Dame TylerRose.

I Don’t Have Any Toys

June 2, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 3 Comments

Over the years, I’ve seen a great many “This stuff is so expensive! Where can I buy for less?” and “Where can I get good quality stuff that won’t break the bank?” threads in various kink websites.

New people want to join the fun, but the sticker shock is real. I hear you. This stuff is expensive, and there’s really no way around it when it comes to things like latex outfits, leather pants, big shoes, corsets. If you want to wear the “uniform” of kink, those pieces are going to be expensive no matter what. Corsets and leather pants don’t show up at thrift stores very often, certainly not in MY size. Now and then I find a pair of shoes, but not often enough to rely on it as a source.

Most of the other people answering the “where do you buy toys?” threads say this vendor or that vendor, sometimes with links to the person’s website or profile page. Then there’s me saying that if you like impact play (spanking), you have an entire HOME full of toys sitting there right now. You just have to know what they look like.

First, go to your tote closet. Everyone has one. It’s either the closet or under the bed. A place where you stash all the empty totes you have that you never use. You swore, when you bought it, that it would be great for this or for that; but you never actually used it for anything. It went with all the other empty totes you had to have (or were given) but never used. Same with backpacks.

Grab one. Make it the ugliest one, so you can easily recognize it if you take it to a party. If you want to eventually work up to something fancier, great. But for now, a simple tote or backpack will do you just fine. If you intend never to take your kink outside the home, it doesn’t matter what the bag looks like. No one else in the world is going to see it.

So, you’ve got your tote. Let’s start in the kitchen.

First, reach for that wooden spoon with the hole in it. The one that came in the 3- or 4-pack of wooden spoons you bought but you don’t know what it’s actually used for (measuring servings of spaghetti). It’s a butt-beater now. It’ll make terrific little circles on someone’s butt. Grab a wooden spoon you’ve never used. Put it (them) into the bag. Put the wooden fork in there too. You never use it for mixing salads anyway, and you know it. They all sit there taking up space.

Aside from the spoon/fork end, the handle can be used as a short cane. Should they break over someone’s butt, they are easily replaceable with a quick trip to the dollar store.

Next, look at your collection of rubber spatulas. If you have one little dinky one for getting into little jars and one big one for scraping bowls, anything more is probably superfluous. Take them. They are inexpensive and easy to replace.

Want to get a little more intense? Grab the metal hammer meat tenderizer. You know you never use it anyway, and even if you do…you can easily buy another. I know a number of people who love to use them as impact tools.

What else can we find in the kitchen?

Ah, that tiny little square frying pan you bought because it was SO CUTE!!! but used to make a grilled cheese exactly ONCE because you realized it’s too tiny and your aim in flipping over the sandwich isn’t that precise. It makes an excellent paddle that can be used on buttocks, thighs, and breasts, bottoms of the feet.

Do you have any plastic cutlery? A spoon can be used to imitate a blade edge for knife play. A plastic fork makes for interesting sensory play. I you have a set that came with a takeout dinner, wrapped in plastic, that’s perfect. Throw it away when you’re done and put a new set into the bag for next time.

Go under the sink. You know that bag of scrubbie sponges? Or those thin green scrubber pads? Grab one. Abrasive sensation play can be tremendous fun. Do you keep the sandpaper down there? Grab one of those. Even MORE abrasive sensation play. WOOHOO! I know people who put strips into their bra or panties when they go out on a date.

While you’re under the sink, do you have a bag or a box of inexpensive kitchen gloves? They’re like surgical gloves, but you can get them at the dollar store. I find bags of 25 to 50 for a buck or two, and always have them in the house. Grab a dozen and put them into a baggy and then into the tote.

Do you have some fresh ginger? Okay, don’t put that into the bag. It may rot in there and that wouldn’t be good. So that you keep in mind for when you want to do chemical play. (Peel it, touch to vulva or anus. Inserting the tip into the anus is called figging. It gives a burning sensation.)

Moving on to the living room. Go to that drawer where you keep all the extra phone/usb cords and the extra coaxial cable left behind by the previous tenant/owner when you moved in. USB cords are very whippy. Coaxial, you’ll need to use duct tape to cover the ragged ends. I hold the ends of either type of cord in one hand and use it in a loop shape, like a rug beater. Fashion a simple handle by wrapping the duct tape around a few times.

Do you (or does someone else in the house) knit? Got one of those really long metal knitting needles? They work as a mean caning implement too, and can be used all over the body. Rosewood versions are beautiful as well as functional.

Do you have a telescoping metal pointer you never use? It may be one-use, because you will probably destroy it when you use it, but it’ll be great fun while it lasts! An old car antenna works the same way. I got through a thick diaper with one, and made the wearer stand up and say ow.

Where do you keep your collection of carabiners? Take four of them. (Or get them at the dollar store for cheap. You aren’t going to be climbing a mountain with them, so they don’t have to be ultra strong.)

Do you have an old sewing kit that you inherited from your grandmother or great aunt? Open it and see if you find a wartenberg wheel. Doctors use them for checking nerve response; but tailors use them to mark where stitches are going to go in leather. So you just might find a couple. Or there might be one with a smooth wheel rather than a pokey one. If she embroidered, you may also find “locking embroidery clamps”, known in the kink world are as “locking” nipple clamps. Embroidery clamps can usually be found in sewing and crafting stores/sites for a couple bucks each. Sure beats the $20 on a kink site!

Next, the bathroom. More chemical play. Grab the old tube of Ben Gay or Icy Hot that has been there so long it’s almost expired. It’ll still do the job. A little dab’ll do ya!, and will have the bottom squirming and squealing until the burning subsides. (Note to self…fuck first. Chemicals AFTER. Unless you like that kind of thing yourself.)

Do you have one of those long-handled wooden bath brushes? They are WICKED paddles! If you don’t have one but you want one, the last time I looked, my local big name pharmacy had one for about eight bucks.

Also in the bathroom. Do you have a package of toothbrushes waiting their turn? Grab one. More sensation play! Also good for applying the Ben Gay or Icy Hot if you don’t want to use your bare finger or a glove.

To the laundry room (or wherever you keep your laundry supplies). Grab that pack of 50 clothespins you bought, and the hank of cotton clothes line you SWORE you were going to start using to save money on electricity. Clothespins are great fun and can be used all over the body. A lot of rope snobs will scream at me about the cotton clothesline. Well, lemme tell you something…if you’re not intending to do a suspension, then plain ol’ cotton clothesline from the dollar store will do you JUST FINE! My former dom/husband never used anything on me but cotton clothesline, the entire 19 years of our relationship and I didn’t die. He was perfectly happy with it. It liked to cut the rope here and there as he worked. If the rope is three bucks for a hundred feet, there’s no guilt. If you’re paying five bucks a foot, you don’t want to cut it.

Bag’s getting heavy, isn’t it?

Now we can go into the bedroom. YAY!!!

No, we’re not going to take your entire sex toy collection. Just a few things.

First, the spare tube of lube. Put it in the tote. It’s a good idea to have handy when using the gloves. One never knows when one might be inspired to fit one’s entire fist into an orifice.

Got a drawer with a pile of bandannas? Grab one. Instant blindfold. If you have six, then you have an instant collar/cuff set with blindfold. Remember those carabiners? HEY! Instant hogtie set!

Dresser. Grab a hairbrush you never use. They make great paddles, but also sensation play when you turn it over and use the bristles. Take a comb from the bag of combs while you’re there. Sensation play with the teeth, or snap the end down onto the skin in various tender places.

Go to the closet. Grab a leather belt from the snazzy hanger thing you bought to keep all your belts on but don’t actually wear them.

Where do you keep the shoes you don’t wear? You know those flip flops you bought last year at the end of the season because they were dirt cheap? They make great paddles too. Put them into the bag.

Sit down a minute and look at your full tote. You just spent about half an hour going through your own home and pulled out an entire bag of simple toys. You may have seen other things along the way that might be fun. I don’t know everything in your home, of course.

And you didn’t spend a dime to do it. The money was already spent. You just needed to see these things in a different light.

Now put on your shoes and take $20 and go to the dollar store to fill in anything that was missing from my list when you went around your home. Maybe you didn’t have the clothesline. Or maybe the spoon with a hole in it also had an ugly crack in the head. You wouldn’t want to use that. Little plastic butterfly hair clips that cost ten cents each are fairly brutal nipple and skin clamps. I used to put them on the insides of my thighs.

Take a good look through the kitchen section to see what else you might find. Take a look at the selection of kitchen gloves. They come in sizes from extra small to extra large. I cut the fingers off one or two and put them in a baggy. Then I can use just a finger instead of using (and throwing away) an entire glove when it comes to applying a little cream or ointment, or inserting a suppository.

They will have hair brushes of all sizes, in case you didn’t have an unused one. Not to mention flip flops on the cheap.

I have a lovely olive wood spatula that I purchased for $12 at the Olive Wood stall at the winter market in Bryant Park. I love this thing. It has a satiny smooth feel to it, but smarts well enough on impact.

I once looked over the kitchen section of Target and found an immense wooden spoon that was on clearance for $12. It made an excellent paddle also. After Christmas one year, I found a set of “naughty/nice” rubber spatulas. The end of a summer, they had a small pizza peel that made an excellent paddle. The other day, I was in Kmart and found a narrow rubber spatula that has a metal center. Cost: $4.

Cooking stores, in general, are fantastic. I took a picture in one once, of a table they’d covered with fifty different kinds of wooden tools and rubber spatulas. It was glorious.

Home Depot is often nicknamed Dom Depot. Chains and all sorts of other things! My personal interest, however, is in the dowel rod selection. They have 3 foot rods of oak and cherry. Hello inexpensive cane! Just don’t hit like you’re coming from Cleveland and aiming for China and it’ll last you for years. While you’re there, grab a couple of those FREE paint sticks. They have wicked sting. Also check out the ear protection aisle. They have ear plugs, but also headphone style ear protection. Sensory deprivation, anyone? (ear plugs may be found in more of a variety of sizes at your local pharmacy, however.)

I went to my local hardware store and found a two-inch wide chisel that makes an excellent little paddle, and cost me about five bucks.

People like to fawn over Delrin canes. Crafters selling them put on some leather or paracord wrap that took them ten minutes to do and charge $60 for a single cane. Well, I googled Delrin to see what it was made of and where I could buy it. Guess what I found? A place where I could buy it by the foot. I got four feet of quarter inch Delrin for .19 a foot. I got three feet of ½” for a dollar a foot. It’s super whippy and I love it. I trimmed the length so it would fit into my pool cue case ($20 on Amazon, and pink) and put the case for a Bic Biro pen on it. I used red duct tape with dragons on it to secure the two pieces and now it’s my “light saber” for my Darth Skreven character/outfit (because the pen is mightier than the sword!)…and it’s also one of my favorite canes. For the half inch piece, I wrapped one end with red duct tape that has dragons on it, to make a visible handle end. I don’t need anything more than that, and I love it. I bought a one-inch thick piece that is three feet long for about three dollars a foot. Unfortunately, it is too heavy for me to swing as a cane. However, if I add eyebolts to the ends, I will have an inexpensive spreader bar.

With shipping, these three lengths of Delrin (two canes and a potential spreader bar) cost me less than twenty bucks.

I have a Nightmare Before Christmas hair brush that I include in my kit now and then. I got it at Hot Topic on a buy 1 get 1 half off sale, I think. They have all different characters of Disney.

I found a finger length ring with a pointy tip at a comicon for around five or nine bucks.

I bought two wartenberg wheels on Amazon for about twelve bucks. Total.

You’ll see a lot of sites selling those jeweled butt plugs for $40 or more. Forget that. Amazon again. I got mine for about twelve.

You will see sites selling anal hooks for $60 or $70. Screw that. I got the exact same thing on Amazon for…under twenty.

Bigger pieces, like floggers and single tails, are the investment. You want to have this piece for years. At the same time, you don’t want to be ripped off. Yes, I’ll pay up to $120 for a short leather single tail whip (I have one that is 3 feet) or a four foot paracord flogger. I paid to have a custom paracord sjambok made, then twin 18” snake whips (one of which is almost always in the pocket of my sweat jacket). I don’t work with fiberglass. I have a friend who cuts and makes canes out of it. Over the years, I’ve purchased several very economical sets from her in different lengths and paracord color schemes.

Those implements require skills I don’t have or tools I don’t want to purchase. I’m happy to invest in an exceptional piece and support the crafters who make them.

You don’t have to break the bank building a play kit. You just need a good eye and some imagination. Save your money for the really special pieces you fall in love with and cannot live without.

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Water & Wolves (Culpation League: Anger Issues)

May 19, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 4 Comments

“Take her down to the water room. Put her in the cage and leave her be.”

“Yes, House Master,” the lead guard said.

To the elevator and down to the basement level. It seemed familiar to her but she didn’t know why. To the end of the block, left turn, left turn, and into the second door on the left. Numerous cameras were hung on the walls, none of them turned on yet. There were two short cages against the wall by the door, both empty. Her robe was taken off and she was pushed toward the first cage. She had to go to her knees to crawl inside but could sit upright on her butt once inside. The door clanged shut at once and he snapped the padlock closed.

She was left alone to look around and wonder. Near the wall to her right were three tall water tanks. Round and transparent, with stairs up to a platform and ladders to the top of each. She could see water dripping in several places. Someone had recently been up there…in there?…and splashed outside of a tank.

There was a door in the back wall. She felt she should know what was on the other side of it. So much about this room was familiar. She surmised she had been here before and didn’t remember, like she didn’t remember the person the House Master had asked her about.

A cushioned bench stood near the back left corner. Two padded surfaces, likely one for kneeling and the other for bending. Clear plastic cuffs were hanging from loops on the wall. Next to the bench was a coil of hose on a big hook. Bigger than garden hose, smaller than fire hose, with a large nozzle.

What had she done in the shower that they were going to do to her here? Apparently she didn’t remember much of her shower. She’d pinned her hair up. She’d washed. She got out and dried herself. She couldn’t think of anything remarkable.

The door opened, an unfamiliar face coming in to stand in front of the cage and look down at her.

“You going to cooperate or you gonna fight?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know. I don’t know what you’re intending to do.”

He laughed and popped the lock open to let her out. A wave of his fingers, casual and nonthreatening, beckoned her forward. He let her walk on the rough cement floor but guided her with his hands to lean over the bench. He put her hands against the wall.

“Leave your hands there or I will strap you to the wall,” he told her.

Bending over, he moved her left foot to where he wanted it and bound her lower calf to the leg of the bench. Then the other and she was held wide open.

With one hand, he lifted the entire coil of hose off its hook and laid it on the floor. Water turned on, he aimed away from her to test the water and the nozzle. He turned a dial on the wall, tested it on his hand for several seconds. Adjusting the nozzle, he brought it to a moderately strong sprinkler-type setting.

Water over her lower back was warm and soothing. Within a moment, it was spraying directly between her buttocks to patter against her anus in a sensation that stole her breath. She found it pleasurable and relaxing. Her eyes closed and she rested her head on her upper arm to enjoy it fully. Farther down, to spray over her open puss in a gentle rain, then back up, stimulating her continually.

The water fell away and a click echoed around the room. The water pelted onto the floor with more force, the stream concentrated. It landed on her anus so suddenly that she cried out a shocked sound and smacked her palm against the tile of the wall. She balled her fist to hit with the fleshy outer end instead, not wanting to hurt her hand.

Aimed at the flesh of her buttock rather than directly on the hole, then the other side, and then the middle, her arousal surged until she groaned.

The angle changed. The water shot upward into her spread vagina, into the hole made vulnerable by the ankle shackles. She grunted with it, gasping and pressing her hands harder against the wall to remain standing. When the water found her clitoris, her muscles clenched in an orgasm until it moved away.

The strong stream began to move from one to the other in no discernable pattern and he gave her both quick and prolonged clitoral orgasms.

During a relentless, extended clitoral orgasm, she shouted “Please stop!”

The water aimed away from her.

“Why should I stop, prisoner? You certainly like it enough,” he said.

“My legs are tired. They feel like they’re shaking too hard and I’m going to fall.”

The water turned off. She heard boots thumping on the concrete floor and two sets of hands worked to open the ankle shackles while a warm body fitting tightly against her back. Arms around her chest held her securely while stepping backwards. As she had said, the second weight was on her feet again, her legs buckled. Another pair of hands lifted them and she was placed on a dry, padded surface. A gurney.

She was wheeled out of the room and into another and moved onto a larger bed surface. Four men were already waiting, each wearing a black mask decorated differently with embroidery. All were wolves, but one was grey and white on the black. Another was black on black with dark gray accents. Another was all white on the black.

One came onto the bed with her at once, rolled her onto her side, and took her from behind. She was more than ready, the water having aroused her to complete compliance. She was near the side of the bed and a cock was put into her mouth. She sucked deeply and vigorously enough that he didn’t try to pump his hips into her face.

The man behind finished and left the bed, the one replacing him, turning her onto her back. He bit her breasts with a wide grip of teeth, hard enough to make her yelp and cry out but not hard enough to break the skin. Using his thighs, he pushed her farther up toward the head of the bed, until her head hung off it. At once, a cock went into her mouth and down her throat. Hands pulled her arms outward, making her grip more cocks while the one biting her finally impaled her anus. Hands held her ankles to pull her legs open wide for him.

However long it took, she was lost to time through her own bliss. She came hard, fingers now and then slapping or stroking her clitoris. Fingers pinched her nipples and smacked her breasts or her face. The cock down her throat pulsed hard and pulled out to spurt warm goo onto her chest. The two on the sides quickly followed. Last, the one in her anus stripped out to squirt onto her belly.

The room emptied. She opened her eyes as one man toweled her off.

“Is that it?” she asked. “I’m not done.”

About the Author

Culpation League: Anger Issues can be found here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B079SXVPHK
(For others, search your country’s Amazon site for B079SXVPHK )

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

My Sadomasochism Is Fluid

May 4, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

Now and then I’m asked what I mean when I say “my sadomasochism is fluid.” I think the duality of being both sadist and masochist is difficult for some people to understand.

Let me simplify it. Lots of people say they are genderfluid. They range from masculine traits to feminine from day to day, or hour to hour. Some people say their sexuality is fluid. They can be with someone of the opposite gender, the same gender, non-binary, etc. That aspect doesn’t matter to them.

Neither of those alters for me.

I am female and love being a woman. I’ve never had a second’s doubt regarding my gender.

I am heterosexual. I’m probably the straightest chick you’ll ever meet. I can give a woman a flogging or a caning. I can whip her tits and flog her cunt; but I will not have sex with her. My mouth will never touch her. Hers will never touch me. My fingers will never go into an orifice. Nor will hers. Because I’m not attracted to women.

Others had speculated, I think. A friend once tried to fix me up with another girl when I was about fifteen. I hadn’t even realized at the time that’s what she was doing. I wondered “why does she want the two of us to meet?” It wasn’t until I was a decade older that I realized my friend had thought I was a lesbian. I had no idea why she would think that. I’m sure the girl she introduced me to told her otherwise, as that was the one and only time we ever met.

My sadism and masochism, however, are as fluid in me as gender and/or sexuality are in others.

One moment, I can be discussing how very much I would like to be bent over something and whipped with a quirt while being forcefully taken from behind. For, like, an hour. Then the next minute I can describe some fantastically painful thing I would love to do to someone else.

By now you’ve probably read some of my erotica pieces. I often write the action within a scene from both points of view, flipping from one to the other effortlessly. Alternating from one point of view to the other, and back again is as natural for me as breathing. It is seamless, unforced. This is how I can write realistic scenes for my books from either the sadist/top or the masochist/bottom perspective. I can flip flop the point of view from one to the other endlessly from start to finish if I want because I am myself both points of view wrapped up into one brain and one body.

I think that’s the only way in which I could identify as a switch. (but that’s another article)

I can go to the kitchen section of a store, see a new implement and come up with a dozen ways to use it on someone, then see something else and think of ways it could be used on me. Same in the SM/sex store. There are implements I buy for use on others (paddles, canes, singletails) and things I buy for use on myself (dildos, vibrators, thin reed-type cane)

I can talk with someone, describing how much I adore having 50 clothespins on both tits (for a total of 100) and then in the next moment commiserate how “service submissives” don’t exist and I can’t get a sub/bottom to come meet me at my neighborhood train stop to carry my damn bag for me. “Hell, it’s full of stuff to beat them with! The least they can do is come meet me and carry the fuckin’ bag,” I have said more than once.

Being both sadist and masochist makes attending parties a little tricky. I’m attending as a dominant sadist top; but I might meet someone from whom I’d love to take a nice spanking or flogging. With few particular exceptions, when I walk into a party, I could play as the top or the bottom. I could go from one to the other and back again. When bottoming is a possibility, I take an implement or two to be used on me. (I have always advocated that a bottom should have their own kit for tops to use on them…but that, also, is another article.)

The exceptions occur when I know I will definitely be bottoming and expect to take one hell of an intense beating. When that scene has ended, it’s unlikely I’ll want to top someone. I’m going to be enjoying my high a great deal, and if it’s as deep a high as I hope, it would be unsafe for me to top someone else. I can forget what I’ve done from one minute to the next. That’s not good for me or the bottom.

This can create awkward moments. I’m known as being an impact top. So when people see my name in the RSVP list, they expect I’ll be there to top. Sometimes it becomes an assumption. They come to the party without asking first if I’ll be available. Sometimes they try to talk me into playing when I know I can’t. I’ve already had a hard beating. I’m high on endorphins. Forget the drink or two. That’s nothing. It’s the endorphin high that interferes with my ability to be a safe top.

So I guess this is turning into a piece on the top’s consent and something of a cautionary tale.

If I’ve just taken a beating, don’t be pestering me to spank you.

“You still could.” I had someone say this to me recently.

I cannot. Being sadomasochist doesn’t mean being reckless. Being fluid in that doesn’t mean that the flow won’t ever stop on one side or the other for a day.

The notion that one person can be both sadistic and masochistic is a titillating one.

But we’re still not an on-demand fetish dispenser.

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2. (USA site. For others, search your country’s site for B00HCPLSP2 )

You can find more of her work and follow her in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Silly Dirty Talk (A tiny piece of Arlyn: Adjutant & Apostle)

May 4, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 3 Comments

“Do you need to be full, my sweet?” he asked.

“Please, Master,” she replied, eyes closed.

He left the bed a moment, returning with two smaller pieces of rope and something that landed with a thump when he dropped it onto the bed. First he wrapped a wrist with the rope, five times around, and tied it to the corner post. Repeated with her left wrist, her eyes showing him calm trust and quiet anticipation.

He spent long minutes feeling the shape of her thighs with slow, confident hands. Tugging and twisting her pubic hair between his fingers, pulling her labia wide, plucking her nipples, he generally played with her while she was vulnerable to him. When he was ready, he reached for the thing that had thumped onto the bed.

She opened her eyes to see a shaft of carved ivory. Rounded tip about an inch and a half wide, it grew thick and fat to a four-inch-wide base with gently swooping carved shapes. It was about eight inches long tip to base Her heart fluttered to pounding just to see it as he reached around his back to buckle a thick leather belt around his hips. The base of the ivory pressed into him just above the base of his own useless cock.

“Are you ready?”

A thousand things she wanted to say. Be gentle. Not too hard. She threw them all aside and nodded.

“Please, Master.”

“Say that again and say what you want me to do,” he said.

“Please give me a good fucking, Master.”

He grinned, lowered himself over her for a kiss to her cheek. “So polite. I like a filthy-mouthed cunt. Say it again but call me a fucking bastard instead of Master. Call me every profane word you’ve never been allowed to say. Be a foul-mouthed whore for me.”

“Shut up and ride me, you shit-fucking whoreson,” popped out of her in frustration.

He chuckled, reaching down to the swirled ivory shaft to guide it into her.

“Fuck that’s good,” she groaned. “Fill my cunt”

He did, pushing forward until half of it was inside her and she shuddered in orgasm from the fullness alone.

“Thank you, Master,” she said when the climax subsided.

“We’re not nearly done. Keep talking. Don’t worry that you’ll hurt my feelings. You won’t. You can say anything you want,” he told her. “Be insulting toward my lack of manhood. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You want me to treat you like a mounting slave?” she asked.

“If that’s how you want to look at it. I have no cock to satisfy. Fucking you is for your satisfaction. I just like doing it.”

He started a rhythmic motion, mindful of how deep he was going.

“Open your cunt for me, slattern,” he said. “Let me get my fat rod all the way into you.”

She groaned, relaxing to let her body receive him. “Deeper, worthless eunuch. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“As you command, slut moll.”

He increased his speed, driving deeper and watching the ivory disappear into a hole that opened wider and wider.

“That’s my good whore. Take it all,” he said.

“You need a second fake cock to satisfy me, you’re such a sorry ass. You can’t fuck me hard enough.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” he admitted. “But I’ll hump your cock socket as long as you can take it, poonani.”

“Worthless sploogebag,” she said, one she’d heard from the First Mate she’d bedded with, when he’d cursed out one of the sailors.

She came hard, the rounded over swirling ridges of the ivory replacing the veins and texture of a penis. He worked her faster to keep her coming, and pulled out all at once. He watched as her liquid gushed out in a profuse flood.

“Sluthole likes to be treated like a dirty cunt,” he said. “Time to fuck your ass. Beg me to do it, goochslit.”

“Beg you? No. You fuck my ass right now, dickless shit muncher.”

He chuckled with delight and slid the ivory into her ass until he felt resistance. Out a little and driving in again, his skin prickling with the sounds of distress she made.

“I’m going to crack your ass wide open to take this whole thing whether you like it or not.”

“Then fucking do it already, big mouth piss guzzler.”

“You like your ass raped out harder, shithole?”

“Harder than you can manage, puny-cocked coward,” she said.

She took the tool almost to the base, screaming out “Master!” in a paingasm that squirted ejaculate out from her puss.

“Harder, cunt?”

“Yes, Master!”

The name-calling game was over. He’d broken her concentration with that powerful orgasm and she landed squarely on her original learned vocabulary, her default.

He slowed his pace, kept to an even motion until she was rising to another of those shattering climaxes. He did the same thing to her that he’d done in her puss. Let her build up to that teetering edge and then stripped the tool out of her. She came another jet of liquid that splashed over his pubic triangle and the ivory rod for a solid three seconds. Reaching to the rope at the top, he brought it and her knees down. Unwrapped swiftly and tossed aside, he reached for the quick release loops on her wrists.

He kissed her cheek. “You’re fun.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

About the Author

Arlyn: Adjutant & Apostle can be found here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07646YM2Z (USA site. For others, search your country’s Amazon site for B07646YM2Z )

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

I Used To Be

April 21, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 4 Comments

I frequently see people new to bdsm and dom/sub relationships ask “what am I?” They give a list of things they like and want, and a list of things they don’t, and want someone to tell them what they should call themselves.

It’s not that simple.

I have said many hundreds of times that we are forever in evolution. It’s only when we look back to see how far we’ve traveled that we can measure how much we’ve changed. What does change can be the very core of our being; what we thought made us who we are.

I’ve been doing a lot of evolving during the last twenty years. Some of it I didn’t know was happening. Some I was very aware of. Some isn’t actually evolving, but simply recognizing and accepting what has been there all along.

I don’t personally need for what I am to have a label. I’m me, and those labels aren’t for me in the first place. They’re for other people to get an idea of who I am through commonly shared terminology. That’s how we better relate to one another. That’s why definitions in dictionaries are important. They give us a commonality.

For example:

I used to be demi-sexual.

I could enjoy intimate things only with someone I had strong feelings for. It was how I was wired. I’d had a fuck buddy when I was 18, but the sex wasn’t as good. We didn’t have an emotional connection. I met and fell in love with the man who would become my first husband and suddenly the sex was mind-blowing.

Once I left my second husband, however, I realized I no longer needed an emotional connection to enjoy sex. I wanted sex for its own sake. I dove headlong into sex parties. Given the size of the wet spots I left on a couple beds, I’d say I’m way over being demi-sexual. It’s not how I’m wired anymore.

If I’m not demi anymore, then what am I?

During the flag-waving month, I found a great resource (two, actually) that contained a bunch of different flags. I looked them over carefully. I freely admit I googled a few of them. Sometimes I ask uncomfortable questions of those who know about it all, in my efforts to understand the subtle differences, or why two things that are complete opposites sit under the same umbrella.

I found that the term demi-sexual didn’t exist until 12 years back (2006). Well, no wonder there wasn’t a word for how I felt 30 years ago.

I found the term that really fits how I am now. Aromantic. A person who can fuck and be fucked without an emotional connection. Tongue pressed firmly in cheek, I call it the Slut Flag. YAY SLUTS ‘R’ US!!! I didn’t think we needed a flag, but okay. Everyone gets a trophy nowadays. I might have thought it would be a field of pink lace with a red thong and a condom in the middle, but no. It’s just four boring stripes of bland color.

It’s hard to take people seriously when they glom onto any new label that comes down the pike. It’s rather like being a hypochondriac. So realizing I’m no longer demi-sexual, that I do NOT need an emotional connection in order to enjoy sex (and haven’t for a long time) is not something I’ve accepted lightly. It has, however, been a relief to let that go and see myself as I am now rather than who I was five years ago.

I am a sadist, a masochist. I am submissive…whoops, hold on there!

I used to be submissive.

For 30+ years, submissive was my most natural state with my life partner. I was submissive to both husbands; was doing it before I knew d/s relationships were a thing.

My first husband and I were naturally d/s for over a decade. He was very much the boss and I…wasn’t. A woman knows when she is owned, and he owned me utterly. He controlled where I went and who I was with. He controlled where the money went, and would literally remove money from my pocket if we were going out somewhere. If he didn’t like my clothes, I had to change into something else (usually because of too much cleavage). I could be naked all day long at home, but had to be fully covered from neck to knees when we left the house. I didn’t really care much so long as he kept me happily fucked, which he did until the last couple years.

The minute I left husband #2, in January of 2018, any submissiveness in me vanished. I had been submissive solely for him, by his own command, for a very long time. For his benefit, for his pleasure (and mine), and for the harmony of the house; but not because it was who I was as a person anymore. I had ceased to “be submissive” as part of my being and had become “submissive for him alone.” When that shift actually happened, I couldn’t tell you. It was gradual over the years as he altered my own perception through the rules he instituted.

He’d let me explore topping. Topping led to domming as I realized I didn’t want to be a kink/fetish vending machine and wanted to do what ~I~ wanted to do during play. Negotiation ceased to be me asking “what do you like/want” and became “here are the toys I brought. This is what I do. Pick what you want used on you.”

The dominant aspects of my personality were allowed to flourish and, once out of a place of daily submission, became my whole being and personal point of view. I am dominant. It is my personality.

I am the boss when I top. I am the boss when I bottom.
I am a sadist.
I am a masochist. I’m not ever giving up the masochist part. I enjoy it too much. I just won’t be submitting in order to have those needs fulfilled.

Thus, I am a dominant sadomasochist.

I don’t have to submit to get a flogging, and the other person doesn’t have to dominate in order to give one. We can be equals, enjoying what we do and enjoying each other, cooperating to have a mutually satisfying scene/session, without either of us being the boss of the other.

The d/s aspect of it can be left completely aside. We can be top and bottom, sadist and masochist, and be perfectly satisfied and content.

I had thought the submissive in me was completely dead. Turned out she just needed a good, long rest. She perks her head up now and then, when a man has that innate quality that speaks to her. She will not, however, be who I am anymore. She only ever comes out for playtime.

Third on my list of things:

I used to be monogamous!

I used to be so strongly monogamous that I couldn’t think about being with a second man without feeling guilty. I couldn’t stand the thought of my husband being with another woman. Flogging was foreplay. If something involved tits, cunt, ass, or cock and balls, it was sexual. Period. It was that black and white for me.

Then husband #2 let me start paddling other people at parties. In turn, I had to not fuss about him playing with other people too. That was only fair. While it wasn’t easy those first couple times, I very quickly learned to separate spankings, floggings, and even dick caning, from fucking and being fucked by my husband.

There were rules I had to follow, and I agreed with them. I never broke a single one of his rules for playing with others. After I left him, however, those rules were gone. I had more sexual partners in my first two parties than I’d had since the year I turned 18. For 31+ years, I’d only been with those two men. My husbands were both very greedy with me, keeping me entirely to themselves.

I’m not polyamorous. Not by any stretch of the word. Remember, I don’t love any of the people I fuck. I’m not having an ongoing relationship with any of them except that we meet at the same sex party a few times. I don’t want a committed relationship or emotional entanglements.

I’m in a slut phase (waves that flag!), and enjoying the hell out of it! I don’t need or want romance. I actually don’t like what most people call romance. I write it really well, but I don’t feel it myself or have need of it.

I used to be heterosexual

Okay, yeah…no. That one hasn’t changed. I’m only interested in dick. Big dick, preferably, but we don’t measure entrants to the parties and put their length and girth on stat/name tags and I’ve had some fantastic sex with average sized dudes and too brief an encounter with some who are well-endowed.

Evolution of the self doesn’t stop. Five years down the road, I’ll take another look back and measure the change.

You will too at some point.

Embrace the change. When you do, you are accepting yourself as you are rather than how you wish you were. Acceptance of the self is one of the hardest things we as people ever do. Enjoy who you are.

—————————————–

About the Author

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

My Night With Hades. (Yes, THAT Hades.)

April 14, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

Now and then I’m asked what my fantasies are. I usually say that I go out and live the things I want to do. I write fantasies for other people to dream about.

But there is this…

“Not a sound this time. You will suffer in silence for me,” Hades said, reaching for four clothespins.

Angling them in on either side of my nipples, behind the areola, he forced the sensitive nubs out. Lying between my soft thighs, his lips slid over a nipple in a warm caress. He chuckled with my writhing, shivering gasp and did the same to the other one. Back and forth half a dozen times, then the tip of his tongue flicked the nubs until I couldn’t stand my own need. He slid down to lick the profuse wetness he’d brought out. Only for a few seconds, though, for him to taste and not to give me a climax.

Up for a kiss and his hardness slid into me. Thickness like no other, that gave me that sharp pain of virginity lost, though I’d not been a virgin for decades.

“You need two lovers to keep you full,” he said, holding himself up over me so he wouldn’t crush the clothespins.

He watched my breasts slide up and down in place, knew the pain they were causing me and how it thrilled me deep in my belly, deeper down to my very chi. I tried to buck my hips and make him pound into me, into my cervix. He countered with a cessation of motion and slight pulling back.

“No you don’t. You get no orgasms this time. I want you desperate for me relieve you. I’m going to leave you in such a state that you beg me to use you. You and I know damn well this is not going to be the last time we’re together.”

I groaned in frustration and he chuckled at me.
“I said not a sound.”

He reached for another clothespin and gently closed it over my right nipple. My reaction was instant, back arching high with the intense pain in so concentrated and presented an area. He flicked the other nipple with a stinger finger to punish me further for my naughty sound.

“My sweet little painslut. I will always give you want you need. Just not always when you want it. Do you want the other clothespin?”

“Yes, please,” I whispered, eyes shut tight as I let myself drown in all the sensations I craved.

“I was your first and you submit to me now. I will always be Master Hades to you. Proper address and you will have the pain you want. You and I know I am now and always will be the one who owns you.”

“Please, Master Hades.”

Three more hard stingers as he said “Good girl.” Then the clothespin gripped my nipple, the searing pain of the clamp launching me into a hard orgasm he knew I couldn’t stop. He pulled out.

“On your knees.”

I moved slowly and he repositioned himself behind me and lifted my chin high with a hand shaped under my jaw. His other hand reached down to find my slickness. It came back up to tug and twist the center clothespins while he spoke, very much enjoying my struggle to not make vocalizations while he tortured me.

“I am not going to take it easy on you anymore today. I will show your other lover exactly what my painslut likes and how she likes it so he’ll know how to reward you when you please him and how to discipline you when you do not.”

The clothespins came off one at a time and both sets of fingers grazed fast and firm over the over-sensitive, hard little nubs until I came another good one. He took me to bend over the end of the bed, tied my arms behind my back. Knowing I didn’t like the spreader bar, he put it between my ankles anyway. Sex with him was rarely about what I liked or wanted, which was what made it precisely what I needed.

“I want to fulfill your deep, dark desire; but we both know your consent to have it done negates the entire concept of taking you against your will. Should I instead be the most tender?”

“Do you want me to answer that?” I asked.
“Yes.”

“Tenderness heightens the pleasures of pain. To that end, it’s fine. As the whole meal? I have little interest in tenderness, and neither do you. Anyone can be strong and forceful. You want someone you can be your brutal self with. You want someone you can take by force, without asking. Someone who will revel in every second and want more. Here I am, ready and able to take everything you can dish out. I need it that way with a craving I cannot describe.”

He got the pointer from his dresser and bent over to kiss my cheek. “This is not punishment. This is to deepen your endorphin high and give you something to sit on for a few days.”

He swung for a good half an hour while I screeched and shrieked into the bed. When he was done, he untied my arms and removed the spreader bar. He took his place on the pillows at the head of the bed. He beckoned me to climb up and rest with him for several minutes while I sank deep into the high.

“Ready for me to pound your ass again?” he asked.
“No. Maybe in the morning,” I yawned. “If I stay all night.”

He turned me onto my belly to be comfortable, dropped a kiss between my shoulder blades, and was on top of me thrusting into my ass. I reared up and he shoved me down to the mattress, held me there with a hand around the back of my neck. The force of his taking thumped the bed into the wall.

“Is this how you want it, my cunt? With consent removed entirely and you having given refusal? Is it not real enough to be consensual non-consent? You need an actual assault?”

“Yes, Master Hades” I grunted.

“You broke the first rule. You told me no.” He gave the outside of my thigh a shockingly hard smack. “You will never again tell me no.”

His knees shoved mine wider before I could answer and he resumed with better leverage for long, full slams into my pliant flesh.

“Will you.”
Not a question. A statement.

“Please, Master,” I gasped, mind emptying in that way he was learning to recognize.

“Please what?”
“Please don’t throw me into the briar patch, Master. Anything but that.”

He laughed a genuine sound and growled vicious things he would do to me the next time he chose to rape me. He would never ask me if I wanted to have sex. He would simply do it. I could fight if I wanted but I would not win. He would flog me. He would whip me. He would do anything he wanted to me and I would not refuse him anything he wanted.

“That’s what it means to be slave to Hades. Do you remember giving your body and soul to Lucifer when you were so angry at your god? You are mine. You have been regardless how far away from me you were.”

He came harder than I did and we both needed a long moment to catch our breath. He held me close and I gave him the sweetest kiss to his cheek just before falling asleep. My breathy “thank you” burned itself into his memory.

He left me asleep in that foggy place where nothing could reach me, left me to some peace and a good, hard sleep I so rarely could find.

About the Author

TylerRose. is a real world dominant sadomasochist. She lives in NYC and regularly attends SM parties, sex parties, and munches. Among her hobbies are crochet, cross stitch, and going to movies.

She is forever writing one book or another, and will likely die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

You can follow her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor
On Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828
Read her books on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2
This piece was put together from two parts of the same sequence in her book Too Long a Soldier.

The Aftercare Lie

March 31, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 12 Comments

Now and then I will share one of the lies I wrote about in my 50 Lies Told to New People About BDSM book. They make good topics for articles since they’re already fairly bite sized. They also deal with issues I see on a daily basis on kink-based social websites or groups.

Today I’m going to present two that go hand in hand and apply to both private and public play.

A good Dom will just “know” what you like and what you want.

This is a huge lie that I see perpetuated all the time. It’s usually presented in some romanticized list of “things a good Dom does”, which is what makes it such a popular notion. We all like lists, right? How can you go wrong with an unreasonable list of expectations that says how a person will be a perfect Dom while saying others who don’t do these things are crappy human beings, right?

What could possibly go wrong with that?

Well, last I knew, people aren’t telepathic. A Dominant, a Top, a sadist, a submissive, a bottom, a masochist…cannot read your mind. While it’s a lovely fantasy, to think someone will “just know” what you want, the reality is that we all have to open our mouths and make words. Or write things down in a note and then discuss it together. We have to communicate directly with one another. There’s no way around it.

Yes, it sometimes happens that we meet someone and we click and it seems like the other person knows how to read our signals. You cannot count on it, however, as it can take years to build that kind of rapport.

Knowing that you must open your mouth and make words at the other person in order to express your needs and desires brings me to one of the most misunderstood and miscommunicated concepts.

After care and the many lies surrounding it. The lies I’m dealing with in this piece are:

You are entitled to whatever after care you want, REGARDLESS!

36a. A good Top/Dom will make aftercare a priority.

First, a basic definition that includes no editorializing: After care is the particular and specific attention given a partner after a strenuous play session, whatever the two people involved decide that care should be.

This concept (formerly about wounds and broken skin) has, in recent years, been twisted into marathon cuddling sessions for the most minor and brief of play, between people who barely know each other.

How do I know this? I asked them directly.

“After care is a requirement for everyone,” they type in the eleventybillionandtenth discussion posted this year.

“What do you consider after care?” I ask.

Invariably, they come back with something that involves cuddling as the main focus. Doesn’t matter if the person they played with is someone they’ve known for ten minutes. That stranger must cuddle. Those who don’t want to cuddle with this bottom they’ve known for all of ten minutes are at once vilified. I have read their outraged posts in a thousand threads on the topic.

Cuddling. It always comes down to cuddling. We must cuddle! Always! For an hour!

Those of us who don’t, as top or as bottom, are scorned and told we’re not doing it right. We’re told yes, we do too have to do that, whether we want to or not.

I’m here to say no, we don’t. Consent is a thing even when it comes to the after care. If someone doesn’t consent to cuddling, that’s an end to the topic. Furthermore, the top doesn’t have to give a reason why they don’t want to cuddle. “NO” is a complete sentence regardless which side of the slash we’re on.

No one ever thinks about consent applying to after care. No one thinks about a top not consenting to something. New bottoms are erroneously told they are entitled to whatever they demand (closeness/cuddling) and what the top wants or doesn’t want is irrelevant.

We are people, not on-demand fetish dispensers. The notion of after care has become a kink in and of itself in recent years; and new bottoms are ardently brainwashed into thinking they absolutely must have after care or they’ll suffer some dire consequence of mental breakdown.

The people perpetuating these after care lies give no allowance for the individual and personal needs and preferences of the two people engaging in play. They’ll backpedal when challenged, and say “oh everyone is different”, which at once completely negates their statement that “everyone must have aftercare”; but if you illustrate how you personally are different and do not want/like to cuddle, up go the judgments of what a terrible top you are (regardless your skill or the happiness of the bottom) or what an unfulfilled bottom you must be (regardless your satisfaction with the play had). Yet another pair of lies.

No, you’re not entitled whatever after care you want. Your expectations may be unreasonable. I once saw a bottom state (in a post online) that any top who plays with her knows they must be available to her for three months afterward. I wonder. If she plays with four men in one month, does she then have four men at her beck and call for quarter of a year? That is outrageous to me, and unreasonable. Play at a dungeon is not a substitute for a long term relationship. If you want a boyfriend experience, then go get a boyfriend.

Do not ever think the other person has no option but to do what you want. They always have the option to say no, whether you like it or not. They can say no at any time. It’s that consent thing. If you can withdraw your consent and stop play at any time and for no reason, then they can withdraw (at any time and for no reason) their consent to cuddle.

You are entitled only to what you and the person you’re playing with both agree to. Any version of “if you don’t, I’m going to tell the world what a shitty top you are” is blackmail. Let that sink in. I’ve seen enough writings and group threads to know this is precisely what happens, and it’s despicable.

This all means you have to do that thing up in #22: You have to discuss it together before play begins, not after play has ended.

If the top doesn’t bring it up while you’re discussing the play you’re about to have, the bottom absolutely should. That shoe fits equally well on both feet. Do not assume you, as the top or the bottom, will get exactly what you demand without talking about it first. If you don’t discuss after care before you play, and you don’t get any when you’re done playing, the Dom/Top hasn’t done anything wrong.

It is not solely the responsibility of the top to bring it, or anything else, up for discussion. Bottoms have a responsibility to themselves to discuss anything and everything they feel is necessary before play begins.

The top is allowed to have their own preferences and personal practices, and does not have to change them for any bottom if they don’t want to.

Assuming what you want will happen is not a good position to start from. You may well end up sitting there, blinking at the Top/Dom while he turns over to go to sleep. Assume nothing. Speak up and discuss it before you ever get to the bedroom.

Ask what the Top/Dom usually does after play is finished. They are likely to have their own routines, which might include cleaning the implements and putting them away, but not anything of intimacy.

If you know you need something different or specific, ask if they will do what you need. If they say no, how will you respond? Will you give in and say it’s fine just so you can have play? Or will you walk away?

Furthermore, it is wrong for a Top/Dom to insist they must give aftercare to an unwilling bottom and try to force that bottom to comply. There are a lot of bottoms who don’t want anything, who want to shake hands and walk away. If pushing a spanking onto someone who doesn’t want it is wrong, then so is pushing aftercare onto someone who doesn’t want it.

While you’re finding out if the Top will tend to your needs, you should be finding out if the top expects you to do something for them. Some tops say that they are the one who needs after care. I’ve seen some tops say that they need to do the cuddling for their own peace of mind, or that they want a shoulder/arm massage for all their effort. Are you prepared to do that? To put off your own after care needs for half an hour to give a shoulder massage?

If you don’t like the answers you get to your questions, as top or as bottom, you have to decide what you can live without. Or you may have to make the decision to go without playing with them and head your separate ways.

Engaging in a play session when you know you will not get the attention you want or need afterward puts responsibility for yourself squarely on your own shoulders.

However it shakes out, we all must understand that there is no single standard for what people do after the play and fucking are done. Some people do want to lie around and cuddle for hours. Or lie around and watch television at their separate ends of the sofa. Others can’t stand to be touched and want space. Some might get up immediately, have a cigarette, or go make food. Some get dressed and go about their day as usual, or leave to go to work.

When you see someone demanding that there must be aftercare always, they mean they need it for themselves. They don’t have the communication skills to use “I” statements and speak for themselves, and also don’t realize that they are tossing out decrees for the entire world. “I must always have aftercare” is very different from “everyone must always have aftercare” but they cannot see the difference.

When they insist everyone needs aftercare, they are showing their own inexperience. They cannot say you must have anything because they know nothing about you. It’s not their job or place to convince you, against your own better judgment, that you need something you don’t. They’re simply not qualified to speak with any authority on the topic of “you”.

Caring for Yourself

You’ll find out for yourself once you get into the play situation. Maybe you will need the cuddling and half a gallon of ice cream. Or maybe you’ll find out that you don’t like to be touched after play ends. Be prepared with a few elementary things and then you’ll be better able to recognize the out of the ordinary needs stemming from playtime.

Keep yourself well-hydrated before and during play, as well as afterward. Get a fresh bottle or glass of water to keep at hand during the session. Pause periodically to get a drink. That can easily be worked into the play itself, if you like.

Eat well before and after play. You need food energy because you will use up a great deal of energy during play.

Get a good night’s sleep before and after your session, if at all possible. Naps are your friend. If you’re exhausted going in, you’ll be doubly so when it’s over.

I think these three things are the most important. Most importantly, they are in no way dependent on the good will of someone else. A great many daily health issues arise from sleep deprivation and dehydration. If you have these things in hand, you may find you don’t need anything else. Or you may find the cuddling becomes the delicious icing on the SM cake rather than an entire interventive medical regimen you can’t survive without.

Doesn’t matter which side of the top/bottom slash you’re on. Only you can decide what you need and what you want, and those needs and wants may change over time. That’s okay too. Just let it be your decision what you need or don’t, and not someone else’s.

If you want something a prospective partner is not prepared to give, walk away rather than put yourself at risk.

About the Author

TylerRose. is a real world dominant sadomasochist. She lives in NYC and regularly attends SM parties, sex parties, and munches. Among her hobbies are crochet, cross stitch, and going to movies.

She is forever writing one book or another, and will likely die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Her “high horse” is 50 hands high. His name is Unabashed. And her soapbox is spray painted royal purple with outlines of stars made out of Elmer’s glue and gold glitter.

You can follow her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor
On Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828
Read her books on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2
And read the other 49 lies in her book 50 Lies Told to New People About BDSM: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07HVS2H2T

Excerpt from TylerRose.’s book Purgatory

March 17, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

He sat to wait and sip his bourbon, having no doubt she would come to him. He’d heard her door close half the hour earlier. As he was getting a refill, two raps on the door stopped his heart.

Okay, so he had been anticipating her more than he’d previously admitted. A breath to calm himself and he opened the door to find her more lovely than ever he’d seen. Except, perhaps, that moment when she had given his son back his life. That was not a thing to think on in this moment, however. He took her by the hand to bring her inside, seated her in the center of the three cushioned sofa. Knowing how she liked her drink, he brought her a bourbon and water with ice.

Sitting facing her, he turned off the television. She turned onto her hip, curling up into a set of curves he found impossible to resist. A single finger traced a line down her thigh to her knee.

“You were annoyed with my diligent soldier,” she opened in K’Tran. “We can talk now.”

“Yes, but now I have you here and I do not want to speak lest we ruin the magic between us,” he smiled softly. “You know well what you do to a man. I need not tell you.”

“A woman likes to hear it all the same.”

His eyes held an uncommon expression she recognized. He’d looked at her this same way the first night she had spent in his Gar suite in her home line.

Home line. She needed to amend that. Birth timeline. This was her Home line now. She put her drink down, laying her head on the high cushion.

“I have watched you kill numerous men,” he said. “No one can deny you are a warrior. I am expected to have many mates. I loved Curry’s mother. You understand the importance of that statement. But it takes a warrior to speak to the soul of a warrior. You had spoken to my soul before I ever saw you, before we met. Curry told me how you blew up the Rovan house, the barracks, how you let Ch’Wik live. A female warrior unafraid of death and possessing K’Tran morals regarding the enemy is an extraordinary find,” he ended in a whisper, finger tracing down her neck. “Tell me what you want from this night.”

“For a memory to be replaced with a reality. For my soul to be at peace come the dawn.”

“What is your conflict?” he asked. “You said you do not regret.”

“Sometimes it is hard to remember you are not the man I knew a lifetime ago. I work very hard to see the man you are and not the man I knew.”

“How can I help?” he asked, holding her hand and leaning closer to her.

“Be yourself and not what I think you should be. Your counterpart and I…we were rather adversarial. He was ardent and I wasn’t going to be a conquest. To have me, he had to give up himself. Don’t let me do that to you.”

His fingers slipped around her neck to lift her head from the cushion.

“You cannot make me do anything I do not desire,” he said, and claimed her in a kiss.

Skilled hand slipped the lace from her shoulders, his eyes bearing into hers as their mouths parted.

“You are here. You know what a Gar expects. Your presence is your full consent or you must leave and never come to my bedchamber again,” he said.

“Just keep my shoulder and ribs in mind,” she said.

His finger traced her bottom lip. “I know your injuries well enough. You will put no conditions on me, woman. Do you stay or do you go?”

She smiled. “I’m not going anywhere except to your bed.”

“In my own time. First you will know, without a doubt, that I am not he.”

“I already do.”

“You admitted only a moment ago it is something hard to remember. Do you now recant that statement?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then I will make absolutely certain you know the difference.”

The robe and thin straps came down farther, to bare her to the waist. Strong mouth on hers, confident fingers finding and opening butterflies until her hair was freed. She gasped a shocked sound when a comb’s hinged teeth bit into her areola.

“Mankell,” she breathed, and his fingers pressed her lips.

“No woman speaks my name unless I give her permission. I am your Gar.”

Her Lord.

He applied a comb to her other areola.

“Or what?” she challenged.

His fingers closed on a comb, forcing it to bite her flesh much harder. “Or you will wish you had. I do not want a battle of wills with you. You came to me of your own free will because you wanted to. Do not ruin it now by being contrary.”

With her fully vocal cry, he let go the butterfly. His hand flat on her chest plate, he pushed her back to lie on the cushion. Pulling the nightgown and robe from her, tossing them to the floor, he saw her knees parting. He pressed them together.

“When I want you, I will open you,” he said, easing closer to sit beside her bent legs and hold them to the back of the sofa with his side. Her left arm could not be raised over her head. He took off his silk pants and led her hand to his scrotum.

“Show me you know what pleases.”

Her hand opened to cradle his heavy sack and caress as far around as her fingers would reach, stroking the hard line of its natural seam. He bent over to kiss from her belly up to the hard bone between her breasts. A gentle finger slid into both butterflies to flick over her hard nipples. She squirmed under him, sighed with delight, rendered up her tongue when his lips again claimed hers.

“How many orifices have you?” he asked.

“Three.”

“How many of them are mine?”

“All of them.”

He removed a butterfly to give her nipple the reward of a long, strong pull of his mouth in sucking, repeating with the other. Butterflies clattered to the table. She groaned, thighs sliding with need quickly approaching critical. He continued the suck, one hand holding her breast and the other stroking up his shaft over her hand.

“Mankell,” she breathed, slipping that easily into her passion.

A kiss to her lips, his voice in her ear. “Turn over.”

Stiff, not at all easy with her painful shoulder and stiff spine, she turned herself carefully. He did not prompt her to hurry, let her take her time so she would not hurt herself. She heard him swallow, heard the glass placed on the table, and reared up as hard coldness was held tight between her buttocks. A piece of ice. With his other hand on the back of her good shoulder, he easily held her down.

Shrieking ended, kicking ended with his one question. “What did you call me?”

Silence, her sides heaving as she caught her breath from the shock. “Your name,” she realized.

“Do you wish you hadn’t?” he asked.

Hard frozen lump burning deep into her sensitive flesh.

“Yes!”

His thumb pushed the half melted lump into her anus and he moved back to sit on the sofa.

“Come here before me, on your knees.”

Much easier for her to push up on her right arm, she slipped off the sofa.

“Low? Tall? Knees together? Apart?” she asked.

“Whatever you do I will change it, so it matters not how you start.”

Her eyes taunted and she stood tall with her knees far apart and arms behind her.

He reached past her for two butterflies, putting them back on her areola vertically rather than horizontally. He stood to look down on her, grasping her hair to pull her head far backward. Beautiful green eyes, sanguine in her submission, so trusting.

“Is my mastery at all in question?”

“No, my Gar,” she replied.

He let go, took his glass and hers to get more ice, brought back a letter opener from the desk. He gave her a sip, took a sip from his own, looked down on her as she looked up at him. A visage to bring his blood to a roil.

“On my bed. Be ready for me.”

“Are you going to remove these?” she asked, meaning the butterflies.

“No.”

She could have removed them herself and faced the consequences. Instead, she rose to stand, walking a controlled, unhurried pace around the sofa to the bed near the windows. She opened a drawer, placed a purple tube on the table before sitting to pull herself backwards and lie down.

He left a sitting area lamp on for dim light, bringing both glasses to the bedside. She also heard the letter opener clatter onto the table. He had plans for it.

“What is this tube?”

“Lubricant. Helpful for riding my ass nice and hard.”

He slid into place beside her. “What if I don’t want to ride hard?”

“Still helpful for penetration. I love to be fucked up my ass.”

He grasped a butterfly wing between finger and thumb and pulled upward. The teeth bit into her flesh, brace preventing her from arching her back much.

“You are beautiful in butterflies,” he said, easing her breast down with a kiss to her lips. “I think not all Earth women enjoy pain as you do.”

“You’re right. Some like it more,” she teased.

He smiled but did not take her bait.

“Before he turned your bed to block the window, I observed the Dragon handle you roughly. More so than I have ever handled any of my North House women. I have, at times, been concerned. Then your pheromones reach me and I know you are in your bliss. When did you learn pain as pleasure to that degree?”

“It’s hardwired. I’ve always had it. What was taught to me was pain as an expression of love. That started when I was fifteen.”

“Fifteen? Before breeding age?” he questioned, hand reaching down her inner thigh.

“I have known the joy of sex for a long time,” she smiled.

He took the butterflies off, tossed them to the table on the opposite side of the bed.

“Who taught you that young?” he asked. “What was his name?”

“Master Kevin.”

“Master? You were a slave to him?”

“No. Not slave. More like a possession he allowed to roam free. But he was Master and I submitted to him. As I am submitting to you,” she said.

His fingers slid between her labia to the slickness of her arousal.

“I like the way you whimper,” he said when she made the sound. He made her make it again by exploring the small protrusion of flesh near the top of her slit.

“I like the way you make me whimper,” she replied. “I can be very loud. Do you prefer I try to keep quiet?”

“I know how loud you can be. You will make exactly the sounds I want you to.”

She laughed. “I have always loved that K’Tran arrogance.”

“You aren’t forgetting who is who, are you?” he teased, bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste the musk he was already so familiar with.

“No. Are you annoyed my bed is turned to block the window?”

It was his turn to laugh.

“Turned, yes, but when you are tall on your knees, ridden from behind, your breasts bounce merrily and your expressions are enough to make a man burst into flame. I have seen how vigorously you ride when so inspired. I would not have been surprised to see the two of you spark a fire with the force and friction of your passion. Many times have I watched you in passion and pleasured myself, or been pleasured by a mouth.”

Seconds of silence between them, eye to eye.

“I often watch you in the sand garden. I watch how you are used and have longed to be the one between your lovely thighs. Open wide and be prepared for me to fulfill my longing for the rest of the night. I will have you every time I am recovered.”

Her thighs parted and he inhaled the full scent of her arousal, heady and familiar. He bent over first to lick from the top down, tasting her flesh directly and feeling those sharp talons of hers dig their points into his back and scrape his skin. Licking was a thing he did not do to his favorites, only with Lenore. Tyler’s scent seared itself into his nostrils, into his brain, into the place left vacant by Lenore’s death.

When his nostrils and brain were full with her, he turned to place himself into position. Forearms intentionally pinning her down by her hair, his hard length slid steadily into her slickness, her tight, welcoming warmth. He was strong but not forceful, using that steady drive ending in long, firm pressure on the end of her channel. Gasping, breathless, she was taken to the edge of climax every time. He recognized that her conscious mind disengaged from the instinctive body during sexual intercourse. The body acted, reacted, was driven by blind instinct.

“Please, Kell,” she said only minutes into their joining.

“Please what?”

“Please make me cum.”

He withdrew, lifted aside. “Turn over and I can be more vigorous with you.”

It was an effort, the brace and pain of her ribs and shoulder both slowing her in different ways. In place, she felt a cold drop on her buttock.

“What did you call me?” he asked.

She was motionless, thinking, trying to remember any words she’d spoken. “Oh, fuck.”

Bigger piece of ice between her buttocks, good shoulder pinned to the bed while she kicked her feet and pushed upward.

“If you fight discipline, discipline lasts longer,” he said.

She stopped moving as much, squealing with the unbearable cold over her anus.

“I enjoy your squirming. I can do this a dozen times if I must.”

“You would,” she said.

“Will you have trouble remembering now?” he asked.

“No, I think you got it covered.”

“Good.” He threw the ice. It thunked off the wall and fell to the floor. “Remember to call me Gar so I don’t have to do that again. Next time, the shaft of ice will penetrate and be held until it melts in the middle.”

She laughed a genuine sound. “That sounds like fun.”

“You think?” he asked, kissing her right shoulder as he moved back into position.

“I like everything, even discipline I hate. You’re inventive and that makes everything fun. I’ll make you a deal. I will never mention your other timeline counterpart ever again if you don’t,” she said.

“That would be a good agreement,” he said, and lunged into her welcoming channel.

He made good his vow to have her every time he was recovered. After five times remembering to call him Gar, he told her to use his name instead. She did not refuse him even once, both well-aware this might be the only night they would spend together.

At dawn he took her to her own room, put her to bed with another ten minutes of oral pleasures. So slippery a tongue, as strong as Jerome’s had ever been, mercilessly sending her into the one and only clit popper of their encounter. He left her utterly exhausted, completely drained of the last remnants of her strength, and sound asleep. He went to Pisod’s door to let the guard know it was time for duty again.

“Call me when she wakes,” Mankell instructed.

“Only if she tells me to,” Pisod replied, shutting the door.

About the Author

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Stoicism Is Not a Gauntlet Thrown Down

March 3, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 4 Comments

“I don’t make noise and I don’t react much.”

I have learned to say this to tops, on the rare occasions that I get to receive a spanking or flogging. I usually receive perplexed blinking and confused expressions in return.

What do you mean you don’t make noise?

I find that hard to believe.

Sure you don’t.

If you say so.

Sometimes they say one of these lines out loud. The ones who don’t say it, I can see the thought passing through their brains. How can a bottom not make noise? How can a bottom not react to a spanking?

Then we get to playing and…I don’t make noise. I don’t react much. I stand there and take it, absorbing each strike. My body sways with certain strikes. I might grip the top of whatever I’m bent over. My face may grimace if it was particularly painful. That’s about it for floggings or spankings.

I meant what I said. I don’t make noise. I don’t react much.

Some years back, I took a paddling while lying down on a massage table. The top seemed genuinely perplexed that I didn’t bounce all over the table, didn’t kick my feet or pound the table with a fist, didn’t screech and whine and cry out. It hurt like hell, but I took every whack without a sound and without moving.

Why? Because that is my nature.

“But tops like a reaction!” – Sure they do. I know. I’m a top as well, and a sadist to boot. However, I’m not going to manufacture a reaction. I don’t like that kind of disingenuous play acting, from either end of the flogger. My reactions are always genuine.

My former dom/husband told me, a very long time ago (19 years), not to make unnecessary noise. Not to put on a show of making noise and fuss of reactions that weren’t real. I was to make only the sounds he inspired me to make. I was to remain in place, for the most part. He didn’t like fake reactions and a put-on show.

If he wanted me to cry out and show a physical response, trust me, he could easily do that. All he had to do was get out a quirt or the cane and use the top third of his power range. I would dance and make all the noise he wanted me to, whenever he wanted me to. Our clothespins demonstration was titled “Kicking and Screaming”, because I most assuredly did both of those things while they were coming off. The pain was sudden and intense, and every sound I made was authentic. Grunting, groaning, shrieking, the occasional scream. It was all real.

There’s another reason not to put on a show of reactions. Standing there, taking it, not screaming and jumping all over the place…conserves energy. I don’t wear myself out with all that unnecessary motion and energy expenditure. Play lasts longer. I get a deeper high that lasts longer.

When a bottom says “I don’t react much”, that is not a gauntlet thrown down on the field of battle. It’s not a challenge. It’s a statement of fact, one to be taken at face value.

It’s like when I see a top say “I will make you safe word!” Nope, no thank you. If that’s your attitude, then I’m not going to allow you to touch me. You don’t have mutual pleasure in mind. Only inflicting an agony that you think I cannot withstand. That’s not at all what I’m about, even as a sadist.

“I will make you react” is the same thing. If your only goal is to make me scream, then you’re not about mutual pleasure. You’re about causing damage.

You’ll never touch me.

As a top, it’s not my goal to make a man scream. It’s my job to make him so love what I do that he wants it never to end. That way, I get to go on whipping or caning him. I enjoy caning a cock. The goal isn’t to break the cock. It’s not to cause so much pain that he’s crying out. The goal is for it to be right on that edge between pleasure and pain, and be pleasure enough that he’s got the hardest erection he’s ever had in his life.

I played with a bottom one time, some years back, who was almost completely non-reactionary. He told me that if he made any outward sign, he disappointed himself. It put that onto himself. It had nothing to do with me or anything I did to him. It was a challenge to himself, one that I did not take up in any extreme manner.

He had a huge Prince Albert ring. At one point while I was caning him, I put the tip of the cane through the ring and rang that dinner bell. Yep. He reacted, with a gasp and a shudder.

He also had a number of heavy rings around the top of his scrotum. I used the side of my cane to zip zip zip up and down those rings, sending vibrations through his scrotum, cock, pelvis. Yep. He reacted, with a louder gasp and a bigger shudder.

I tap tap tapped my cane against those rings. I think that one actually got a sound out of him.

No one had ever thought to do any of these things before. He was thrilled. He went into a huge high that took him easily half an hour to come down from enough to have his legs reliably under him.

I don’t ever go into play with the goal of making a person react how I want them to, how best pleases my ego. I go into play expecting them to react however they react, and using that as feedback for what is moderate and what is on the harsher side.

It takes no skill to make someone scream and call RED!!!! Any haphazard fool can do that.

Managing the bottom so well that you (as the top) say “okay, we’re going to stop now” and they whine or whimper “please don’t stop now!”…

That is where the skill lays.

About the Author

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

BDSM Erotica: Birthday Girl

February 17, 2019 By Dame TylerRose. 11 Comments

She looked up to see him smiling, hand outstretched

She took a deep breath outside the door, the cold drizzle of a February rain causing a puffy cloud to stream out. She could walk away now, chicken out and go home and pretend she’d never gotten gussied up and left the house.

Or she could push the buzzer.

The little white rectangle stood out from the plate on the side of the doorway. A giant tooth ready to bite, or a sleek little candy inviting her to get into the stranger’s van.

She pushed it, the buzzing tripping over something in her brain. The line that marked the point of no return. The line was broadened by the buzz of the door itself, a different tone of the lock disengaging to allow her in. She pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold into a new realm of possibility.

Stairs up, her own shoes the only sound on them. Music above, voices. The party was already going though she was only ten minutes past the starting time. She’d learned long ago to arrive a few minutes after a start time rather than too early, if she could help it.

The corridor was quiet, bright. The door before her stood as large as the door buzzer had sounded. The final portal. This was the true point of no return. She could still go downstairs and go home and pretend she’d never been here.

Her hand closed on the knob, turned it, pulled the door open. Within was dark. The first thing she saw was a square of light and a legless torso lit from behind.

“Hi. Welcome. Come on in. What name did you register under?”

She gave it and the pretty young lady found her on the list. The rules of the house were explained. Simple enough. Don’t touch without asking. Take your shoes off before getting on a bed. There were others, but they were all complete common sense and her standard operating procedure anyway.

She handed over her wet coat and umbrella, collected her coat check ticket, and went through to the social area. People already talking, a buffet of snacks. She got herself a cup of water, trying not to look as conspicuous as she felt. More people came in, said hello to others, hugged like long lost friends.

She knew no one at this venue, and so felt as out of place as a person possibly could. Standing at a tall table for a few minutes, no one approached. They were engaged in their own catching up conversations. She crossed over to the sofas, taking a corner position and wondering how to open any conversation.

“Hi. I’m ____. Let’s go have sex” seemed a bit forward even though that was precisely why almost everyone was at the party. For some reason, they expected this ritual of chatting about nothing first.

“Hi, I’m _____. Have you been here before?”

She looked up to see him smiling, hand outstretched. She grasped it, hoping he wouldn’t crush her hand. Indeed, his hand was welcoming, enveloping, cradling hers rather than trying to pulverize every bone of her fingers.

“I’m _____. No, this is my first time at this venue.”

She hoped he wouldn’t quiz her, as she’d already forgotten his name. He had such gorgeous dark eyes.

Rather than talk about sex, they talked about varieties of moonshine. She hadn’t brought anything to drink, but had seen the Mason jar on the bar when she’d gotten her water.

“Would you like to go play?” he asked after about fifteen minutes.

“Sure,” she smiled, glad the chitchat could be over.

She followed him into the room beyond the curtained doorway. Several beds were laid out at the far end, people were sitting silently along the wall at the near end. One couple was doing their thing in the farthest corner.

“Where do you prefer?” he asked quietly.

“I’d prefer a bed by itself,” she said, seeing most of the beds were paired up.

He went directly to one near the rear wall and started taking off his shirt. At once her interest soared. He had a covering of fur that beckoned for her to come touch and run her fingers through.

“Oooh, you have a hairy chest. Can I play with it?” she asked, her fingers already there.

He smiled. “You like body hair on a guy?”

“Very much,” she grinned wider, fingers closing to gently pull and let those dark wisps slip between. Her fingertips slid over and through, and she looked up to see him watching her face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I like that you’re so openly enthused. A lot of women freak out. It’s terrific to find someone who does enjoy what I have.”

She kept the smile and turned around to lift her hair. “Would you unzip me?”

She could have just pulled it over her head, as she’d specifically chosen the outfit to be easy to get out of repeatedly; but suddenly the sensation of a man opening her zipper for her was the one thing she longed for most in the world.

“Certainly,” he said, finger and thumb closing over the tab to pull it halfway down her back.

She shimmied the dress down to fall to the floor, stepping out of it and her shoes at the same time as she often did when coming home from work. She was undressed first, and laid on her side on the bed. He finished undressing and reached into the bedside bowl for a condom and a packet of lube.

On his knees beside her, she reached for his penis. He was a show-er, already sizeable in her hand.

“I really don’t need foreplay,” she said when he reached for her tits.

“No? Really?”

She nodded. “I have Persistent Arousal Syndrome. I’m always primed to one degree or another. I’m also accustomed to no foreplay. I don’t need to be touched. You don’t have to get me hot. I already am.”

His cocked surged harder in her hand, the thought of no foreplay apparently hitting a good spot for him as well.

“I do prefer to be on my knees, if you don’t mind,” she said, rising up to them. “On my back gets hard to breathe.”

Usually because a guy didn’t know how to keep his weight up off her, but she didn’t need to say that.

“If you give me a few minutes at first, I promise I fuck like a demon,” she grinned, about to turn.

He stopped her, a hand under her chin, and tilted her head back. His mouth came down onto hers, tongue sliding into her mouth in a hard kiss that spoke of potential.

He stopped her, and pulled her head back

“Okay with me,” he said, releasing her mouth. “But you should know something else.”

“What?” she asked.

“I read your piece about what you want from a dominant sadist. It’s time for you to shut up so I can have my way with you in front of all these people who have no idea.”

She lost her breath. Her arms and legs shook, entire body turning to jelly. He let her go and she finished her turn to brace on her forearms. His first spank wasn’t so hard that she would yell stop. Or red, if she could ever remember that was supposed to be the House safe word. But wow was it close. The sting radiating out over her buttock and down her thigh stole her voice. The next one gave it back and she grunted into the pillow between her forearms. He toasted her entire bottom and halfway down the backs of her thighs before taking a moment’s pause to put on the condom.

Behind her, a slap of the cool lubricant on the tip of his dick, he held her down at the shoulder with his other hand and bent over to speak privately.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked. “Or were you bluffing?”

“I don’t bluff,” she said. “All I ask is the couple minutes to let me relax and open up once you penetrate.”

“I don’t hear a please. Or a sir. Or anything that tells me you understand the position you are in.”

His hand closed in her hair, pinning her head to the bed.

She had an orgasm. Spontaneous, merely from hearing the words of her deepest needs being touched.

“I am ready for this, Sir,” she chose to say.

The hand slid down her back, large and warm, fingers wide open. An odd comfort, it stilled the butterflies that had sprung up.

His cock was slightly larger than average, nicely thick. She grunted a long sigh with his initial penetration, that white-hot electricity zinging out over her shoulders and arms, down her legs and over her knees. Climax on penetration. She’d told men it could happen. He’d done it.

He was slow at first, pushing a bit deeper with each pass until he was balls deep. She breathed through it, sighed and lowered her face to the bed as she’d been made to do a thousand times over the previous fifteen years. She felt her pelvis relax and open for him.

“How’s that?” he asked with another of those hard slaps to the side of her thigh.

“I’m ready for a bit faster, please. I’ll let you know when I’m able to take it hard.”

His hand closed in her hair, pinning her head to the bed.

“I think you should shut up and fucking take it, slut,” he said, and thrust in with enough force to jerk the mattress on the bed.

That was it. She came undone, came so hard his next thrust splashed the gush of her ejaculate all over his pelvis and lower belly. In seconds, he was pounding into her with the force of a dragon fucking his mate. Droplets of her cum landed all over her buttocks, leaving them with enough damp to sting like a motherfucker when he issued another of those hard spanks from above.

Several minutes of body pounding and he slowed to a more sensual rhythm. She moved with him for as long as he wanted, stiffening her limbs at the first sign of returning to the violent pounding she loved so much.

A group of younger attendees came to the bed nearest them during a long moment of slower undulation. She heard some of their noises, heard someone shouting about making her cum like a dirty slut. Then they went silent.

Or her ears shut. Whatever.

She was being pounded again and that was all she cared about. His sounds changed. He huffed in short bursts. A sudden groan accompanied several sharp thrusts, then came that final grind of his own ejaculation.

He pulled out and she fell fully to the bed.

“Fuck, that was good!” she said.

“Yeah it was,” he said, falling beside her and slapping her ass.

“Yeah it was,” came a voice from the next bed over.

The five younger attendees had been watching.

“They started after us and finished before us,” he said with a grin.

She matched his grin, the sex high roaring in on her like a freight train. “I noticed.”

“Happy Birthday,” he said, getting off the bed to grab his clothes.

She looked for him when she was able to get dressed. Only a few minutes, but he was already gone. She asked, but no one could tell her who he was. No one remembered seeing him, even when she described his shirt and his eyes. They only shrugged.

She could only hope that she’d see him again sometime.

https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

Dame TylerRose.

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