Ds2 Quotes

Please, Sir, make it hurt.

She's belonged to me her whole life, but I only got my hands on her five months ago.

Speak pussycat; tell your Master you love him.” Dylan

Death by bush,” I whisper. “What did you say?” Dylan asks confused. “The last thing that man saw before he almost died was my bush.

She breathes in as I breathe out and her lungs fill with the air that was inside of me. I love her completely and I love giving her life as she gives me life. I breathe in her quintessence and it’s cathartic.

Yes, you’re right. I want to be a proper submissive for you. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, as well. I want to learn from you, Dylan. I want to be the Master of my Universe, too.” Her response floors me.

I guess she truly is a switch. Shy on the outside and submissive most of the time but with a feisty controlling side to her. I love that she’s unpredictable like that. It makes life interesting.

Never. I’ll never let you go. I want you to want to stay, Isabel, but if you think for one minute I won’t tie you down and keep you here against your will, you’ve sorely misjudged me.

So I guess this means Domme Isa will be retired for a while until he feels satiated. But I’ll be damned if she’ll be retired forever. I want to know the real Dylan because apparently I’ve only been fucking his representative.

Before I can stop myself I throw my half-eaten banana at him and it hits him on the back of his neck. He spins around, wipes his neck and looks down at the banana on the floor. "Did you really just fruitally assault me?

You are a sadist,” she pouts at me. I laugh at her. “Yes, I am. In more ways than you can imagine, my love.

You guess? What the hell kind of answer is that? Your playboy days are over, Dylan! You’re mine, God damn it. That big dick belongs only to me now.

I can hardly remember her being shy anymore. Well, her version of shy. Even though she’s always been a very eager semi-submissive and semi-Domme.

Here it comes - Little Ms. Sassy Panties. Let me rephrase, Little Mrs. Sassy Panties.

You’re going to experience the Dom I used to be; the real Dom. The Dom that likes things dirty and depraved. The Dom that now owns you completely. There are no safe words tonight, Isabel. You’ll have to trust me to know what you can and cannot handle. I won’t hurt you, but I’ll push your limits beyond what you’ve experienced before.

His gaze is burning into my soul and I ache to have him again and again and again. I just want to crawl inside his heart and exist there forever.

Can you paint this for me, love? Can you put this on canvas? Your stunning cunt being fucked by me? Can you capture all of the detail? The shimmering wetness? I want you to paint this for me, Isa. Tell me you can.” Yes, Sir, I can paint this for you,” she breathes out with a sigh and a moan…

All I think about is you.” He moves my hand to his chest and I feel his heart beating rapidly against my palm and his eyes gloss over. “I love and live for only you.” Then he guides my hand down to his crotch. He’s completely erect and his dick is pressing firmly inside his slacks. “I want only you,” he says as he presses his forehead against mine. God I love this man.

I won’t share you, Dylan. I mean that. If you think for one second now that we’re married, you can try and pull some kind of shit over on me, you’d better think again. I can take whatever you can dish out when it comes to pain, embarrassment and humiliation, and whatever else you have going on in that wicked mind of yours, but I’ll be damned if I’ll share you with another woman. Or man.” What the fuck? I almost laugh at her, but she’s so serious she would probably slap the shit out of me. “Calm the hell down. I’m not trying to pull anything over on you, okay? And seriously, a man?” “Well, I don’t know. Maybe one of your secrets is that you like getting pegged in the ass or something.” This time I laugh out loud at her and she narrows her eyes at me. "Don’t ask me to peg you either, because it’s never going to happen.” I laugh even louder. Good God this woman is funny. “I promise you that I don’t want to be pegged, Isa.

I barely duck out of the way of an empty coffee mug flying dangerously close to my head. It crashes and breaks loudly near the marble fireplace and Isa stomps into our bedroom. What the living fuck? Of course, the pussy-whipped jackass that I am, I follow her like a puppy dog, five steps behind her pouting ass. I make it to the bedroom in time to have the door promptly slammed in my face.

I’m going to fuck you tonight in ways you’ve never been fucked before, Isa. I’m in complete control tonight. Do you understand? I don’t want any sass from you. I want you to give yourself completely to me and I better not sense any hesitation from you.

I like it when you’re in control of me, Isa. Not all of the time, but sometimes.

You already made your point,” I say with a mouthful of fruit. “Did I?” “Oh, for the love of dick, yes. Now leave me alone.” “Never. If you want, I’ll fuck you now.” The gall. I wouldn’t fuck him now if my clit was on fire and needed to be doused with nub-saving cum. I roll my eyes at him. “No thanks, we have a lifetime of fucking ahead of us,” I say mockingly. He shrugs and starts to walk away as if it makes no difference to him one way or the other. He’s such a jackass sometimes. Before I can stop myself I throw my half-eaten banana at him and it hits him on the back of his neck. He spins around, wipes his neck and looks down at the banana on the floor. “Did you really just fruitally assault me?” He thinks he’s so damned funny with his wordplay.

Take them off," I order and without hesitation she removes them and drops them on the floor. She lifts her cami so I can see her, then rubs her hand over her tummy and over the top of her mound while she watches me. When I look into her eyes she's licking her lips. "Do you like what you see?" she asks playfully. "You know I do." "Good. When you apologize, you can have some." Oh, hell no. "Let me remind you, as your husband and your Master, I don't need your permission. I'll have some with or without an apology, but because I love you and because it was a shitty thing for me to accuse you of, I'll apologize anyway. So for what's worth - I'm sorry for accusing you of hitting on Sawyer. I love you. Now open your legs like a good wife and let me fuck you.

You said you wanted to know some of my secrets so here it goes. I like to fuck hard and I like inflicting pain while I do it. I also like to see you uncomfortable.” He starts out sounding very determined, but then he looks embarrassed and he looks away from me. When he looks back at me again, his eyes are softer. “But it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. I do; more than life itself. So please, Isa, if you want me to be happy, then indulge me.” How can I say no to that? Of course I want him to be happy – I love him.

Roasted Sweet Potato Wedges Makes 8 wedges The trick to achieving tender oil-free roasted sweet potatoes is to steam them before you put them in the oven. This precooking prevents the sweet potatoes from becoming overly chewy, which can happen when you roast them from raw without any oil. —DS 2 medium sweet potatoes (about 11/2 pounds), peeled and quartered lengthwise 1 teaspoon granulated garlic 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin 1/2 teaspoon chili powder 1/2 teaspoon sea salt 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1. Preheat the oven to 425°F. 2. Place a steamer insert in a saucepan and add about 2 inches of water (the water should not come above the level of the bottom of the steamer). Cover the pan and bring the water to a boil. Place the potato wedges in the steamer, cover, and steam the potatoes until just tender, about 7 minutes. 3. Transfer the potato wedges to a nonstick baking sheet or a regular baking sheet lined with a silicone mat, arranging them in a single layer. 4. In a small bowl, combine the garlic, cumin, chili powder, salt, and pepper. Sprinkle the spice mixture evenly over the sweet potatoes. 5. Bake until brown and tender, 15 to 20 minutes, turning once during cooking. Serve hot.

By force-marching his exhausted men through the unknown, rain-swept wilderness of the German-infested Teutoburg Forest, this guy had just made a brain-explodingly boneheaded mistake so amazing in its incompetence that it makes the Roman consuls at Cannae look like a conjoined triplet made out of Napoleon Bonaparte, Alexander the Great, and that dude from Total Recall who had the baby coming out of his stomach. In terms of career moves, marching three legions into the Teutoberg was the Classical Age equivalent of coauthoring an academic paper with the Unabomber or asking Charles Manson to write you a letter of recommendation for law school. Unsurprisingly, this came back to bite him in the ass. We don’t know exactly how many Germans were hiding in the woods, watching the column of imperial invaders trudge past. The Germans didn’t bother to write anything down more detailed than “killed sum d00ds 2day lulz,” and the only Romans who managed to run screaming out of this forest alive were the ones who knew better than to sit there and try to count how many GWAR fans were currently trying to brutally dismember them with axes. Let’s just say it was probably a crapload, and that when these long-haired death metal freaks unleashed a bloodcurdling shout and started charging through the forest like a bunch of gigantic mutant Ewok-Wookies ambushing the Imperial Stormtroopers on the Forest Moon of Endor it wasn’t exactly the sort of hilarious laugh riot you might see in an animated GIF involving unicorns, rainbows, and cartoon kitties with Pop-Tarts where their bodies are supposed to be. Bellowing like madmen, these balls-out, frothing-at-the-mouth, beer-swilling sausage fiends went Leeroy Jenkins toward the enemy, blitzkrieging out of the woods from every side seemingly at the same time, their ferociousness magnified not only by their savage blood rage, but by the fact that some of the dudes had taken to painting their entire bodies black with mud to help them hide in the dark forest like how Schwarzenegger hid from the Predator’s infrared vision. It was so damned terrifying that it took every ounce of Roman discipline to not simply spontaneously combust into blood vapor on the spot.