Hutehund

I've done the father thing.  I absolutely loved it, but I really - really do not want to do it again.  So with that said, why is it that I still ache to br**d you?  Why does the image of you swollen and ripe with my seed still fuel me?  Why do I want your tits heavy and dripping with the sweet taste of life as I harvest your milk?  Br*d, swollen, dripping, and bound.  That's fucking delicious.

I get so effin cranky without a good girl to please me.  Needy?  Fuck no!  Hungry?  Always

When she is struggling through her worst day ever, I want her to need me to fix it.  And when she is giddy with happiness because of a major victory at work, or simply because her new nail polish makes her toes look sexy-cute in her sandals, I want her to need to share it with me.  No matter what - I want... No it's more than "want."  I need to be who she runs to.

It's been a strange month, but this morning I woke feeling mildly sadistic.  It felt absolutely delicious to grin evilly again.

She kneels to demonstrate her willingness to serve Him in any manner required of her. This sweet show of servitude always pleases him, and with this quiet gesture she silently begs his passion.  Be it the sting of her nipples at the end of his unrelenting flogger, or wave after wave of forced orgasms as she struggles against her bindings to retain her sanity while control of her own body is lost to him… It matters not.  Regardless, beyond anything else, what she needs is to release herself to his desires.  He is her sanctuary and her protector, and he loves her far beyond a tired word's definition.  He guides her and shields her from the noise of the world, and in doing so he quiets her mind. He is her purpose.  She is his slave.

I find your modesty to be charming babygirl, but you will obey.  I own you in all circumstances and in every condition, including shamed.  Whether or not you feel clean enough to serve me is not my concern.  If I want you ripe, it is because I want to bathe in the scent of your most primal state.  Now be a good girl, and do as Daddy says.   

So soft and seemingly delicate she appears, and yet she craves his sweet torture.  He wonders often as to why?  His need to mark her is simple and primal.  She belongs to him, and she will wear the evidence of his pain as a testament to her commitment to fulfill his needs.  His marks are the badge of her devotion - known only to him, because He is what matters.  But when she has given all that he requires, and she kneels before him bruised and begging for him to let her drink from his body... "Please Sir, bathe me in you!" - He is simply overwhelmed by the depth of her love, and by her beauty. 

And when the Beast is satiated, he heals her.  Rocking her gently in his lap while she sucks his thumb, he whispers his love.  This will take some time, and his time is hers now.  When her quivering stops, and her grasp on his hand softens, he will bathe her and lay her softly in his arms to sleep.

Expose yourself to me, woman.  No, I do not mean your body... I will take that when and how I want.  Sit on my lap and show me your eyes.  Whisper wordlessly your secrets.  They are mine to drink.

Please do not bore me with your round peg... You are but one of countless that won't fit.  I want the peg with no apparent hole to match, for she is the One... My special one.  My only one.

Her soul she whispered into him - He consumed and left her mute

She milked his seed sweetly onto her tortured nipples, knowing how he would enjoy watching her use her fingers and thumbs to massage it into her swollen red buds.  She had hoped to feed from him, but this moment was his.  It felt like hours that she had been on her knees, sitting on her heels, enduring his sadistic manipulation of the clothespins he had forced her to wear.  She had thought it might never stop, but she knew how much he enjoyed her endurance of his pain, and it fueled her slave heart to endure all he would ever do to (or more appropriately, for) her.  She had peed a small puddle when he finally and without warning stripped the pins off her nipples, and then instantly blushed crimson at her loss of control.  He had just smiled and wiped two fingers in her dripping pussy.  She obediently sucked those fingers clean.  He had promised her lessons on showing shame to him.  This was the first.

A fistful of her hair is used as harness to forcefully take what He needs from her - The Beast awakened.  Struggling for air, her throat burning from his thrusts, she tries desperately to take him even deeper than He demands.  It is her need to make him whole, whether he is primal like this, or her tender Daddy that makes him worship her.

He smiles and cups her face in his hands.  "Such a good girl today", he whispers.  She will spend this evening curled close in his lap.

He could feel her anxiety in the tone of her voice. Too many miles between them, he realized. This phone call had not started well. She was addressing him with her business tone, despite knowing how he despised that. A brilliant businesswoman, but that tone was never permitted with Him. She must know that she would sting for it later, but perhaps it was his marks that she craved.
   Long ago, she had been trained that her tone was as important to Him as her words. He always wanted her innermost thoughts, good and bad... But those thoughts must be delivered with respect, so as not to awaken the beast. She was gambling here without knowing the risk. He allowed her a moment to talk without saying a word. In fact he said nothing even when she went quiet.
   "Daddy? Are you there?", she asked? "I am", he whispered, "are you?" In an instant her mind was quiet, and she felt his presence. "I'm sorry Sir, I just need to be between your legs, Sir. As soon as possible, please." He felt her then, and softened. "Soon babygirl", he whispered..."soon."

There is little joy for me in soaking your panties without complete possession of your soul.

I require a woman who's need for me is emotional, rather than practical.  Don't misunderstand... I enjoy opening tight lids on jars and the diverse capabilities of the sexes, but I respect a woman with a strong will who melts for me alone. 

This is about far more than sex for me.  I seek an enduring union of complete fulfillment with a woman who is submissive in every sense of the word, but not a doormat.  I long for a challenging partner whom I can properly train, but who will always in some ways remain a challenge.

Physical connection is just a part of intimacy.  Intimacy is first and foremost a mental bond of such deep connection that absolute trust and true selflessness are given willingly, and without conscious thought.

Intelligence is so fucking sexy.  

She delights in shaving his morning scruff, and prepares meticulously to please him.  It's not often that He will indulge her fetish for the razor, but she was such a good girl last night, that he acquiesced to her sweet plea just before collapsing into sleep.  She had wrapped herself around him then, warmth from his body and from his use of her body overcoming her anticipation, and lulling her to join him.  Steam rising from the basin, she pads softly to the bedside, where his mug of rich black coffee has already been placed.  The razor, shaving cream, and towel come next, and with each trip to the bedside she feels her tingling increase.  Her legs feel weak and she's already dripping.  Silk robe shrugged off, dragging deliciously for an instant on her swollen nipples, she bites her lip and resists the desire to touch herself.  First things first girl, she thinks as she climbs onto the bed and straddles him.  She looks at him, still sound asleep, and shivers with lust.  Sliding her wet sex down his torso brings fire to her pussy, as she bends to kiss his sweet lips.  "Daddy... Time to wake up."

The memory of releasing her first ejaculation made him grin, despite himself.  She had been adamant that this was not possible... not even real.  That it was simply a woman losing control of her bladder during sex, and that she should know.  Again he smiled, as he remembered her first time under his hands, and her total loss of control of her own orgasm.  She had been feral, soaking both him and the bed.  Orgasm after orgasm.  He had held her on his lap for hours afterward while she recovered.  He owned her from that moment - Mind, Body, and Soul.

There is no question of his appreciation of her anticipatory service.  While some Doms would prefer to to bark orders than believe that their woman could know what they want, he is fueled by her eagerness to serve him.  Her efforts to read him and anticipate his desires is far more important to him than having a doormat who complies.

"You should be barefoot", he told her.  "Whenever you're with me.  You may wear shoes outdoors, but indoors or in the car I want your toes.  It is my way of having you always exposed for my pleasure."  

Once she allowed herself to be completely His - His only weakness was her.

On occasion he'll blindfold her, but he prefers her eyes.  They fuel him.  she has no ability to hide her level of intensity - her primal core, when he holds her eyes.  It's the long, excruciatingly slow change in her eyes from anticipation, to lustful apprehension, and finally her look of abandon that releases Him.

A cool breeze from high on the slope slips down across the meadow.  The dragonfly drifts away.  Motionless on the edge of the pond, mindlessly watching the fish rise for the evening hatch, he ponders...  How many hours have passed?  How many years, for that matter?  His conscious mind awakens from his self-induced melancholy to the more practical matter of the evening fire, and he's not surprised that his introspection has allowed the flames to become embers.  How fitting.  An ember glows as the breeze drifts by, and he wonders if he'll feel the fire's soothing heat again.