Some Questions I’ve Received About D/s Life

Sometime last week I received an email from a reader passing by. They asked some really good questions that I just wanted to share with the blog — with their permission of course— in the hopes it reaches someone else who is new to D/s and BDSM.

In your experience as a Dom, were you always aware that the girls you were going out with were subs or did you bring it up to them as something to try out and see if they would like it?

I wasn’t aware in the beginning, no. For a while, I wanna say between 16-23, I didn’t really understand the concept of ‘submission’ and ‘dominance’ as I do fully now.

Back then, it was more of a feeling that came naturally. I did the things I do now but without fully understanding them or what they were or the intricacies of D/s.

I just did. Or rather, we just did – without knowing what it meant — because it was, and it felt like, the most organic thing in the world. It just blossomed out of being intimate with one another. And that sort of went on for the length of the relationships.

It was only until much later, when I was 23, that I felt myself being drawn to those fantasies. I realized the things I was engaging in, well they had names and rules and organization. And I learned that a D/s relationship really appealed to me.

Were you ever in a relationship that didn’t involve BDSM and D/s?

After my whirlwind teenage romances, I settled down and got married to someone who was entirely vanilla. It would be one difference in a long list of differences that would ultimately – try as we might – lead to our separation and divorce. As I was feeling interested in exploring, I introduced the idea to her, the concepts and fantasies and she just wasn’t interested. At all. So I caged that aside.

How are the D/s relationships? I know what happens between closed doors but what happens beyond that? Is it your common boyfriend and girlfriend relationship or something different?

So a D/s relationship that involves that dynamic and BDSM is, how I like to say – a regular relationship on fire.

It is very much the same as any other relationship, you’ll still snuggle on the couch watching TV at the end of the day but there will be different touches to it – you might be collared or naked or however you want to explore being submissive or dominant with someone.

You each craft your own rules and dynamics to suit your desires. It’s kinda like a cake. Layers, you know? It just differs by how the dynamic is, you know – are you a slave? How do you want to express this side of yourself. Do you want something 24/7 or just in the bedroom? And 24/7 doesn’t mean always being switched on and ready to fuck, it means…just having a layer of those sides of yourself present. 

For example, you could wear a necklace symbolic of a collar and ownership to work to display the dynamic between one another. Something D/s can be non-sexual and in the background but there and present while you go about your day.

I hope these questions reach someone and help explain some things. For anything else, I am always a comment or an email away and I’ll do my best to help shed light on something!

Earn Your Dessert

A low whine slipped from her lips, filling the room.

And eyes through her cute little animal mask were on him. Blue – no, grey. No, light blue. They were changing in the light as she smiled up at him from where she was sitting on her legs beside him. That damned pleading smile that caused his body to tense, caused warmth to spill out across his chest and radiate down to his aching cock. Affection. Arousal. Dominance swelled within him. He wanted to grasp a fistful of her hair and sink into her lips.

In a blur of movement she climbed upon his knee and started grinding into him, still with that low whine to her. Feeling her slick cunt light up his thighs, seeing her eyes clench shut, her quivering lips part, connected by a string of saliva, made him desperate to reach down and squeeze out the terrible, delicious ache in his cock. He wanted to tackle her, feel his body sink into hers. Feel her wriggle underneath him – more then this, hear her throaty chuckle. It would be so easy.

‘Down.’ He managed to get out, his throat taking on the tension of the moment. Gently, with every iota of strength he could muster, he helped her down off his leg.

She had marked him. He knew it. She knew it. Her scent was in the air, grazing by his lips. That was wild — His mind made it so he could already taste her when that was moments away.

‘You want this ice cream in my hand?’

She nodded eagerly, that low whine back in her throat.

‘After what you’ve just done?’

She cocked her head, the bell on her collar jingling as she did. Then nodded with that devilish smile of hers. Baiting him. Taunting him.

He held it out to her, inches from her face. Then an idea came.

‘Get up here, look into my eyes and hump my leg, like you wanted, like the needy little fox you are, until you whine and you cum. Then maybe this here is yours. I’ll hold it for you but I’m not helping. Go on now. Earn your desert.’

Shyness in Kink and BDSM

Shyness. Awkwardness. That weird in-between of having so much affection for your partner that you second guess the dominant you both want to see come out to play.

I wish there was a text I could point you to. A book written by someone more knowledgable on psychology and the mind that could assist you in rewiring your thought path. But that hasn’t stopped me trying, being here. Writing away like a mad man while nursing an iced coffee.

The shyness is a little bit easier to overcome. Or, for me it was. I spent a lot of my own free time naked and writing down my fantasies, my thoughts, much like I’m doing now. I’m not naked now but I kinda want to be because clothes suck. Alas, here in Australia, Spring is icy cool this 2022. No, being naked allowed me to put myself in a vulnerable state of mind – does that make sense? By being naked, it threw away any form of pretense. My mind got used to being naked and it activated a part of my brain that wanted to speak openly, sexually. Sensually. So I wrote. I wrote and I took nudes, some for myself and some for my Fetlife. I challenged my conservative Catholic background and I challenged my shyness over my own body.

More than both of those things, I think, I became used to being naked. It became relaxing and second nature. It tapped into my dominant self. It helped me be expressive.

And it became like slipping into a mindset that felt akin to slipping on a warm blanket or a comfortable hoody. It felt wonderful and warm and peaceful.

Journaling fantasies. Journaling your mind. I’d recommend the empty page and a pen because that has an openness to it. A realm without distractions. You won’t want to drift away to anywhere but your mind. But everyone is different. Find what stimulates you. If that’s naked on the couch or naked in the bath, go for it. So long as your naked and writing somewhere — though it’s not for everyone, it should be said. It helped me so I’m putting it out here for you too.

The other half – the harder half of this feeling – for me was fighting through affection for my partner to be that dominant. I didn’t want to be that entity with an edge because I could feel the love, my mind shifted to a softness without realizing. It was that tricky. That subtle. No matter the hearty talks we shared, cuddling naked and at peace with our primal selves, there was that wedge where I struggled to be degrading like she enjoyed or to be tough or even to make decisions – because in the second that I paused to consider, well, I was thinking of a sweetness.

Even though dominance, and submission, IN AND OF ITSELF IS SWEET, my mind altered that into a sweetness that felt softer. Anxiety, or overthinking minds, am I right? It wasn’t exactly a form of Dom drop. Maybe not even insecurity. I think it was just not wanting to be rough or hardened, even though pockets of that existed before and probably will come in bursts.

Again, if you are like me, I wish I had a text to link to that could succinctly talk on it. The best I can say is that practice makes things more easier to slip into. Practice and an open dialogue with one another. It wasn’t so much reassurance that I needed it was just a mindframe that I had to look at from another angle. There is a sweetness to the roughness sometimes. Or just a sweetness to the dominance. Dominance, as I have to come to understand as my time as a dominant, is just another slice of a love language you share together.

And, as always, balance it out. There’s a time for light to seep in through the windows just as there’s a time for the dark to come. Balance that with each other, so all parts of you both are stimulated and satisfied and made whole.

As always, if you have questions – about anything at all – please feel free to reach out! Have a lovely weekend!

In The Parking Lot

Do you know what’s fucking delicious? The sound of my name spilling loose from those trembling lips of yours. As you follow my command, as you grind against that vibe we picked out together, it is MY name reverberating through your mind. MY name taking form on your tongue and easing out through your clenched lips in that sweet voice of yours.

It comes out in a strain, in a gasp. Without thinking. Yes. That’s it. It is instinct to your submissive mind because I own your ass. Words are almost dotted with confusion, as if you’re not sure of the intensity of the feeling gripping your body. I picture you squirming as your thighs involuntarily clench around the vibe, burying it deeper. That’s it, my gorgeous, needy girl. Think of my cock taking ownership of that tight, soaked pussy when you come back home from work.

Pinch your nipples for me. Harder. HARDER. I want to hear your frenzied cries as your mind skips over and over my order like a broken record — for you to come for me on your lunch break…over the phone, hidden away in your car in the parking lot at work, with the added cover of cars on either side. What a delightful risk. Any moment one could find you. Spot you. Out you like the eager whore you can be. I wonder what they might see. Your greedy, slickly wet cunt desperately taking in the toy, your cute, frantic moans. (That have me SO achingly fucking hard, by the way.)

That’s another matter. Do you know just what you do to me? What hearing you, in this moment, does to me? Knowing it’s you who calls my name? You! My delightful little fuck doll! Hearing how soaked you are for me, knowing when you’re back in your work meetings you’ll squirm at how drenched your panties are. I cannot keep my hands from my cock. I can already taste your cunt on my lips.

The sounds I make, the growl that comes out of me at the tail end of my moans…you did this to me. I want you to know that I’ll show you just what you’ve done to me when you come home.

But for now…be a good girl and fucking come for me, yes? Let out the last pieces of your sanity. I want to break you. I want to hear you.

Indulgence

‘Feel how wet I am…’

Fuck, man. Yeah, I can’t be elegant about it. My ape brain hears that and I’m done, I’m cooked. ‘Fuck’ is all you get.

Because it’s not so much those five words and any variation of that sentence, it’s bearing witness. To the kitten, to the brat, to the slave that’s taken off her mask and her clothes and TRANSFORMS into this ethereal being – gorgeous, otherworldly, bratty, sexy as hell. I’m sure it goes both ways, I’m sure I transform with her, into some beast of my own that she’s looking up at like ‘Fuck, where did they come from?’

The shift in her voice, the look in her eyes, the dare to engage in a duel of words. Her body, laid out across the bed, utterly relaxed, in her own world, her hands busily toying with her own slit because she’s a needy pet that likes to edge until her mind is fucked.

I see that all in the moment I write ‘fuck, man.’ I may have taken seconds to write those words but my mind was gone for hours. I had slipped into an alternate plane of existence where two beings, two wild, wonderful and primal beings – one dominant, one submissive – torture and edge each other, lazily yet somehow also hungrily, indulging in pleasure as the rain beats down upon the bedroom window and the wind howls to the delicious sounds of her toy taking her soaked cunt to the fringes of pleasure, to the delightful sounds of her cursing a string of sentences as she bites her pillow and leaves behind a slither of drool that pools where she’ll later rests her head.

All the while he’ll follow her mood, her motion, stroking just right, gripping just perfectly, squeezing, drawing out the ache in his cock, watching her, lost in the way she pinches her nipples and stretches it to the point of sharp, biting pain. Her pain fuels his pleasure. His tortured, husky curses fuels her pain. Lost in their own space.

Fuck, man.

The Games They Play Together

He watches as she struggles to make it through the match, her back to him as she rides his cock, her hands glistening with sweat, one gripping the PlayStation controller, the other on his thigh trying to steady herself.

He’s enchanted by her – by her soft, sweet whispers to herself that he catches the tail end of. By the way her body tenses as she lowers herself back down on his cock, filling her tight little pussy as much as she can, the hungry little slut they know she is just for him.

With her movements he rises off the bed to meet her halfway, hungry for her himself, chasing the frenzied, delicious feeling that comes with easing into her, dulling that ache in his shaft. The ache that slithers right down to his balls, making him clench his muscles tight as pleasure courses through his body.

‘Fuck! Sir…’

Her words come out strained. Squeezing through her clenched teeth only to dissipate around them.

Before he realises, he’s reaching up to her short undercut hair and tugging gently with a fistful – just how he knows she likes it.

Her body reacts, jolts. She turns to kiss him on the mouth. Deeply. Passionately.

He wraps his arms around her torso, tracing shapes of his own creation on her skin as he works his way to her tits.

How does one get here? He wonders. One moment they’re lounging side by side, him reading, her gaming online, playing some third-person-shooter, both naked in the middle of a late, rainy spring day.

Then something clicks. It’s a glance, the way their thigh brushes together. The way her eyes shift into…something primal. Their animals come out, scratching and clawing and wild.

He rolls her nipple between his finger and thumb. Stretches it. Pinches it. Slaps it.

She giggles.

On the screen her avatar is running into walls. She’s losing herself in the moment, finding herself in their forest.

He slaps her across her tits again. Harder this time. The sound of her skin cracking against his open palm, the way she giggles — it’s fucking adorable. And he can’t help the sadistic grin that spreads across his face.

Suddenly no touch is enough for him.

He pushes her on all fours.

The controller moves with them, falls upside down. The joystick clicks forward, her character runs on the spot along the wall.

Through her headset her teammates are confused, talking aloud amongst themselves, wondering what the fuck she’s doing.

It’s a relief to slide into her. A relief in his soul, a relief in his cock. Realisation hits him that he needs her, and only her. It’s giddy and wild and comes out of him in uncontrollable laughter.

She’s bent over, face grinding into the end of her bed with their every movement. From here he can see the glazed look in her eyes. They’re half shut, unfocused no doubt. Her lips are parted just enough to let out her cries. Cries that coincide with each time he rips his cock out of her only to slide back in.

Before he can process it, his hands are sliding up her back, over her freckles, and clawing their way back to her ass, leaving thin red lines behind. In its wake, he sees the goosebumps travel down in waves across her arching back.

He delights in her shiver, can feel it on his own bare back. This only makes him want to feel her more. It’s a need, manic and wild.

A thought pops into his mind — he doesn’t know who he is anymore. Something is happening to him, turning him wild.

He grabs her by the hips and they go rolling over, legs tangled.

They’re face to face. Her small, gorgeous tits, her wide, manic smile.

He growls. Then her arm shoots out, pins him by the chest. He wrestles under her arm, sees her swivelling around ontop of him – then she’s got her back to him, her hands grips his cock. It feels delicious. Different. It’s not just that it’s her hand, it’s more than that. He tries to figure it out but she’s stroking him, grinding into his thighs. He can feel how wet she is. It pushes him forward but the weight of her against his thighs holds him down.

That and her guiding him to her, the sight of her easing onto him, her body wracked with shudders, her fucking adorable little moans filling the room.

The sight of her, the feel of her, slips him into a daze. This is unreal, her right now on his cock. When did this dream become living? When did he slip into this state of lucidity?

Until the thought arrives.

A thought and an order.

‘Pick up the controller.’ He says, his voice husky and raw. ‘Let’s see how well you can go fucking me.’

He can see past her – another match is starting. Her profile is already locked in and ready to go. Her teammates, randoms – not friends – are trying to strategise with her but who cares right now? Not her. Not him.

Watching her steadying herself is all sorts delightful. She’s shaking, cooing. Trying to concentrate. Stopping, taking the death just to lose herself in the moment easing onto him and off again, using his thigh as balance.

She tries to shoot another. Fails. Dies herself. Through gritted teeth he hears her competitive trash mouth comes out.

‘Oh fuck you, you cocksucking fuck nugget.’

He strikes her ass.

‘Careful. Keep it up with that mouth and you’ll turn on the mic and let the world hear you.’

She stops riding him. Sitting on him, she turns her head halfway to him. He can’t see past her red hair. ‘You’ll do that? I could get banned.’

‘Then watch your mouth.’

‘What fucking mouth?’

She can’t help but let out a moan on the tail end of that sentence. The brat. She’s testing him, pushing his boundaries.

‘Flick on that mic. You’re going to cum like the humiliated slut you are.’

He hears the click of the mic, hears her utter an audible ‘fuck.’

He grins as he lifts his hips and grinds into her.

So I’m into CNC…

‘I didn’t know you were into CNC!’ A follower wrote to me.

I am! It creeps into my fantasies, my stories, this desire to explore a CNC realm with sinister Doms and petulant toys. Hang around my space on this internet long enough and you’ll see a dirty little story pop up.

And sometimes it creeps into my actual life too, heavily negotiated and thoroughly discussed so that there is an ease of mind for both parties to explore without guilt or shame or hesitance.

CNC, for anyone who has found this blogpost, blog and are new to kink and BDSM, stands for Consensual-Non-Consent. It’s about roleplaying darker fantasies, experimenting with non consent in a way that you and your partner are both comfortable and interested in. It could be a fantasy in which rape is emulated, it could be something else brutal — but always within the realm of fantasy.

Why do I like CNC? I’m drawn to exploring those wicked fantasies, the type that enter your mind at night. That you might not want to put into words because you’re not sure whether or not you’d be shunned for that line of thought. But these fantasies are so naughty and delicious that you can’t help but linger on them throughout the week. Can’t help but take them with you into the shower or on the train to or from work.

I suppose the fascination comes from a few places. I’m interested in sharing that fantasy, in seeing what someone else wants to explore there, what we can create together – in or out of the bedroom, wherever our ideas take us.

I’m interested in discussing it – the psychology behind it, either for a submissive or a dominant. You know, where do our minds go? What we do want here? What do we not want there? What turns you on? I’m endlessly fascinated about the mind so I could talk about it all day.

Maybe the fascination comes from part of my background? Being raised Catholic and touching upon the taboo is thrilling, stimulating. It feels forbidden to dip your toe in, to dive into that pool. And especially with someone else. Because there’s something primal, something really sexy about inhabiting that realm with someone. You’re co-writing an epic fantasy together but me, as a dominant, I am directing it too. Navigating. Guiding. Actively listening.

And that excitement comes from elsewhere. From exploring that picnic basket of my feelings in the forest through the lens of a good book, like how we are compelled by the anti-heroes or antagonists of fiction and how we are intrigued by such a narrative. No matter how dark it goes.

I don’t know about you, dear follower, but as someone who enjoys CNC but also has my moments, where the self out of kink and the self within kink get entangled and causes me to spiral, sometimes it’s really fucking exciting to see a writer – a book – tackle it in a narrative in such unabashed, unapologetic fashion.

And then? Well, then there’s that feeling of being. Of acceptance. Of letting go of what this means and that means and tapping into that very primal force with someone. Laying out everything on the table through thorough discussions, what you both want, the boundaries there, the soft limits, the hard limits and then just — letting go. Of fear, of being too much. Everything you have, all in that moment.

I guess that’s where my interest in primal things crosses over into CNC, because feeling primal, being primal, there’s an element of tapping into pure animalistic thoughts and actions. I’ve always been drawn to that wildness, that ferocity of spirit in and out of the roleplay. Perhaps that is an aspect.

Lastly, I want to say this. If you’ve made it this far with my words, if you’ve stumbled across this post, and you’re feeling shame about those fantasies in your mind that you dare not speak of – try not to feel that.

Easier said than done right? These thoughts, that arousal, can be confusing. Spin you into a spiral. I know— I’ve been there.

The truth of it is it doesn’t make you a monster. Kinks are weird, we can’t explain them really. We feel them. We want to explore them safely, as we would a roller coaster at a theme park or a horror movie in the dark. We want that experience with the safety harness. Explore our humanities with our loved ones because for whatever reason, that’s intriguing to us. Together.

It knots my stomach to think of hurting my partner, in any way, shape or form. Sick to the stomach. I need aftercare after a heavy scene. But hearing her delight? Where that takes her? How her voice grows light and her eyes eager and the things she wants to say at the height of her arousal? It’s different. It draws me into her mind.

Shame with those thoughts are natural – these are intense, savage thoughts you are having that make you incredibly hard or incredibly soaked – thoughts you dare not speak out loud.

But it is a fantasy. A way to explore said feelings in a safe environment, completely controlled and negotiated. There is a line there between your self in kink and out of. A line there that you feel completely.

Be kind to yourself. Write them down if it helps you process them. But don’t spiral.

TMI Tuesday, July 19 2022!

1. Confession booth. Confess two things right here on TMI Tuesday.

A) When I was young I attempted to flood some small toilets to reenact Titanic.

B) I ate an alcohol soaked worm on a Vegemite sandwich.

2. I am guilty of _____ .

Not drinking enough water. Drinking too much coffee. Laying, languorously, naked in bed while I do things like these…

3. A big box is delivered to you. The address is correct but the name on the label is not you. Do you open the box?

No I do not. I own this home so as I attempt to solve this mystery I ponder on time travel like a dork.

4. How long have you held a grudge?

About a year or two after a ridiculous, heightened argument. That was when I was 22. I can be awfully stubborn.

5. Does anyone have a grudge against you? Why?

Probably! But I don’t know why someone would have a grudge against me. You’ll have to ask them. Maybe because they really don’t like my writing or my mind or my dominant self – or just something about me irks them. People are strange and can stiffen at any old thing.

Bonus: There is this one thing in my life I wish I had not done. I wish I had not _____ .

Married my ex, when my gut feeling was I was unhappy. I convinced myself it was jitters, that love was quiet and simmering. I was a dumbass and too young to be married. I wish I had the courage to take that step away from all those years together and follow my heart. I was just anxious and guilt ridden over hurting her.

Want to do TMI Tuesday? Follow them here

The Leopard In The Mirror

Before work I want you to do something for me — I want you…to take off all of your clothes…and tell me, in that moment, how you feel standing there…

Her Master’s text played like a voice on repeat in her mind as she stood before the mirror. Her honeyed hair was a mess, her eyes were still sticky with sleep. She needed a shower…but excitement was bubbling in her chest, coursing through her veins upon reading this message.

Admittedly her mind initially wrestled with this, with the fatigue in her bones. It had been a long day previous and she hadn’t had enough sleep – she wanted to stay in bed, wanted to sleep for days.

But something about this text turned her on.

She let out a shaky breath, grabbed her oversized red plaid pj shirt and pulled it over and off. Without looking up at her reflection, she slipped out of her matching red pants and kicked them aside with her pale legs.

Hm. She wrote back to her Master, looking herself over.

What?

Well, I mean…

She paused to consider this. A nude woman looked back at her.

A submissive slave. She knew this deep in her heart just by looking at her.

Honeyed hair draped over her shoulder, the curls of which ran down over her piercing grey eyes.

She’s cute.

Yeah?

The corner of the woman’s lips curved into a half-smile. Her cheeks turned red at this.

She does have a pretty smile.

She certainly does, at that. I would love to ruffle her hair.

The woman in the mirror blushed further.

Oh, she’s pretty when she blushes.

Mm? So say that out loud. Tell her she’s pretty. Tell her she is gorgeous.

There was a click in her throat when she swallowed.

‘Hey. Uh…so..I think you’re gorgeous.’

The slave in the mirror smiled wide at that.

Looking at her, her heart began to race. Heat flushed down her arms and across her chest, tickling her nipples.

What else do you like about her?

She thought. The woman in the mirror seemed to ponder this as well.

I like her eyes. They’re a cute colour.

Omg – and she has the cutest smile.

The best. She just has such a lovely smile..

Mhm, she is very beautiful.

She stopped, her fingers hovering above the letters on her phone, and looked at the woman.

Before she realised what she was doing, her hand was creeping up to her nipples, pinching them softly and rolling them between her finger and her thumb.

Her tits were bigger. Had grown a cup size recently. Looking at them now, the words popped right into her mind – plump, somewhat triangular in shape, tits but….

She scooped up her tits with her hand and squeezed gently.

…so much fun to squeeze and play with.

The slave was reddening by the minute.

And she felt compelled to write to her Master-

She has these cute little pink nipples.

She does, does she?

Yep!

She looked down, the slave in the mirror looked down with her. Down her stomach.

She has a few belly folds.

Everything about her is gorgeous.

She looked at the slave’s creamy pale thighs.

Marking the edges of her hips and forking across her stomach were…

She has stretch marks. I like them though. They’re fun to trace.

Yeah?

They’re like battle scars! I took on a werewolf and I might’ve got turned but don’t worry, I tracked down the head wolf and reversed the curse!

She IS a complete badass.

The slave in the mirror turned and eyed her ass and giggled.

I like her ass. It’s cute.

Very cute. Very slap-able. Do you think this slave would mind if we slapped it?

The slave in the mirror moved like lightning to strike her ass. The crack of skin on skin rang out in the bathroom.

And she could feel it…pulsating almost. A tiny bit of pain there. It was turning her on.

Did the rest of the house, her roommates across the hallway, hear it?

It made her excited. Nervous, but excited.

Did she smack her ass?

Mhm!

And she enjoyed it?

I think it’s turning her on.

Good! You know…we haven’t given her a name yet. That could be fun?

The slave in the mirror seemed to agree. Her grin widened, flashing her teeth.

What would we call her?

Let’s see. She’s fierce. Cute.

She’s devious.

Oh, she definitely is.

But sweet.

That as well.

Little monster?

No, she’s too cute for that.

Star? Shining bright?

The slave scrunched up her nose. Too corny.

She agreed.

What about leopard?

Her heart fluttered. The slave’s eyes went wide. Her smile went just as wide. That was perfect.

Leopard. Fitting.

She felt light as a feather, as the saying went. Weightless. Free. Primal.

She wanted to fuck…more than ever. Wanted to bring out her vibe and…strangely wanted to watch the slave in the mirror play with herself.

But she had to get to work.

Sigh. And now I need to get ready for work! I love you, Master. She wrote.

I love you too, leopard! Have a most beautiful day!

Gushing On Speech Protocol

There is something really sweet, something really soulful and sexy, to my being, my dominant side and Master side, to think about hearing a submissive slip into third person-speech. To hear the smile in her words as she speaks.

One of the questions I get often when people write to me is — what do you get out of the dynamic as a dominant? It’s this. This joy, this sweetness, at seeing someone you care about being so happy and at peace in a space like this. To see them take off that work mask, that work uniform, to shed that responsibility and have the honour of witnessing this primal, submissive slave step out of their shell and be so content in that layered dynamic.

And then furthermore to work together to implement that speech, to open up a dialogue about what the two of you want to incorporate or explore, to establish when is a good time to wind down from that dynamic and into aftercare — I mean it’s sweet and gorgeous and I’m here for it.

But I mean, fuck …to be able to see this person you know transform – maybe in the way her eyes take shape, in the way her voice is softer or huskier or obedient or playful. It’s something else to work together to find the right collar, to see that look in her eye when she asks if she can share your bed.

To give her head scratches and feel her lean into you. Or to see her wrestle with her own compulsions to clean my shoes or lick my face or wanting to kneel.

It’s all of these things drifting in my head or in my life, dear reader, and more that I cannot pinpoint or describe. Or — that I can describe but poorly. We would be here till first light the way I’d search for the words. I just adore it.