Heart

I've been doing a lot of thinking about how lucky I am in this life, at this time, in this moment. I keep looking over my shoulder for BoogeyMan lurking there, ready to pull the rug out from under me, but so far so good. And funny enough, this is not exactly the time you'd think I'd be this happy. Work sort of sucks, having herniated a disc 14 months ago and basically having about 10 pain free days in the entire time since, getting a wee bit irritated over the economy and me and hubby's financial plans going awry....If I somehow focused on those things I'd be a wreck. But not so.

Why, you ask? Send me $19.95 in a self-addressed stamped envelope and I'll mail you all the secrets.

Nah. I know. You're as broke as me. You get 'em for free.

#1 Hubby and I have sky-rocketed our relationship to new levels. We met 25 years ago in the steamy Louisiana cesspool of summer. Six months later we were living together. We almost broke up a few years ago when I was wallowing in depression, but we made it through the low point, and since then our relationship has done nothing but ramp up and up and up. We have sex. A lot of sex. And we talk. And we don't have a TV so we end up doing one or the other all the time. And I get tired of talking. So we have sex. Or we talk about sex. Or we plan our next sex. Sex is great.

#2 We got honest about our sexuality. I think for about 20 years I was trying to send him psychic messages on what I wanted. Too embarrassed to tell him what I really wanted (?), or just too stupid to know you gotta be honest. He, on the other hand, felt like each time we ventured in to the "dark world" of BDSM it had to be different. You'd be amazed how many toys we bought 10 years ago that got used once (very successfully, mind you), but he couldn't understand that somebody might like to get in a sleepsack more than once. Now I can't pry him out of the straitjacket. The toy or gear is only a crowbar for most scenes. A starting place. From there we twist and wind our way through multiple possibilities.

#3 I started writing my little smut novellas. "SirTom Enterprises" let me just get it all out there, fantasies and fears, taking my own limits and stretching them WAY beyond my psychological and physical limitations. I was much more interested in trying to write about things that turned me off and yet making them seem to be turn-ons (genderfuck, electro-play, the world of puppies). As I wrote scenes that went beyond my own experiences I found myself curiously attracted to just about every fetish in the world. I found myself wanting to experience all of these things. My own bucket list.

#4 We've met some incredibly terrific men. MasterR and slaveP have become close friends. We have had some incredible meals and some incredible playtimes as a foursome. They have huge hearts and tremendous passions. They've become good role models for us both in and out of the playroom. They also take extremely good care of hubby when I'm on the road for work. And I would be at a loss without good friend Michael and his partner Tim. Michael's been a friend and occasional play partner for seven years. Besides hubby, he's the only person on speed dial.

#5 Hubby has allowed me to hook up several times with a variety of men. We joke about it as "foreplay" for our own sexual escapades. But it's not really a joke. When I play with a bottom who has stated specific needs, interests, or fetishes it sparks me to think how I might use this new knowledge with hubby. Sometimes hubby is the guinea pig before another man comes over. "Stand here. Put your arms out. Let me see if this 300 feet of rope will work to hang you from the ceiling." Hubby is very patient, always hard, and complains jokingly that he either is in the position of having to suffer my ineptitude while I practice on him, or he is relegated to the position of "sloppy seconds."

We have met a lot of men with passion. Only a few have brought their hearts as well. Hubby has always had a monster sized heart. He is an incredible listener, is always compassionate towards others (even when I'm ready to drive an ice pick through some motherfucker's skull), and his service to others outside the sexual arena has been his life-calling. I've been much more cautious with my heart. I think losing all my best friends to AIDS in the late 80s and early 90s set me on that nasty self-protective pathway. But recently, more than anything, it is "heart" that is turning me on the most. The shell of a man used to matter to me. Size, age, body hair, dick size, etc. Just fricking shell. But then we played with this very small Brit with a gargantuan heart. Holy fuck. How hot is that?

And just yesterday I chat with this incredibly nice man from Pennsylvania. Took no time at all to tell this man has a huge heart. Horny as fuck, turned on by the sight of a piece of rope, but intelligent, compassionate, and unafraid to show some "heart."

And then there's pup.
Day in and day out I am amazed by the size of his heart. I'm humbled by this and recognize now that a man can have no greater asset.

All My Christmas Shopping is Complete

EVERYBODY I know is getting a pair of these.

Breeches

Why the fuck do these turn me on so much!

Pup = Joy

A fun little video. Unfortunately the embed feature doesn't seem to work between me and Xtube (go figure), but click on the link here and you'll see what I mean about it being a great scene.

Noble_wolf's Videos

More Wax Peas!

I still get a chuckle thinking about that line from that awful movie, 40 Year Old Virgin. (also....."canceh ah my pointment!")

Another terrific day with pup. But we are an ailing duo. His back, he finally admitted, isn't getting better, and mine really sucks right now. And bootbrushpup's is downright bad.......and fuck it. Let's have sex.



Had to cut the arms off the full catsuit--one too many blowouts in the armpits. It was patches on top of patches. I gave up. But it's sort of a cool look. And a helluva lot easier to put on! And it looks good on hubby. And it looks good on pup. And IF I lose those fucking 20 pounds I've wanted to lose since I was 6 it will look good on me too.....(Bookies are offering 1000 to 1 on that last one.)






Some rope bondage on top of the rubber (damn! I love that look), lots of cock stimulation and ball torture.....shit! I get to eat so much precum I know I'm meeting the daily recommendations for protein intake!


And then we get the pup off his feet.....a little time on the stomach, and lots of time on his back, spread-eagle on the bed.....and buckets of hot candle wax. It was a joy watching him squirm, and dare I say it? WRITHE in pain. The boy really took a long and far away journey........





But the best part? I get to go with him. Thanks, pup!

For this I would become a Catholic

And certainly for this!

Back with pup

After WAY too long an absence from each other, pup and I were finally able to connect a couple of times, Saturday for lunch and a cruise through Atlanta Leather, and yesterday for some much needed pup time. As always I am overwhelmed in his presence by the pure heart he brings to me, the completely honest emotions he shares, and that body that just won't quit.

Poor pup has hurt his back, straining a muscle. Like me he spends his time trying to figure out what made it happen: laptop is too heavy, running in 100 degree weather and then walking into a 70 degree house, working out even though his body was already hurting (grrrrrr), carrying toilets around after he's already injured (GRRRRRRRRRRRRR). All good reasons. But I'm convinced the real factor at play is stress. Work has been stressful for him. Us not being together wasn't a real plus either. Yesterday, while play was extremely simple (my back wasn't feeling so hot either) the main thing I could see was that after about an hour of coaxing, massaging, and encouraging, some of that godawful stress finally left his body. That, in itself, was enough. (Side note: stress was probably the reason the tail wasn't going in yesterday as well.....)

At lunch on Saturday pup really did bare his soul for me. I feel honored. When he allows me completely inside his thoughts and emotions something akin to parental instincts kicks in, and all I want to do is draw him close and make him feel completely safe.

For me, ANY time with pup is good time. But we both know there will be good times, and great times. My goal is to create the opportunity for more great times, the "aha!" moments that I know he craves, when he allows more and more of his soul to open to the variety of challenges I present him. When we started a couple of months ago, I told you this journey would be an interesting one. It keeps getting better and better.

In any case, yesterday consisted of our standard rituals of creating pup--the chain collar locked on, the rubber hood with yellow whiskers, the leather collar over that with his nametag, the kneepads, and the sock, saran wrap, duct tape paws we've created for him. When those items are finally on him, I always get the best present, his bowed head placed on my shoulder. Puppy did get his first real grooming yesterday, a totally shaved crotch. This was so much fun to do. Nice and slow, nary a nick, and damn if those puppy balls and cock don't look so fine. And it makes putting the rubber ball stretcher on him a lot less painful! (no hair to pull out when removed....lol)

Later I put pup in the leather straitjacket. He seems to have fallen in love with it--recognizing the signal that once bound like this he can let go of any guilt about not "doing" anything. The straitjacket has removed any chance for him to do so. For me the best part was those exposed puppy balls. I got to spend a lot of time smacking them moderately and stretching them mightily.

It was simple session together but a much needed one. Somehow we could reconnect and renew our journey, this time with a baby step. Maybe next time with a mighty leap.

Now the funny thing is, later that day hubby comes home. We have dinner and settle down to watch a couple of episodes of Burn Notice on Hulu. We don't own a TV, but once in a while it's necessary for even us to just vegetate on mindless drivel with decent eye candy. Draped on hubby's chair is the straitjacket. As we start the 2nd episode I ask if he wants to get in it. His answer comes in a millisecond. A couple of minutes later he's trussed up and settled in for watching. Off come the velcro tit-flaps and the real work of the evening begins. Various clamps go on various parts of the tits. I watch a bit of the show; hubby's eyes are rolling in the back of his head. I'm gonna have to be careful though; one of these times I'm gonna twist a tit completely off. And thank god the next door neighbor is still overseas--hubby's screaming and yelling would surely have brought cops to the door.....


The best part of it all.....I sense a competition coming on. Hubby and pup both love the straitjacket intensely. Teasing hubby about how the jacket fit loki so nicely gets his eyes gigantic. And like a jealous child---"MY jacket" pops out of his mouth. The nice thing is this jacket collected dust for a long time, now it seems to be getting quite the workout. And hubby is the greatest, coolest, sweetest man in the world. The "jealousy" was playful. But then I had hold of his tits in the great here and now. He would rob Fort Knox for me as long as I kept playing with those luscious nips!

Fantasy Derailed

Have been on the road for what seems like forever and finally got home late last night. Old patterns emerged, which I hate, the main one being the inability to "flip my switch" from work to sex. When I work it seems like it consumes me to the point that any and all sexuality leaks from my thought process and makes me feel completely asexual. Of course a week with the hubby's folks doesn't exactly supercharge the libido either.

In any case we headed home yesterday morning, and sure enough, an hour down the road and I can feel the switch flipping back on. Thoughts of what we might do when we get home start flooding my brain. So a couple of hours later we need to stop and get a little lunch. We hit a small town in Eastern Louisiana with a gazillion fast food places so we pulled off Interstate 12 to grab something. I saw a Taco Bell a bit down the road and thought that a $1 burrito would be easier to eat while driving than some nasty chicken breast sandwich so we pulled in to their lot. It was a total zoo as it was just recently opened. We parked, rather than doing the drive-through, as we both needed to pee.

So hubby gets in line to order and I go outside to stretch a bit before reentering the torture vehicle. So there I am minding my own business and up pulls this motorcycle cop. Very young, tight uniform, knee high Dehners, mirrored sunglasses. Now remember, the sexual switch in my head has been reactivated so I'm sure there's a bit of drool escaping from the corner of my mouth. Yum. A total YUM.

I watch him stop the bike and climb off, a super hot butt in those tight pants, sunlight gleaming off the boots, and he looks right at me. Then he motions to me that I should come over to the grassy area where he's standing. "Who? Me?" I gesture. He nods. So I walk over a few feet and the incident turns 100% surreal.

He pulls his fucking GUN on me! Points it directly at me! Demands that I raise my hands, turn around, lace my fingers behind my head! My head is spinning and I think I'm going to pass out. And the phrase "shit in my pants" comes to mind as I feel my bowels churning. He walks up just within my peripheral vision, the gun pointed directly at my head. He then proceeds to shove me to my knees (a rather painful thing with the herniated disc I've been suffering for 14 months).

"Do you have a gun?"

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!" my brain screams. "No, Sir." Now he's behind me and I can feel that business end of the gun a few inches from the back of my head. I truly hate guns. I see a profile on Recon mentioning guns and I click it shut with superhuman speed. There is nothing sexually interesting about a gun. Nothing. I feel more gurgling in my bowels. He shoves his hand in the pockets of my baggy cargo shorts searching for the gun that he's sure I've lied about.

"How about ID?"

"In my right pocket." Now he's patting my ass trying to find the wallet. Nothing sexual going on there. Fuck, I'm still worried about shitting my pants.

I start to take my right hand down, since my wallet is in the right front pocket of the shorts.

"KEEP YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"

I'm feeling even woozier. How stupid was that maneuver, I thought. I'm having flashes of prison time and of being Bubba's bitch. Mr. Copper reaches in to my right front pocket and extracts my wallet.

"There was an armed robbery down the street. And you fit the description of the suspect. Bald and bearded, middle-aged."

I glance at Taco Bell wondering where the hell hubby is. He's gotta come out and save me. I see forty people glued to the windows and doors watching all of this happen. Two blonde chicks have parked nearby and are gawking. Traffic has stopped. But no hubby.

Mr. Motorcycle Cop speaks into the radio microphone on his shoulder. I can't quite hear what he's saying, the blood pounding in my ears. I do hear the response from whomever he's been speaking with: "The suspect is bald, bearded, and black." The dispatcher or detective or whoever actually is at the other end goes so far as to spell the word "black." There is an exasperated tone to the voice.

Now the last time I looked in the mirror I was white. Very white. Absurdly white. Okay, so a hint of red from sitting by a pool for a week.

And like that it's over. He lets me get up, tosses me my wallet, and (ashamed?) hops on his cycle and vroomvrooms off. The blonde chicks come rushing over. "What the hell happened." I stammer a bit and try to explain. Employees come out of the restaurant and offer me a drink. I'm shaking a bit. Still no sign of hubby.

One of the employees tries to track hubby down. Several people offer to be witnesses if I should want to file a complaint. Finally hubby comes out with our food. People have been telling him "that guy you came with is on his knees with a gun pointed at his head." He's been laughing it off saying "not possible."

People are urging me to go file a complaint. I just say "it'll make a great story to tell." And in my head I've already forgiven this young cop. He was over-eager, probably hoping to make the big bust, and I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was bone-marrow level of frightening, but I'll live. I just hope someone in that police force takes the time to have a little chat with him about listening carefully to a suspect's description. Or maybe stop and think that an armed robber isn't going to drive a block away, park, and then get out in a parking lot to stretch. I figure the real robber was already at his crack-dealer's house making his score.

I just look at hubby and tell him to get in the vehicle. All I want to do is get out of this hell-hole and put many miles between me and the site of the event. And on the road I describe the whole thing to hubby. He's just shaking his head, totally unbelieving. And then I start thinking about what might have happened if the suspect had been white. Would I have been handcuffed? Shoved in the back of a cruiser? Fingerprinted? Booked? Thankfully hubby's father and uncle have numerous contacts within the Louisiana police and legal systems, I tell myself. Still. It is pretty scary.

I think all fantasies involving policemen have been irrevocably destroyed. Sigh. What a shame.

Our First Video Attempt

RagincajunGA's Videos

It's a shit little camera, but I do love the two octave range of grunts and groans!