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 It’s a valid question, I think … and quite simple to answer if you put your mind to it. Are you the big, burly Alpha Male who rules with an iron fist or the soft spoken, sissified wimp who cowers to his Alpha Female at every opportunity? Both men have their place … and their uses in the world. Even a Mistress such as myself can find pleasure in being with an Alpha Male … the mental Olympics that 2 Alphas can put each other through is almost as good as attaining the head-space of a good scene. However, I’m sure you’re asking yourself what on earth would bring this to mind. Why would I be asking now what kind of a man you are?
Today, I went to see “The Wolfman” starring Benicio del Toro and Emily Blunt. The movie itself is ultimately forgettable, with jerky storyline jumps and under-developed characters, but it does have a few moments which reach out and scare the death out of you in pure shock value. Unfortunately, as much as it pains me to say this, I fear Sir Anthony Hopkins has passed his prime and has become much like an old, broken down shell of his former self. His screen presence does nothing for any of the scenes he’s presented in and the half-hearted delivery of his lines is awkward at best. It was his casting in the movie which caused me to ponder the types of men in the world … and to ask where you fall in the schematic. I’ve decided, after much thinking, there are 4 types of men:
- The Alpha Male – Strong, self-assured and bold, this is the kind of man who expects obedience from everyone around him. Business or personal don’t factor into how he responds or reacts to the people in his life, it’s very cut and dry. In terms of kink, men who fall into this category are sometimes sexual exhibitionists and love the idea of someone watching them stroke on cam.
- The Once Powerful Male – An aging version of the Alpha Male, he still maintains his power but has relinquished some of the status afforded a man who has “Succeeded”. His once fierce personality is tempered by the wisdom of age but he’s still got the bite of a lion when provoked.
- The Pleaser – He wants to make everyone around him happy. He’ll do whatever is necessary in order to make sure those around him are impressed by his talents and praise him for them. Cuckolds generally fall into this category, knowing their own inability to perform must be compensated for in some way.
- The Wimp – This is the lowest man on the totem pole. A true slave to those above him, his existence is validated through the approval of his Mistress. He is forgettable and is terrified to realize it, but will readily do whatever he is instructed in order to “prove” himself.
So which are you? Where do you fall in the grand layout of men and women? I’d be interested to find out where everyone considers themselves.
For an erotic phone session with Mistress Ryan, call 800-601-6975
Must be 18+
Calls are $2.50 per minute,. with a 10 minute minimum
Discreetly billed to your credit card
http://ratemycall.com
I spent a good majority of Monday at the grocery store. I wanted to pick up “a few things” for the “Huge NorEaster Headed Our Way“. I took a look over at the French Toast Alert System and saw that we were encroaching on a full “Elevated” status so decided to make a quick trip down and get the basics. I picked up 3 gallons of bottled water, a gallon of milk, 6 quarts of half & half (for my coffee), 4 loaves of bread plus some powdered milk and a few other things. I snagged a few boxes of cereal and some granola. Came home, checked on my levels of driveway salt, the toboggan I use to get down the driveway and the sprayer for distributing rock salt after a good shoveling. I was happy, settled in and enjoyed my afternoon … “prepared”, as any good New Englander should be.
Yesterday morning was crazy busy with getting everything ready to go on a day trip down to our offices in Massachusetts. Taking the Commuter Rail is so much easier than driving into the city and I know I saved time (parking is a bitch in Boston on a normal day, let alone a snow emergency). The trains ran on time and by the time I got down to the office, there was just the hint of snow in the air. All over the news, people are talking about how terrible the storm is going to be and they are interviewing people who remember the Blizzard of ‘78 (yes, it must be capitalized because it’s a Major Event …. think of the way the Father from the movie “A Christmas Story” spoke of his “Major Award”, the leg lamp … same mentality applies). Everyone is in a panic, talking about how people are going to get stuck in it … people are going to lose power, it’s going to be tossing us back to the dark ages. I admit I was slightly concerned that I wouldn’t be able to get back home in the later afternoon but thought I might stand a chance earlier in the day. So, I took care of what needed doing and headed back North.
By the time I reach South Station, it was a wet “wintery mix” falling. I was never so happy to see the car service waiting for me with a nicely warmed interior. The driver helped me into the car, handed me my coffee (he knows exactly how I like to drink it) and off we went to the house. I began noticing the roads weren’t that bad, not many people on the streets but, one never knows … that can change in a heartbeat on Boston streets. Of course, by the time we reach my house in Salem, I realize that it’s not taken us long at all and the roads aren’t really that bad. The newscasters are now saying the storm will hit during “rush hour”. OK, so I missed it … that’s perfect. Bobby helped me out of the car and walked me to the door, confirming the need for him to return on Friday and I stepped inside. I watched the snow starting to come down off and on through the night. I stopped listening to the newscasters so I could work some and take a few phone sex calls while watching the white stuff cum down. Like most women, I was waiting for the big load to hit … I kept checking to see when the “blizzard-like conditions” would begin. I waited all night and, it is now 6:55am on February 11, 2010 and I’m staring out the window at … what … SIX inches of snow? I had been promised a fuckin Nor’Easter damnit … I went shopping to prepare for a Nor’Easter … now what the hell am I supposed to do with 5 peanut butter jugs, 24 safety candles, 2 packages of D cell batteries, 2 9-volt batteries and enough AA cells to power the Citgo sign for a week.
The moral of this story is that I think I got snowed by Channel 7 Weather Team. I feel like a wife on her wedding night …. she’s looked forward to this day for her entire life and she gets into bed, rolls over to her new husband, the man she loves and adores and wants to spend the rest of her life with …. only to find that he’s hung like a gnat. She expected Ty Lattimore and got Bud Melman. I exepected a Nor’Easter and I got SIX inches of snow.
So I got snowed … once again the meteorologists tricked me and pulled a snow job on me. Perhaps next time, I’ll prepare one for them? I mean … I have all the tools for some really nice CBT … all that’s missing is the 6′ high snowmound for them to experience a true New England Fucking.
Most of you know of my unhealthy obsession enjoyment of the game of football. I love to sit back and watch a man put his ass in the air, ready to thrust forward and pounce on the man in front of him. There’s something so primal about aggressive men (as I’m sure many of my sissy fags would agree). But that is not the reason for my post today.
No, today I am here to renounce my former adoration for Peyton Manning and to squarely lay the blame for my ruined orgasm at his feet. I was excited for this Superbowl … My long-term orgasm denial boy, W had a lot riding on this. As most of you remember, W got himself into some trouble betting against my Patriots a few years ago and had his last orgasm July 4, 2008 (wow, just look at how far you’ve cum … OH! Wait … but you can’t cum, can you?) I have been torturing encouraging him ever since to become a fully encased chastity slave, but he keeps resisting. It’s very exciting for me to goad him and I get a true sexual high from imagining the wiggles and squirms he does in his chair whenever we talk about my decision to lock him up. There are several other Mistresses that keep tabs on W, keeping him honest about himself and preventing him from forgetting his promise.
Well, I admit it … I got cocky. We were joking around just before the Superbowl started and, as our conversation usually does, we started talking about football picks. He was all for “Who Dat?”, thinking that Drew Brees was going to take the Saints all the way and I just couldn’t imagine a world where Manning would lose. I love Peyton Manning and think he’s truly one of the greats in the pocket. His arm is enough to make lasers jealous in it’s accuracy and he never lets the pressure get to him. I have admired him since I started watching football … (ok, so his brother doesn’t quite have the Manning talent but he’s still relatively new to the league … cut the kid some slack). So we joked around a bit and I half-jokingly teased W and said if the Saints win that I would allow him to cum but when the Colts mopped up, that he would be forced to buy a chastity cage and begin his training with Empress Jessica and I. We laughed a little and then he went to watch the game while I worked on a few things and watched the game in the background.
My jaw dropped some 4 hours later … how in the bloody hell did THAT happen? Did someone dress Peyton Manning in a red hoodie? My letdown was immediate and I felt my heart bottom out somewhere in my knees.
There would be no sexual bliss for me … No delightful shiver of passion as I listened to W whimper and beg for me to send him the key … I was bereft of orgasm as I denied him over and over again … I had …
lost
So, my darlings, I would like to welcome you all to Denial 2010 … Much like 2008, I have decreed the Superbowl did not occur and will happily go on with my little slice of reality … and work twice as hard to make sure W gets my birthday gift right …
 Early on Saturday morning, the sun is up in the sky and you stretch out in bed … today is the one day of the week you have completely to yourself. No work, no wife, no responsibilities … Today is all about you. A grin comes to your lips as you think about the TV schedule, ‘The game is on today. I can sit back and watch it without any interruptions!’ Watching your Alma Mater pound their rival team into the dirt seems like just the right activity for the day and you roll over to get out of bed, your eyes lazily drifting across the room towards the closet … intending to get a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. That’s when you saw it.
Standing innocuously on the edge of the bureau, it seemed so ridiculously out of place that you almost missed it. Your heart sank as you looked at the Word A Day Calendar on the bedside table and you realized what day it was. It was THAT Saturday … time to pay up on that damn, stupid bet. ‘I should have known better than to open my mouth.’, you thought to yourself as you dragged yourself out of bed and tried to ignore it … tried to walk past the bureau without a glance at the offending … thing. But it was damn near impossible … like trying not to look at a car being pulled over by the police or a parent calming a fit of hysteria in the mall. It seemed so much larger now that you could see it “in the flesh”, instead of just on the website. Your mind immediately went back to when you placed the bet … and lost.
“Look, if there’s one thing I know, it’s football. And I’m telling you there were no teams before 1942 who went undefeated in football!” Those words were bad enough and, looking back on it, you knew she’d been pushing you into making the bet. However, it was the next phrase you uttered that was going to haunt you all day. “I’m willing to bet you anything that I’m right.”
The calculated smile on your wife’s face should have been a warning … but you just KNEW you were right! “Anything?”, she inquired.
“I tell you what. I’m so sure that no team before 1942 was undefeated in the regular season of football that I’m willing to let you have your way with me for one week to do anything you want. But, when you look it up and I’m right, you have to submit to the same thing.” You were already imagining what she’d look like in a naughty school uniform, with her lips wrapped around your thick shaft. Once again, you thought, you should have stopped yourself before being so arrogant. But damnit, this was FOOTBALL we were talking about! She grinned as she walked away, calling over her shoulder that she’d enjoy her victory. You shrugged, went back into the living room and sat down to watch the news. Almost immediately, you were lost in the top stories about local politics and global economy. You forgot about the bet and enjoyed the rest of the day.
Later that night, after dinner had been made and the dishes cleaned, you were laying in bed with your wife. She snuggled against you, rubbing her body against yours and sliding her fingers down to your shaft. Curling her hand around the shaft, she kissed your lips as she mounted you and straddled your hard cock with her creamy thighs. She didn’t sink all the way down but did keep her hand, pulsing with every beat of your heart, softly encircled around your teased cock. Your hips arched up as she grinned, leaning forward just enough so you could feel how hot and wet her pussy was before she whispered in your ear … “1934″. With that, she let out a low giggle and removed herself from riding you … her hand stroking up and off your throbbing cock. It took a moment for you to catch up and you looked at her, quizzically. “Huh?”
“1934.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with you stroking my cock??”
“Language! And it has everything to do with it, darling. Do you remember earlier, in the foyer when we were talking about football and you said, and I quote ‘No team before 1942 was undefeated in the regular season of football’?”
Still somewhat mystified, you nodded. “I remember, yeah. Chicago Bears were the only other team to go undefeated in the regul … oh shit.” A factoid of information blossomed in your head as you recall that yes, it was the Chicago Bears but they’d had a team BEFORE 1942 that had gone undefeated … but it was such obscure knowledge that you couldn’t imagine HOW your wife could have known it … yes, she loved football but really, that was just a random oddity in the footnotes of history. However, she was grinning like the cheshire cat as she watched the information process into your brain. She almost read your mind as she casually leaned forward and whispered, “My grandfather was a HUGE Bears fan, you know that baby. He practically had a man-crush on Ditka.
“Now, about this … what did you call it … ‘one week to do whatever I want to you’?”, she was practically purring in your ear. All your senses were on high alert … you married a strong, powerful woman who had, in the past, shown an affinity for cruel cockteasing sessions that left your cock almost weeping with need. But she’d never denied you on any occasion … orgasm always followed the tease sessions and you felt pretty sure that she wouldn’t hold out on you for long … well … almost pretty sure.
What followed was a week of tease and denial the likes of which almost had you insane with need. Teasing notes, a pair of her panties stuffed into your briefcase and one terrifying visit to an internet adult toy site (of which you were almost pretty sure she was joking) all came together to this one evening. And you didn’t think you were ready for it, really …
Tonight was the night your wife was going to take your ass-cherry. And she was going to do it with a 7″ dildo that was sitting on the edge of the bureau.
Today was going to suck …
I have a caller … let’s call him L … who calls me with a very unique situation, which I find highly entertaining as well as arousing. It started out as a cuckold fantasy, wherein his wife was cheating on him with another man and he was shocked to discover she preferred big black cock to his tiny white version. Arousing unto itself (you all know how I love to humiliate pindick losers, don’t you?) this fantasy got even better as we plumbed the depths of his desire.
Not only was L fantasizing about his wife cheating on him with another man … he was in love with the idea of my being his wife’s Pimptress. He came home to discover yours truly lounging in the living room, enjoying a nice merlot and waiting to pounce with the truth about what I’d been doing with his wife. At first, I tried being gentle (stop laughing … it IS possible for me to be a sensual Femdom) and only confessing that I’d been the one to seduce his wife into a sapphic affair. He seemed to be understanding of this at first … What man wouldn’t be intrigued by the idea of his wife being naked and willing beneath the minstrations of a talented and well-hung lesbian (have you seen how long my fingers are, darlings? I bet they are bigger than your dick!) He drifted off mentally, imagining I’m sure all manner of lesbian sexual encounters that would be his for the viewing … and that’s when I dropped the bombshell on him. I told him about Darth
Now … most of you know Darth (perhaps not on an intimate level, but rather like a work acquaintance … you’d recognize each other in the halls but wouldn’t necessarily be having lunch every day) … and you know how much I love to use him on men and women alike. Well, once I informed L that I’d been routinely fucking his wife with Darth and that she’d discovered an affinity for BBC … well, let’s just say I watched the light go out in his eyes. Suddenly L was thinking of his own short-comings in the bedroom … but this wasn’t enough for me. No, I wanted to really break his spirit and so I told him about some of the other filthy, nasty things I’d made his wife do … I told him all about how I’d arranged for all the college boys from the local frat house to come over and use his wife like a pump … how every man for 50 miles had probably fucked his wife up against every wall, street corner and restaurant dumpster he walked past on his way to work every day. I watched as he cringed (even as that small penis in his pants tried to get bigger) when I told him all about the website I’d set up for his wife’s sexual exploits to be broadcast across the internet.
This wasn’t all I had in store for poor L … but you’ll just have to wait to hear about how the other shoe dropped … Or you can call me and I can tell you all about his humiliating experience as a whore’s cuckold.
For a erotic phone sex session with Empress Ryan, call 800-601-6975
Must be 18+ to call
Calls are $2.50 per minute with a 10 minute minimum
Discreetly billed to a major credit card
http://ratemycall.com
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