Diablo and Actaeon

He is strung up from the eyebolts in my living room, his legs spread wide by one of the spreader bars my father gave me.

A very pretty boy: his body long and lean, a few tattoos in judicious places to show off the muscular curve of his arms, and the line of his back until it curves into a tightly rounded little ass. I step 'round in front of him, smiling pleasantly.

He looks so nervous! He hasn't known me long enough to get nervous at my most pleasant smile! I can only chuckle, low in my throat, and wrap the silk scarf around his eyes to remove his sight.

Poor thing... spread wide and open, exposed and vulnerable to me, sightless, naked, and trembling in fear. It sends a thrill of arousal through me, dampening my cunt inside my jeans, and I point at the floor in front of Diablo, summoning my Actaeon here in front of him. It takes little arranging, a short length of rope and a collar with a D-ring, before my pretty boys are attached to one another.

It's a beautiful sight: the open living room, Diablo tied standing spread-eagle, naked with only the purple silk scarf slashing tightly across his pretty face, and Actaeon kneeling before him equally naked and obedient, watching the rising cock before his face with something between trepidation and hunger.

Actaeon's hot little mouth tight around Diablo's cock, Diablo moaning and leaning into him, the muscles of his calves tight with the effort of not thrusting into Actaeon's willing mouth.

Actaeon's soft sounds of pleasure, the slight slurping of his hungry tongue, lips, and teeth.

And now the crack of paddle, the disbelieving half-yelp from Diablo's throat as it connects with his rounded ass.

"Awww," I whisper in his ear, "girls play rough, don't they?" as another crack catches him in the sweet spot just where his buttocks meet his thighs. it isn't long before he is whimpering, hissing, and moaning with every blow as I cycle through my favorite toys: the twisted acrylic cane, the heavy leather pig-slapper, the hickory paddle, the rubber loop paddle... he learns all of them intimately, while Actaeon continues to work him with hungry slurps of his lips and hands clutching his smooth thighs, keeping Diablo hard through pain he never thought he would stay hard through.

Such lovely, lovely boys, both of them, and we climax with a second rendition of Actaeon's birthday spanking- on Diablo this time- before retiring to the couch for a lovely, lingering, 3-way cuddle.

Good morning, beautiful

It is morning, in your bed and sunshine is streaming in through the window. I can only think blearily that it was supposed to rain today...

You are wrapped around me, a clinging liana vine boy, your naked body pressed tightly to mine. I free my arm slowly and stroke your hair while you blink at me in sleepy confusion. Are we waking up? Am I just petting you?

Good morning, beautiful

How was your night?

Mine was wonderful with you by my side...

I cannot help it, love for you is swelling up in me, and I pull you in closer to me, draw your heavy head to my breast and lay it there while you wrap yourself around my supine warmth. Your fingers are stroking my neck, your toes moving along my bare legs, and we are warm and soft and drowsily aroused together.

When I open up my eyes and see your sweet face

It's a good morning, beautiful, day...

This.... this is what I love, you wrapped around me: your warmth sinking into me, fingers brushing the little hairs on my arms and your cock drowsily aroused against my hip as your lips press into my neck from habit as much as desire.

Good morning, beautiful

To be continued

You’ve given me an idea, as we chat on instant messenger. I love talking to you during the day, especially days like today, when I am exhausted and caffeinated and it’s making me slightly sociopathic. Okay, maybe not, “slightly.”

You went hiking this weekend, and spent several days in the mountains. You tramped up hills and along ridges, through rivers and over rocks. It’s a sexy image of you: sweaty and dirty, your movements restrained by your pack, your face lighting up with the assumed freedom of the forest around you.

Maybe we’ll go hiking one day, my pet. Maybe we’ll climb up a mountain and hike along a cold, cold mountain stream. We’ll find a large rock, worn smooth by millennia of water running over its surface, polishing it, smoothing it, creating the perfect place to hurt you.

On the bank of the stream, I’ll strip you gently, lovingly, my hands warm and tender on your soft skin. I’ll lift the pack from your back, laying it aside, then slowly unbutton your shirt, smoothing it from your shoulders and letting my hands linger along your chest and shoulders.

I’ll remove your boots, briefly appearing submissive as I lift your feet to my thigh , one at a time, and draw off your boots and socks. When you’re barefoot, as I prefer anyway, I’ll remove your pants, lingering over the belt as though I’m unwrapping a long-awaited gift.

When you’re completely naked, I’ll step into my waders and unpack what I need from the backpack. Rock climbing anchors are an interesting topic. Lucivar’s Mistress could likely write a thesis on them, but I don’t know how to use them very well. However, I can set a cam into a rock, and I can loop soft, tough, infinitely useful climbing rope around your wrists, your ankles, and I can secure you.

I’ve chosen my boulder carefully. Freezing cold mountain water rubs down it in a constant stream from the falls above us, and there’s a lovely little indention from our tiny waterfall which is just the right size for your head.

You’re stretched out for me now, legs and arms wide and a constant stream of freezing cold water tricking along your back. It’s so cold, tightening your skin in goosebumps and hardening your nipples to tiny round nubs and making you look at me with wide, pleading eyes.

You don’t know what you’re pleading for, though, because your cock is harder than your nipples.

Blue and Jade Bracelet

Yes, it really is a bracelet. I'm just tiny.

And those light-colored rings? Those are jade. No, really. Real jade.

It's puuuurrty.

Priests and geldings

I’m reading the “Dexter” novels again, reading about my favorite serial killer and his Dark Passenger. Reading about his moonlit Need and his playmates.

I like Dexter.

I envy Dexter.

And tonight, I want to be Dexter. I want to find a bright, cool place- and I, who usually hates cold!- and I want to take you there. I want to press steel hooks through your pretty ankles, behind the Achilles’ tendon, and lift you up, whimpering and sobbing, the blood from your ankles running up your legs and to your groin, passing over your taut buttocks and up your back, mixing in with your hair like tears in the back of your head.

You talk about wanting voluntary castration sometimes, and tonight I want to give that to you… not that it’s likely to be very voluntary once I start.

I want to take the knife in my hand, a pretty, curved gelding knife, and run it along your thighs while you squirm and twist and beg me not to. I want to open your thighs and follow the smooth line of your sartorius, and the fat rector femoris with my fingers. I’ll drag the knife down and open up the skin of your scrotum, letting the testes pop out like two fat eggs while you scream and try to thrash. The testes are only attached to the body by the vas deferens- the long tube from which ejaculate moves from the testes to the penis- otherwise, they’re simply held to the body inside the scrotum. It would take only the slightest effort to cut through it…. It barely even bleeds.

You’re a eunuch now. In some ancient temples, particularly that of the goddesses Cybele and Artemis- who most anthropologists consider related- a male had to be castrated to become a priest of these powerful, gender-queering goddesses. Artemis was my first patron goddess, the first deity to whom I felt true kinship and a desire to serve as priestess. And now you, my pet, are qualified to serve as one of her priests. How did one do that, I wonder? Was the boy-child taken, castrated, and left at the temple steps? Or was he raised by the temple, a serious young man who chose to give his manhood to the goddess for the privilege of entering her service? Did he choose this? Did he make the cuts himself? Was he held down on the altar, screaming and flailing as you are?

It bleeds up your stomach, your chest, pooling at your neck and dripping from your hair. It’s strange how untouched your face is left, contorted and red from screaming and light-headed from too much blood around the brain….

I’m doing you a favor like this, baby… every basic first aid manual says that to control bleeding, ensure that the wound is above the heart….

Chainmaille collar and cuffs HNT

This has got to be one of the coolest things ever :)

Shaking

You're touching me, your hands tender on my skin and your body wrapped around mine. I am curled, shaking, against you, drawing comfort from your nearness and your warmth and your love. I don't feel very dominant right now, my my head buried in your shoulder- don't feel like I am presenting the image of what I am supposed to be- but I am slowly learning to trust you to love me anyway.

You're teaching me, slowly, that I don't have to be a cardboard cutout of The Dominant Woman for you, that you will love me even if I stumble, even if I cry, even if I am clingy and needy and afraid sometimes.

You're teaching me, slowly, that you will love me even if I don't wear makeup, even if I don't wear heels or even know what gender I am sometimes.

You're teaching me, slowly, that you will love me even if I am myself.

I'm shaking less now, slowly uncurling from my tight ball of old wounds and fresh pain, and you are still there. Still there touching me, kissing me... loving me.

It feels suddenly like my heart is swelling, filling with love and tenderness and this deep gratitude and my entire body responds to it, swelling and ripening and somehow deepening until I am lifting my head and capturing his lips in mid-kiss, stroking his tongue with my own and wrapping his precious, precious face in my hands.

I cannot help it now, I want him as he moans into my mouth, his hands spasming, clutching me, his hair falling into our faces and his body pressing into mine. I roll him over, straddling him, my damp groin pressed to his hard cock and my fingers tangling in his hair.

God, I love his hair.

Suddenly I realize that there are tears in my eyes, that I can taste them in our kisses and I start to draw away, start to apologize, but he draws me back down to him and kisses me again, love reflected in his eyes.