming from a lot of the men I’ve personally meet, is that they will promise the world and then can’t deliver. For this reason, the words ‘I promise’ mean absolutely nothing to me. Actually, ‘I promise’ actually means ‘I will disappoint you’ in my world, so I just ignore them if they say such foolish things. While young, he is definitely not stupid, and I honestly couldn’t be prouder of the response he gave.

Because of it, I’ll forgive him the ‘Nada, Bored’ response and drop it. I will not let him forget the monstrosity of a walk we endured on our first date because he wouldn’t park where I told him to though. That one’s going to be around for as long as he is.

I Can’t Promise You The World

This past week at work was a mess. One of my bosses decided to schedule me for a shift that I couldn’t possibly work without some outside help. Since the car accident, kitty’s been left without a car, so he uses mine to get to work. He works late; I work early. This works out! Thursday and Friday of last week, I had to work late. This didn’t work out! I had to arrange to get someone to drive 80 miles in one day to pick me up, take me to work, drop me off home, and then go back to where they lived, right next to work. I was not pleased. I don’t know why this person even agreed to help me out! But she did, and it was sweet of her. I bought her dinner and gave her gas money. She had to repeat the morning trip on Friday but Friday night I had covered.

Joey probably had no idea what he was getting himself into when I messaged him and asked if he’d be willing to pick me up from work, instead of meeting me at my house like usual. I explained that I worked a little ways out, but if he would do this for me, it would increase his rank in the Teh Bestest Pet Ever competition he didn’t previously know he was competing in. At first I think he was tentative. I guessed this because he asked me just how far out I worked. “Just follow the freeway you usually take to get to my house to the end.” To the end of what, I could hear him asking? “To the end of the freeway.” Joey is very, very expressive. Not always through words though. Usually just his deep, brown eyes. Via text, it comes out like this: O.O

“Best pet ever?” was what he asked in return and I knew he was hooked. It might have also had something to do with the fact that I mentioned pets that could offer service as well as their backside always got me revved up, and I wasn’t entirely lying about that either. Oh, and if he picked me up, we’d have to go get this flogger I was looking at. C’mon now, it was pay day.

Friday night, he came to hang out with me at work for a while. He drove me to the store to buy the new flogger that we’d played with together the time before last when we went to buy new lube for him. This is a beautiful flogger that I almost missed in the dark of the dungeon. I’d found a whip, one without a handle, that was designed to look like barbed wire. This pushed all the right buttons for me because when I was a little younger, I used to have fantasies of tying up boys in rough rope and barbed wire, but I just couldn’t find a good way to get barbed wire into the place without breaking SSC. Now that they’d made a leather alternate, I was hooked. I lashed him with this and the way he jumped and swore had me sold. Oh, but there was no handle. However was I going to work this? Just then, peering down into the darkness, on the next shelf, which was home to floggers, I found it: a suede flogger with falls of leather barbed wire in them. I snatched that baby up and Joey barely had time to turn around to offer his back to me before it fell upon him. The same reaction! Glorious!

Well now that it was pay day, I had to have it. And have it I would!

After that, we made our way back to my house. I knew I wanted to use that on him. I also knew that I couldn’t use just that on him or we wouldn’t each have a wonderful time. Tonight we’d do a proper warm-up.

Usually when he comes over, I give him time to get in the door. I don’t kiss him right off, because it’s too much like a relationship he’s said (although I’m beginning to think he can see how this all fits together) so instead I just let him join me in the living room and we talk for a bit. The dog (the real dog) is always super excited to see him and I think it’s best that he gets some attention first, if we want him to leave us alone at all while we’re playing.

Then comes the magic moment, when the dog winds down a bit, and Joey looks at me, waiting to see what I want to do. “Strip!”. It’s said with some enthusiasm, usually. Sometimes deadpan, but with a smile. It’s so entertaining to me because he is still so shy. He watches me when he can, but otherwise looks around to everything else in the living room while he casually pulls off his shirt and lowers his pants. It’s always the hesitation at the waistband of his underwear that makes me smile. I reassure him that I’ve seen him naked before and he laughs nervously. It doesn’t make it any easier this time around.

Tonight was different though. For one, he was standing on the other side of the room. I’d ignored him up until then, trying to get some music started so the neighbors didn’t hear the sounds of floggers. When he looked at me, I went straight for him. A kiss. There was no collar around his neck yet — it wasn’t part of the scene — but it appeared to be okay. I kissed him and helped him undress. It was as smooth as I can be, which really means it wasn’t smooth at all. I’m used to him taking his socks and shoes off when he gets in the door, tucking them under the coffee table where his furry bff can’t thieve his socks away for a vacation while we’re playing. I got all of his clothes off his body, had my fingers curling around his hard cock, and then realized my mistake. Oh well. He wasn’t shy undressing that time, and that was all that mattered.

In a matter of seconds he’d finished the job that I’d started and climbed onto the couch, kneeling away from me. I started with the old flogger, Old Trusty. I can swing and fling and flap and hit and thwap with that all night long. I can really get into it too. Usually I’m pretty good with it but he’d tell you there’s been one or two strikes to the side, completely unintentional. I wasn’t quite lined up right when I let go — premature flogging, due to excitement. Each time that I bring it out, I try to hit him harder and harder. He admitted once that part of him really wants me to hit him as hard as I can and the sane part of him is glad that I don’t. We’ll get there. I know this because I can see how far we’ve gone in such a short amount of time.

Caning is another favorite and while I usually tend to keep like toys together, which would have meant the new flogger would have come second, I didn’t think he was ready to go from thuddy to super stingy. I have a very thick cane that’s very thuddy and bamboo canes that are very stingy. I’m positive that they both got used. I’m positive that he did not get such a warm up for the bamboo canes. I can attest to this because there was more time spent sitting upright, breathing, then hunched over with his ass pushed out ready to accept another strike. So little effort; so much pain. I love these canes.

After that came the paddle. My paddle is beautiful. Thick, wooden, covered in sandpaper. It was frightening enough that pup, the construction worker, felt the need to point out the quality of the sandpaper and assure me that that was the real deal, this wasn’t fine grain to help save skin. Thanks pup! To anyone less experienced with sandpaper, it just hurts. I made sure that it hurt Friday night too.

Once I was done with the paddle, there was a crop. The crop is lovely because it makes the best smacking sounds ever when it connects with an ass. Especially a lovely ass that’s made to accommodate the size of the heart at the end. He’d jump when I hit him hard. He’d jump when he thought I was going to hit him hard. Friday night was all about pushing him and making him hurt. He’d mentioned that he thought I might make him bleed that night. I told him I hoped I would.

One major difference in the way we played Friday night was that I paid some special attention to his nipples, primarily by thwacking them with the bamboo cane and ensuring that they were rubbed by sandpaper. I remember him specifically pointing out later on that his nipples hurt while the rest of his body was mostly just a dull ache.

Finally we got to it: the new flogger. I tried to go light, I really did. It’s much heavier than Old Trusty though. I wasn’t quite used to the feel of it. I tried to swing it around behind him before I made contact but I was aroused. The first fall hurt him more than I was expecting but he put on his brave face for me. We have this agreement going that the less he says ‘fuck’ in normal circumstances, the happier I am. When I’m beating him, he can say ‘fuck’ all he wants and I don’t care. I think it’s hot, actually. Well, when this flogger came out to play, that was all I heard. Thwack, fuck, thwack, fuck. Amazing.

Afraid that he might not be able to handle it, I crawled up on the couch behind him, I pressed the handle of the flogger against his collared neck and pulled him back against my body. I told him ‘This is your one chance to get out of this if you want. You can ask me to stop right now, and I’ll put the flogger away.’ He swallowed, breathed for a second, and asked, ‘What do you want?’. I was thrilled. I was so turned on. ‘I want you to take more for me.’ So he nodded, I let him go, and I hit him more. To ensure that we didn’t go too far though, I made him answer in numbers. One a scale from one to five, one being my light strikes with Old Trusty and 5 being oh god, stop please, he was to let me know where he was at all times. I got a three, a four, and a lot of fucks. Never a five. We didn’t go for much longer though — I was too turned on.

I put the toys to rest. I had him climb down off the couch and kneel in front of me. I pet him for a moment, but then I remembered that my favorite toy was out to play. Reaching down, I began to stroke his cock. He knelt nicely, letting me play. He let me know when he was getting close. He’s never allowed to orgasm without permission. One of my favorite things about him is how sensitive the head of his cock is. Just touching it is an amazing experience for me. So I dragged my fingers over it, masturbating just that part of him, and watched with delight when he actually pulled his entire self away from me to get a moment’s reprise. When he was getting too close, we stopped.

Here’s where things go a little soft, a little vanilla. Picture some kissing, some rubbing, and a boy wearing a collar for me working to get me off in a new and exciting way for him that would probably elicit some yawns from the rest of us. Not that it mattered to me — I orgasmed.

After that, I pushed him back, had him sit at the corner of the couch, and told him to jerk off. In a matter of minutes he was riding the edge, fighting between doing what I told him to now (masturbate) and doing what I told him to always (don’t come until I tell him to). This is always an exciting game for me. He asked. He begged. I gave in way too easily, but he’d done me proud with all the pain he took. He came and I told him I loved the smell of it — like fresh rain.

After that, I took the boy out to eat so he wouldn’t starve to death. Waffles at midnight are a godsend. He made a bet, as we were both yawning, the he couldn’t stay up until 4am. What? Why would either of us agree to that? Because he shook my hand for so long that we were holding hands over the table in the middle of IHOP while not in a “relationship”, that’s why. I knew as soon as he got home and had constant stimulation he’d be able to make it. The wager? $10.

Needless to say, I lost the bet. Tonight I pay up. I have my own creative way of feeling better for losing though, which ties into service, which ties into “I Can’t Promise You the  World”. Tune in later!

Surprised

I came home from work and saw his car in the driveway. The garage door was locked and I fumbled with it. When I got inside, I saw my puppy tethered to the railing at the top of the stairs, right where he belonged so long as he was being supervised. He stuck his head through and said hi and I gave him a rub behind the ears before the sight of j came into view. Kneeling on his pillow, he was blindfolded, naked, and wearing his cuffs. Welcome home indeed. I ignored him and said hi to the puppy some more, gave him some food, and made sure he was comfortable before I went over to kiss j on the head and move his blindfold. He smiled up at me. Then, I went about settling down after a day of work.

On the counter were water balloons. I wanted to have some water fun with the puppy in the backyard and asked j to get dressed to help me. He was going to be in charge of tying off the balloons. Together we went outside and I filled them while he failed to tie them. The hose was dripping on him and we were dropping balloons and making a mess. He was wet but I’d avoided it for the most part. He disclosed he had put his plug in as well. I told him I knew, because I could smell his lube when I went to kiss his head. After admitting absolute puppy parent failure to have a water balloon fight with Puck, I decided we’d just buy the kiddie pool from the store across the street. j agreed wholeheartedly and we went back upstairs to gather the puppy and the keys for a quick ride out of the housing development and across the street.

Parked in the parking lot, the car had to stay on. While it’s only May, it’s already blistering hot here. j went to unload the small pools out of the big ones and purchase the largest one they had. I figure Puck will grow quickly and it’d be best to have the biggest one available right off the bat. When he made it back to the car, we found a slight problem. Unless we could take the doors off the car and fold it in half, there was no way it was going to fit. For whatever reason, I thought we could put it in the trunk. Defeated again, I told him just to return it and we’d wait until my husband had a truck. He told me there was no way he was going to return it after having to move so many pools without any assistance of the employees. It’d been such a hassle.

Home was only about half a mile away. It was only 100 degrees out. He was only in his work clothes. I reluctantly agreed and slid behind the wheel of the car and drove the puppy home. We waved as we saw my kitten walking down the sidewalk with a huge blue pool hoisted over his shoulder.

Back at home, we each got a drink and then I set us up in the garage to wait for him to arrive. When he got there, he stuffed the pool in the entry way and went upstairs for a drink of his own and to stand in front of the fan. I proceeded to fill the pool outside and introduce the dog to it. He didn’t take to it right away, but by the time we were done, he was walking laps in it, fighting with a tennis ball.

“If you were anyone else, you’d so owe me a beer right now.”

I thought it was worth it. Not only because the dog got to play in water and now goes to the pool every time he goes outside to see if it’s ready to play in, but because I got to see how far my pet would go to make me happy. Walk a mile in someone’s shoes? Sure. Walk a mile in someone’s shoes while wearing a butt plug? Now that’s pushing it. I’m so proud of him.

Sex and Intimacy

The sun had set hours ago. We were well into the evening, spending time together silently as we often do. I was sitting on the couch watching the television more than I was watching him. He was sitting on his pillow, in his place, watching me more than he was watching the television. Often times we’ll watch dog shows, watch and listen to the training that occurs in preparation for the puppy I want to get in the upcoming year. We both smile when we hear about the consistency needed, the way a dog needs to be led, and how much better they function when they have a job.

I think that’s what’s made the biggest impact for me, personally. With my first pet years ago, he didn’t have a job. His job was to be cute and pleasing, but he just wasn’t generally useful. If I asked him to do something for me, I’d get excuses. When I shared a fantasy with him that involved him cleaning something, he was rooting to get out of it. Eventually I abandoned the idea that he could ever serve me the way I truly wanted and thought that I’d be fine with that. Today, jhusdhui has some of the same expectations: he’s expected to be pleasing in his attitude, tone, and words; he’s expected to be pleasing in the way that he dresses, the way that he does his hair, and in his hygiene; he’s expected to follow the rules that we’ve agreed upon; and he’s expected to serve me in any way needed, which yesterday meant picking something up at the store for me before coming over and today meant that he mailed off the packages for my other pet and his family. While he serves in the bedroom, he also serves out of the bedroom, and it’s an element to our relationship that we both need.

When my show was over, I touched the top of his head and moved from the couch back to the bedroom. He stayed put like a good pet. When I called his name, he came crawling to me. I climbed into bed and he kneeled beside it, giving me kitten eyes, those eyes of absolute adoration. He asked if he could join me in bed. This question always amuses me on one level simply because he bought the bed. He bought the bedding. I asked him if he would. We picked it out together. He paid for it all and went along so agreeingly, despite it only being the second weekend I’d ever really known him. Paying for it doesn’t mean he owns it though. It took me longer to get there than it took him. I own him; I own his things. The bed is mine. Everything is mine. I allow him to join me in bed, because he serves me well there.

He curls up against me, facing me, and I hold him. He’s my sweet little girl in bed. I rarely curl up against him and when I do, it’s usually only when his wrists are bound or when he’s been told to hold the headboard. It’s when he can’t touch me, when he can’t reciprocate. I don’t like to be held by him. I don’t think I ever have been, actually. What I get out of curling up next to him is his scent. I know his scent inside and out. I can tell when he’s aroused simply by how he smells. I can smell the faint perspiration that comes when we’ve been very close. Often times I can smell myself on him. That’s the only reason I’ll curl up against him. Otherwise the boy is in my arms where he belongs.

Tonight I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m hardly functioning. I’m listening to him talk. He has such a sweet voice. I wasn’t sure about it when I first met him, but he has great control over it. He can change the tone and he can change the volume so easily. I know who he’s talking to by how he talks to them. I figured out on my own that he had speech problems when he was younger, just because of the way he speaks when he’s feeling very soft, very safe. He doesn’t enunciate quite as well. His words slip together. He almost sounds childish, only that’s not really how he sounds. Mostly he just sounds sweet and pleasing. It’s a voice that I only hear in the bedroom or in whispers. I don’t think anyone else ever gets to hear it.

When I’m in this state of mind, I like to hurt. I don’t worry about whether it’s too much or if it’s too far or if he can handle it or if he wants it or if he’ll resent me in the end or anything. I’m too tired to let my mind take over like that. The first couple of years that I was in this lifestyle, I worried enough about those things to cover me and at least three other new Dominants. I worried about everything. I never did get to reach to the insides of myself because I was the one holding me back. In retrospect, I can see where my first pet and I would have got on a lot better if I’d just stopped worrying and did the things I wanted to do. Maturity kicks in and explains I never could have anyhow, because there was no trust. I’m thinking this as I rake my nails over his back. He presses up against me.

I read in another blog once where she was scratching her boy. She was scratching him over and over and over and he said he felt like he couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t picture it, so I played with it for a long time myself. My pet doesn’t have that problem. I press my nails in at the small of his back and rake them up to his shoulder as I hold him. He sucks in his air and whimpers a little. Not much though. His whimper right now means he likes it. I can tell the difference. I follow those tracks back down by never lifting my nails from his flesh and I do it again, same tracks, greater intensity. He sucks in his air harder and squirms a bit. The first time I spanked him, I was gentle. He threw a fit. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to hurt him. He does much better now. I go for a third time. Sometimes I’m worried I’ll draw blood. A lot of the time I’m hoping I’ll draw blood. Sometimes because I love the savagry of it. Sometimes because I know he hates blood. I do it again and now I can hear him.

The first night we were together, he refused to make sound. I could hear he wanted to but he wouldn’t. I told him to keep his mouth open. He nodded. I told him to keep his mouth open and let the sound come flooding out. Eventually it did. He’s not afraid to make sound anymore. I’ve actually gotten quieter. Typically I just make sound because I get off to my own sounds, egotistically enough.

I rake over his back even harder. I move to another spot. I repeat and repeat and repeat until he’s working up a sweat. I can’t get to his other side and I like to be symmetrical. It’s not terribly relevant; my boy’s not symmetrical at all. He still looks beautiful to me. But I like my marks to match. The best way to solve this, as I’m exhausted, is to have him climb on top of me. We’ve almost worked out the touches and gestures enough that he knows when to climb on top of me and when to climb down between my legs. Every now and again he’ll get them mixed up. He gets on top and I can feel his hard cock pressing between my legs. He hasn’t orgasmed in three weeks.

Memories of my past insecurity wash over me. A real Domme wouldn’t let her pet on top of her. A real Domme wouldn’t even entertain the idea of sex. A real Domme always takes charge and she would never put j in a position of any kind of power. With his penis pressing against me, guess who’s in charge? Surprise, it’s still me. That took me the longest to get over. Sure, I could get on top of him, but that’s plenty of work. I don’t want to seduce him right now — he doesn’t get to orgasm anyhow. What I want is to feel the thick head of his cock rubbing against my clit so I can get off. That’s what matters. That’s what he’s giving me too. For about a second. I raked my nails over his back, felt his cock get even harder, and decided I wanted to feel that inside of me.

I don’t like sex. Never really have. No, I take that back. Way back before I was on any kind of birth control that messed me up, I loved sex. Now it either hurts or I can’t really feel it so it does me no good. But, cliche as it is, I like the intimacy that comes with it. I tell him to put on a condom and get back on top of me. I guide him inside of me and I hurt him. I scratch him and hit him, scratch him and hit him. I’m doing a number on him. He marks easily and holds it, so I know these marks are going to be there for a while. He’s clinging to me. His cock is buried inside of me, his arms are around me the best they can be, and he’s making a sound somewhere between a pant and a whimper and a cry. It’s the idea of him crying that’s really working for me. Every time he makes that sound, I can feel myself become wetter. It’s that very sound that eventually gets me off. I push him off of me. I don’t need him anymore.

He can’t breathe. I’d typically be worried, but I’m so tired and I know it’s just his asthma kicking in. I know it’s not as bad as it could be. I know because I trust him to tell me if it is. I tell him for a second that I don’t like the situation and he tells me if it was bad, he’d tell me, he promises he’d tell me. I trust him. He’s on the other side of the bed catching his breath. He can’t curl up with me like he normally would. He tries, but then he can’t breathe. I love breath play the same as the next, but neither of us get off on this kind. He talks. He knows how sometimes I feel bad for wanting to hurt him. Not really, but enough guilt that I’ve brought it up before. He tells me I’ve done nothing wrong. He tells me he wants to be right beside me. He tells me he will be when his lungs cooperate. I know. I know and I smile and I can drift off to sleep. When I wake, I wake to him curled up against me.

That was the night that changed everything. I’d never pushed him so far in pain. He’d never been so close to crying with me. The pain went so far away from pleasurable that he truly was suffering for me. It changed his mindset completely, permanently. He’s closer to me now. More dependent in a way, in a way that we both love. It’s what pushed him into slavehood, I think. It put him right where we both want him to be, and I don’t see him coming out of it ever. I’m happier than I can ever remember being.