The First Roots

This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is about “The Last Tree” I’d like to write about something along those lines but I’ve had something else filling my head these last few days. If you follow Allison Tyler’s blog you know she asks a question each week. (you really should, she's pretty awesome) There are a lot of interesting answers to them. This week, the question was “Are you Dom, sub or switch.”

The more I thought about this, it really wasn’t a question of where I landed on the scale, it was the label. I really hate the term “Dom”.  It has to do with the first group that I was social with. I’ve wrote a bit about how I came into the world, and how I was taught. But I’ve never really talked about some of the people in that group.  They considered themselves “Old Guard”. I’ve met some Old Guard folks and they were far more respectful that my first social group.

I was in the military at the time. It is pretty much habit to refer to most people you don’t know as Sir, or Ma’am. In this first group there was a guy, let’s call him Doug for posterity’s sake. He thought that was a sign of submission. It was more about the fact that he was the age of my grandfather, or about my age now. In that group if you were a single male, the rules were you had to give the sub gals and evening of whaling on you if you wanted to be a part of it. 

I went on the cross, I let them go till I was black and blue and bloody. 

It was something you had to claw your way out of. It was meant to be humiliating. It was meant to drive away the guys who thought they could join and just demand sex from the single subs.

Doug, who thought that anyone who would accept that had to be submissive, began pressing. Kap advised me to be patient, to show people who I was, and I what I was, to ignore the asshole. I did. It only made him worse. He saw my showing a bit of respect to the submissives who’d been with their partners a while as a weakness.

He started coming into the bar on nights between parties. I worked there, I had to be respectful. “Yes Sir, I’ll get you that drink.” “Oh that’s not what you ordered.. I”ll fix that.” It took a couple of months but finally Kap told me to do what I needed to.

A few nights later he showed up and I asked him. “What do you want Sir?”

He said “I want you to come to me out back. I want you to be my boy.”

I looked to Kap, and she shrugged her shoulders. I knew that look. It meant ‘Do what you need to.’

I followed him out back. He put his hand on my cheek and told me to get on my knees. It took about fifteen seconds to dislocate his shoulder, his elbow, and his wrist. Having a lot of aikido training can be a surprise to folks. I took him out to the alley, tossed him out by his pony tail. Then I went back to work. We never saw him again at that group.

Whenever I hear someone demand to be called a “Dom” it reminds me of Doug. It makes me think of people who demand respect when they do not deserve it. Respect is earned by your actions, not by your ego, or by what you think you're entitled to.

And you’re probably wondering how does this tie into the theme of “the last tree”

When I think of the theme, along with Alison’s question, I think of Breta. She was 87 when I met her. She had a number tattooed on her arm. In Germany in those days, they didn’t just go after the Jews, or the Gypsy. They went after the gay. Breta was a Domme in Germany in the 40’s. She went to a camp because of who she was. Miraculously she survived.

I met her while I worked in a nursing home in the late 80’s. I don’t know why, but we recognized something in each other. Over about a year she began telling me stories about her girls back then. What she did to “Top” them. She never called herself a dominatrix, but she was one. She liked to top her girls. After at time I told her my stories about my experiences in Hawaii. The violence I had committed. My love of the violence involved BDSM, versus the almost casual violence I committed against Doug, which was far worse, and far more lasting

In my experience I would far rather be remembered as someone like Breta.  A “Top”, someone who wanted to make people feel wonderful about who they were, no matter what that entailed. To bring them to a new sense of feeling; stretching their limits until they felt like they were more than what they were before they met me.

Breta is not my last tree. She’s one of my roots Her, Kap and many others helped me become who I am. I could have easily wound up like Doug. A bully who demanded that others serve. They taught me better.

They’re both gone now. They were gone may years ago, but they are always with me. I like to think that who I am now honors their memories. To those who think less because I don’t demand others bow to me, I have one of Breta’s favorite phrases to offer them, “Ficken Sie”

Wicked Wednesday

Its a Compliment

I used to do this amazing bar trick. The gal I went out with would tell the girl that I wanted to meet that it was amazing, “He can whisper in your ear for just a few minutes and…you’ll cum” I was in the Navy at the time, and I was her beard. But ya know what. I could do it. Even then I knew it was about drawing someone in, getting them to relax enough that they get sucked into the narrative, drawn along like they can’t help it. Its about leading them into the thoughts they have but aren’t willing to acknowledge.

When I write, I want that same effect. Getting someone to respond in a physical way with just words is an amazing compliment, and it’s one that I hope everyone gets from my smutty stories. Otherwise~ why bother writing them.

I’ve written in a lot of different forums since 1990.  I keep copies of some of the emails from different readers that my writing moved. When you can put words together that turns the mental gears in someone enough that they can’t help but grind it out on their own…how can that be anything but a compliment?

Wicked Wednesday

Hunting the Elusive Unicorn

First of all kids if you’ve shown up here, dodged the adult warning at the front end, and yet still think this is about a pony with a horn on its head you need to head on over to Disney or something because this is not for you… soo shoo.

This is a longish story, it starts long ago, but it only really become serious in 2010. Cause you see, in 2010 my wife should have died. The doctors told me I should prepare for it, that even if she did wake up, she’d have brain damage. A few days later she opened her eyes…and was pretty much back to normal. Just with some blood sugar issues. Almost dying can do some wacky things to you. And it makes you realize that you should have been doing all those things that have been floating around in your mind for all these years.  To that end, she jumped out of an airplane, she started flying around the country when before her fear of flying kept her off planes since she was 18. There were a lot of other firsts too. Its been amazing to watch.

One of the things she finally told me is that she wanted a girlfriend. Not a “hey lets get mani-pedi”s kind of girlfriend, but a “hey lets roll around and do interesting things on the bed” kind of girlfriend.  This would have been far easier to arrange if we were back in our 30’s and not hitting 50.

I have to admit that I’d like something a little different to. Back in our younger years my wife was my occasional submissive as well. I like things a little intense. A different illness back then did a number on her and it really changed her pain tolerance. It’s one thing to want to paddle your wife a little and tie her up for some teasing. But when the gentlest swats erupt into blood blisters and the softest of ropes leave marks for weeks; it changes the dynamic. Quite a lot actually. I’ve only really let that thing in my head out of its cage once since then. The thing about letting those parts of yourself have free reign is that they don’t want to be silent again.

We’d also both like to be there to watch the other having their fun. So I took on the task to find us a Unicorn. For those of you unfamiliar with the jargon, the Unicorn is that woman who’s looking to join a couple. Actually she’s usually described as the HBB~ Hot Bi Babe. To be clear here, we’re not just looking for someone to get laid with, we’re looking for someone to date, to enjoy life with as well. Neither of is particularly hot either…so we just wanted someone nice.

So, I did what everyone else does. I looked in the online communities. I even met two lovely women for coffee to meet and discuss things a bit. The first was a chain smoker with an emphysema sounding cough. The other was very up front about her recovery and relapses into meth addiction. While I’m sure they’re nice people, they were not exactly who we were looking for.

So after failing on the internet, where else do you look for a Unicorn? I’ve teased the idea to female friends. We always joke about the things we really want right? There was one who had interest. Enough of an interest that we met after work to discuss it a bit. We set a date to meet up. And then she got offered a job in another state. That was 2012. We keep in touch, and she wants to move back to Vegas, but is going to wait till she hits a few career mileposts where she’s at. I can understand that. And quite frankly I was biding my time until that happened.

You have to understand something about where I work. It’s very conservative. There are no secrets. If you don’t have half a dozen bumper stickers that contain your entire political philosophy you’re probably going to be a black sheep of the organization. That’s kind of nice in its own way, because the black sheep all know who each other are. We all get along pretty well.

One of my black sheep friends got divorced about two years ago. Her ex-husband was a douche of epic proportions (13 bumper stickers at last count). She was definitely a wild-child. She toured as a roadie with a band for a year after high school; where I understand she experienced a number of alternative styles and pharmaceuticals. Then she did the school thing, and got a career and a husband and a child (who is just brilliant btw, I help with math once in a while). Now she’s a single mom, in her young 40’s, not a smoker, not a meth head either.

We did a project between our two parts of the organization about 3 months ago. After it was done, one day while she was in the building she came by to say hello and asked how I was doing.

“Oh just trying to figure out how to catch a Unicorn.”

She takes a beat, smiles and says “Oh really?” She used an intonation of voice letting me know my clever remark has been completely understood.  We talk a few more minutes and she goes back to work.

About a week later she swings by again. “How’s the unicorn hunt?”

“It’s difficult. They’re wild and elusive creatures. You have to be very careful how you approach them. If it’s overwhelming they get skittish and just disappear. I think rather than hunting them now, I’ll just put out Unicorn signs and wait for her to approach me.” I had thought about what I’d say to her if I had the chance again. Trust me I’m not bright enough to not get tongue tied if I tried to do it off the cuff.

She laughed, we talked work for a bit and she wandered away again.

At this point I’m not sure If she’s fucking with me or interested. It’s frustrating because I can normally read people pretty well. That was a Tuesday.

On Friday she came back by my cube again.  She’s beaming and smiling and bouncy, jingling her keys and its distracting while we’re talking. Finally I look, and she has a brand new shiny key fob… a pretty little unicorn; and an old worn triskellion.

“We should have a drink sometime after work.” I said with what was probably the first genuine grin I’ve had in years.

“Yes,” she said putting her keys away after watching me see them.  We lock eyes for a moment “We should.”

What's a Hellgramite Good for?

There are certain episodes in my life that I’m not proud of…this is one of them.

In the mid-80’s I was in the military and stationed in Hawaii. Tickets to come home were very expensive, so you made the best out your trips. Often I’d fly home during the summer and spend 3-4 weeks at home. It was a time to reconnect with family and friends. And each time I’d spend several days with Belinda. She was someone I knew from one of my high school jobs, she was a few years older than me. In those days, being 18 could buy you beer, but Bel was 21…which meant Jose and Jack.

I’ll be honest, Bel was the first girl I ever had sex with. It was exactly what people of my generation did; it was hot, sweaty and actually at a drive in theater. By the time this story takes place though, I’d sailed to Africa and back, had had a lot of different experiences and I was well on the way toward becoming who I am today, instead of that very timid person that I grew up as.

On this particular trip, Bel and I spent three days together that she had off. The first was spent at a local lake, while people splashed around us we used the corner buoy and the ropes underwater to support ourselves while we fucked under the waves. The second day we spent the morning catching crawdads and hellgrammites in the riffles, and the afternoon and evening fishing off of a grassy bank. They were good days. They were fun nights in the hotel room I had on the edge of town.

The last day, she took the morning to head home to grab some clean clothes and run a couple of errands. I told her to bring a decent dress back with her because we were going out. I spent my morning preparing too.

I had rope prepared and under the hotel mattress. I found a scrap of cloth to use as a blindfold, and borrowed a few clothespins from my mom’s laundry line. The only new part of the play that would be new for us was going to be the clothespins. I was fond of Bel so I’d picked ones that weren’t too tight, and didn’t plan on using them long, just enough to get a reaction from her.

That evening we went to dinner at what passes for Irish food in a small Midwest town. We saw a movie, I’m reasonably sure it was Conan the Destroyer. We stopped by a drive in to grab a lime-aid on the way back to the hotel.

It was there that she broke the news. “I dated Terry for a while.”

Most people can make it through life without having a genuine enemy. I’m not one of them. He and I grew up the best of friends but that all twisted around later. He hurt a friend of mine, I hurt him back and it was a never ending escalation that did not stop when I left the area for boot camp.

“For how long?” She didn’t answer until after the girl delivered our drinks (actually on skates if you can imagine that)

“I don’t know…two- three weeks.” She stared out the front of the car and wouldn’t look at me.

“Did you…” I didn’t even know how to ask the question at that point. I’d never before felt that level of betrayal.

“A couple of times.”

We sat there a long time. We drove and talked a while about it. I’d been with a lot of girls while I was gone, and I’d never have expected her to remain dedicated to me either. We were friends, we liked to fuck. She could have named my best friend, anyone else in that town, but she used the one name that drove me a little insane.

This was the night I realized that sometimes I’m not a very nice person.

I told her that while it was a shock, it was OK. That I just hoped that she learned that he was an evil bastard and that I was glad that she got away from him without being hurt. We finished our drinks while driving around the small town and wound up back at the hotel. She used the restroom and came back into the room in a white bra and panties.

Fucking with Bel was always a blast. She liked to wrestle between kissing bouts, she liked to bite and be bitten. She was about two steps past the rough that most girls I’d been with before enjoyed. Eventually I had her pinned and stripped. We kissed more until she was breathless.

“What do I win?” I asked

“What do you want?” It was always her answer.

“Don’t move.” I used the scrap of cloth to blindfold her and pulled her arm to the side and the rope from under the bed and began wrapping it around her wrist. She had a huge grin while I did it. After I finished with her arms she moved her own ankles out for the rope. Bel had been in this position before with me, she probably thought I was about to plant my mouth and lips over her pussy for an extended period while she got to orgasm a few times. That was my plan earlier too.

I debated with myself for all of thirty seconds before I did it. We had hellgrammites left over after fishing. They were in a coffee can in a Styrofoam cooler in the closet. I got two of them and dropped them on her belly.

“Ohh that’s cold” she squealed.

They were cold, and as they warmed up on her skin they started moving. They’re easy to guide with your fingers, a nudge here, a nudge there. I had them walking up her body towards her breasts. If you’ve never seen one before they have pinchers up front. They’re pretty wicked. When something live gets between them they pinch down, then release, then pinch down, over and over.

She started thrashing around so I picked one up, I had to pull her nipple taut a bit to get the thing to latch on. The second one was easier because the fear had the second one tighter than I’d ever seen on her, or maybe that one was just more eager. As they worked away their tails began thrashing around.

Then I slid down her body, and then I put my tongue and lips on her. I added teeth into her lips too, always just long enough to hear her groan from it. When you have your tongue in a woman you can tell when she cums. Bel came three times before I peeled the bugs off of her.

When I loosed her from the ropes she was crying. I got her under the blankets and I held her. I got a cool rag to clean away the mascara that had ran. Bel was on my chest for over an hour before she said anything to me. She told me she was sorry about Terry.

I told her I shouldn’t have done what I did, but that hearing about him kind of put me off in that zone where I’m not very rational. The rest of the night was actually kind of nice, we talked till the sun came up and she had to leave for work. She married a year later, and I didn’t see her for seven years.

This is what a hellgramite looks like in case you're curious.

Wicked Wednesday

First Connection

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Where the Steam Counts

In celebration of my progressing in the #smutmarathon I'm posting a story I did a few years back for another contest.

Where the Steam Counts

The chime rang ten minutes late. Caroline was always late, she had never made it on time yet. I gave her the customary ten minutes to disrobe and get herself positioned on the table. I could only do a few of these a day, and since she was a favorite, always booked her in at the end of the day so that she wouldn't  mess up my schedule.

Before stepping I disrobed, and clad in the traditional loincloth for these appointments entered the room with a smile, “So nice of you to make it Caroline.” I said with a smile.

She looked up and gave me a shy grin, “I got caught in traffic…again.”

“Wouldn't know what to think if you didn't.”

Her body was already beading with sweat from the sauna. That’s my specialty, firm massage in a steamy sauna. Clients loved it, and paid for the privilege of being one of the few I could do each day. There was something liberating about the heat. Once the muscles soaked in that steamy heat, they surrendered the knots they held as if by magic. “Is the pressure good?” I asked for the first time of many for our session.

“Oh god yes.” She answered.

Caroline’s body was far from perfect, she was a real woman, not some fake plastic surgery trophy wife. 

Curves no one would ever imagine from her suits graced her frame in ways that could only truly be appreciated by touch.

I started at the shoulders, working broad strokes into her flesh. Her sweat soaked skin needed no lotions in here. When I found the first knot I began working it with my thumbs. “How was your day?” Light conversation was the only lubricant needed to help loosen her up, as if the words helped her mind relax while my hands worked on her body.

“The usual, too much complaining, teachers, parents, students,” she groaned when I really dug into the knot and lost her train of thought. It always made me smile to make her lose her concentration like that. Caroline was the principal at a junior high school near here. It made it convenient for her at the end of her long stress-filled days.

We filled the time with idle conversation while I moved down her body, stopping at her sacrum to ply that tender diamond. She held a lot of tension there and the pressure I had to use rocked her body on the table. 

Her head turned to the side while her long hair trailed off the other side of the table and soft noises that I doubt even she was aware that she made growled softly as her lower back relaxed.

The towel over her ass was soaked through with sweat, and I bypassed the entire middle section of her and went to work from the bottom up, starting at her toes, working through her calves and hamstrings. All the while she puddle more onto the table. Around the noises she made I could hear the soft drip of her sweat striking the floor as she soaked through the towel underneath. The other leg proved difficult with worse knotting. I always chided her to sit with better posture and not cross her legs the same way all time to make it easier on her body, but she always forgot.

With both legs worked out I approached her ass again and folded the towel down her body to begin working on her glutes. A lot of women tensed when they were massaged there, and at first Caroline did as well. “You need to relax.” I reminded her.

Considering how much time she spent behind her desk, her ass was still taut under the softness of her. I knew she didn't enjoy her morning runs, but they had paid off and the proof of that was under my fingers. I folded the cloth lower and lower as I my fingers slid across her flesh.

I was sweating too, small rivulets fell from my arms and legs, and I could feel the loincloth fall heavy over me. It was unprofessional, but I could not help but be stirred by her. She didn't help matters either. Caroline rolled her hips gently under me and the sounds coming from her sounded more focused, more carnal.

As if on cue, her feet hooked over the edges of the table and she drew her knees up slightly, The entire effect rolled her up granting access to the one muscle group she really needed massaged after a long day. The first intelligible word from her in the last twenty minutes was whispered, “Please.”

I knew what she wanted, and I knew when she called and booked time that this is what she really wanted. I reached up and gently moved a tangle of her hair back behind her ear with one finger, “Of course.”

Years of practice had taught me exactly how to do this, and it was definitely not taught in any massage therapy course I've ever taken, but it was something my clientele wanted, and was willing to pay well for receiving.

I placed one hand on her back over her heart to find its rhythm and rested the other on her ass. I let the beat of her fill me before letting my hand slide down her cheeks. She parted her thighs graciously to accommodate the width of my hand. Once I had her lips under my palm I started massaging gently. The heat from her, from where the steam counts was evident, gentle pressure from my palm split her lips open and the warmth of her sluiced down my fingers in thick viscous threads. I raised my fingers and teased them through the thick brown thatch she bore.

Caroline’s hands gripped the table and she tried to rise. I kept her pinned there with my hand, still using it to gauge her inner rhythm and massaging her time with it. She rolled her hips under me and I wished I had a third hand to keep her in place. She pushed up higher and on the down-stroke and I let my thumb glide into her.

The firm spongy spot at the top of her pubic bone was easy to find and as soon as I began massaging the noises she made rose and more of her spilled down my palm. “Is the pressure good?” I asked.  The dreamy eyed look she gave me was answer enough. That spot likes firm pressure and I stroked across it in a gentle circle, first in one direction, then the opposite. Caroline moved her hips more urgently and I felt the first spasms begin to pulse through her.

“Times not up I said,” withdrawing my thumb and waiting several seconds for her to catch her breath.

I fed in my index finger and its neighbor into her and found the plump spot deep inside her that genuinely needs stimulation. It was like an over-ripe plum. Full and soft and warm- and begging for attention.

“Oh yes.” Caroline spoke her last intelligible words of the session.

I worked the spot around and around, timing the strokes with her heart, feeling the pressure behind it build. 

“This is what you really came for…isn't it?” I asked teasingly.

Her head nodded. It only took a few moments to take her to a climax this way. Her body bucked and all of her steamy heat pulsed out of her around my hand as she squirted in three long streams. I let my fingers wind down slowly, feeling the joy of her pulsing around my fingers and under my hand.

Only after she fell limp to the table did I withdraw.

I leaned down over her and kissed her brow before opening the door and grabbing her robe from the hook outside.

“Why don’t you head upstairs and shower?” I told her. “There’s water on the counter, you’ll be dehydrated from the…steam.”

She gave me a weak look as I helped her up. “Of course, it’s the steam.”

I watched my wife leave and wondered how I’d ever been such a lucky man to find her.

Some Days...

Some days... it all just seems like a lot to deal with. I haven't been writing here like I had hoped. And I apologize for that. I was healing well from my knee surgery, then things took a downward turn. Last Tuesday I was barely able to walk by the end of the day. I called the surgeon and got an appointment. I figured fluid behind the patella, or maybe a minor infection.

According to him, its the arthritis he saw in there while doing the surgery. WTF! the arthritis hurts more than the shredded meniscus? All I can say is that getting old is not for sissies.

Work has been a challenge too. I'm taking on new responsibilities that are going to take up a lot of time. I just hope there's more pay at the end too, though I'm not counting on it.

And lastly, a very nice older lady at work today took a tumble down the stairs because the on and off elevator was off. I wound up giving first aid and all I can say is that head wounds and white shirt's don't mix well. I've got it soaking in hydrogen peroxide to maybe lift the stains.  I'm hopeful, its my favorite white dress shirt.

In good news, I made it past the first round of Alison Tyler's #smutmarathon . On to round two. There's 14 left I think. Waiting on what the next prompt is to get working on that..

Looking forward to a good weekend, I could use it.