She stands before him completely naked. Lit by the soft purple glow of her bedside lamp. Thin black choker around her neck.
Head bowed.
Eyes down.
Arms laced before her tum.
Her chest rising and falling with every slow and steady breath.
And her eyes . . . wide and bewitching and alluring. Peaceful.
Waiting.
No, it never goes away. That feeling that he’s looking at her completely naked for the very first time.
That stomach flip.
That jolt of electricity sizzling over his body.
That tremble one his breath.
Blood pounding in his ears.
She chose him.
Him.
Considered him worthy of her submission. Her mind. Her body. Her sass regulated full force to him in their private realm.
All that she is.
He has reflected upon that for years.
Writing and rewriting and editing and trying to perfect the meaning, the feeling, the scale of what that means to him, what she means to him, her submissive to his dominant.
His self to her self.
Treading darkness with their light.
Naked under the stars.
Raw and wild.
A tempest raging all consuming and then the storm gives way to the morning light and their kisses are as sweet and soft as the morning dew that beads along their bare bodies.
Even after our agreed upon three-warnings-and-you’re-out, even when she kneeled before me as I bound her wrists, that half-smirk of hers was there at the corner of her lips. Challenging without words. Brattiness with a smile.
Fifteen lines of ‘I WILL NOT POKE THE SADIST.’ was the designated punishment.
Up on the blackboard we keep in the corner of the bedroom to leave little love notes to one another of a morning as we head to our place of work.
‘I can do that.’ She says with that wicked smirk. It reaches her eyes, sets a fire within them. Olive eyes blazing intensely with that same brattiness.
‘I can do that, Sir.’
My correction slips from my lips without thinking.
She rolls her eyes. And to be honest, I’m kinda impressed how smooth she’s got it down.
But a question remains — how does one punish a brat that enjoys said punishment?
‘Naked.’
She shrugs nonchalantly, that smirk never faltering, ever wicked. ‘Do it. I’m naked anyways most days. You know this.’
Her left eyebrow arches as she watches me, waiting for me to correct her.
The correction dies in my throat. Curse me for being entranced by that look in her eyes.
Before I can get the words out, she’s slipping her panties off her legs.
I keep my eyes on her.
Hers watch me just as closely.
I catch her scent in the air.
Makes me ache to taste her.
Fuck, I love the taste of her.
No.
Focus.
Easier said than done.
I feel the primal in me dragging its nails along my skin.
I want to bend her over our bed.
Take her ass.
Then that smirk of hers into a gasp.
Wrestle her.
But another idea comes.
‘Let’s grab your favorite toy. I think I want to glide it along that eager slit of yours and play with your clit while you write. Let’s see if you can finish all lines.’
And there it is. The flicker. The shock. The intrigue. The eagerness. Here one minute and gone the next.
Back to the smirking challenge.
Oh, she’s good.
‘Fine.’ She says. But I catch the quiver in her voice.
On her knees and one line in, I trace the toy along her shaven slit. She doesn’t moan but I sense she wants to.
Since starting my blog and sharing my journey, the most common questions I get from readers are — How do you know if you’re a primal? What does it mean to BE a primal? And what exactly IS primal play? I’m often refining and perfecting my wording over the years so I thought I’d attempt an answer here in this moment.
What does it mean to be a primal?
Being primal — well, it’s divided into two halves for me.
On one side, it can be allowing oneself to express their feelings openly, impulsively — this could be an opinion or a joke or your own personal brand of silliness.
But it is also the freedom to BE. To be yourself without pretense. Without worry.
So it can become a lifestyle in and of itself – A promise to one’s self to be open to life and to the world around them. To combat shyness. To be…whatever. Naked. Spontaneous. If something is holding you back, it’s challenging that with the heart of a lion.
For me, this aspect of being primal meant combatting my shyness, to challenge that fear and tongue-tied feeling when I want to speak up. Of accepting — hey, this is me. Whether that’s silliness, my sense of humour or filthy fantasies. But it also meant understanding my anxiety, of sitting with irrational thoughts and understanding them to be anxiety’s bullshit and not reacting to them.
What is primal play?
Primal play is a dynamic in which both the submissive and the dominant come into their own animalistic nature. Biting, growling, whining, whimpering, scratching, wrestling. Wanting to chase, wanting to be chased, wanting to wrestle, to lick, wanting to feel so high on life that your stomach flips and you’re about to spill over the edge beyond your boundaries, all the while maintaining a big goofy grin on your face.
Primal play can be about roleplaying as the predator and the prey. The No-holds-barred chase. The struggling and wrestling and insults spat at one another as clothes are torn. Sinking your teeth into his or her skin. Forcing dominance OR battling for submission.
It’s also about the dynamic between owner and pet. The submissive taps into either their animalistic qualities or an animal they identify with. It could be roleplay but it could be soulful, something that speaks to your heart. Something you yearn for — and the same goes for the owner type. Speaking as a dominant and an owner, seeing someone come into their own, to be at peace in a collar and a leash, makes me swoon in my own way. It’s as sweet and gorgeous as it is sexy.
There is a romantic, lovely side to it, just as there is a rough, wild side to it. I do enjoy sitting watching, say, our favourite shows, while my kitten’s head is in my lap or she is sitting by my feet as she loves to do.
But there is that rough urgency there as well sometimes. That other primal part.
Right now, thinking on it, I’m ridiculously, achingly hard because my mind is on chasing down prey, heart in my throat, wind whipping my legs. I want to tear her pretty clothes and I can HEAR that satisfying RIPPING SOUND echoing in my mind. Ye Gods, I want it so bad my heart races.
How Do You Know Your Primal?
Have you ever growled? Have you ever let slip a whine? Have you licked someone’s cheek or lips in a burst of affection or tenderness? Have you found yourself hating clothes and wanting to strip, to BE OUTSIDE in the forest naked? How many of those things have you nodded your head to as you read? Are you hard? Are you soaked? Congrats, you just might be primal, hah.
Could these moments just slip out and be isolated incidents? Sure! We are creatures after all, it happens. But if more than one of these things occurs, if your mind is running away with the thought of being collared or the thrill of the chase speaks to you, if you find it happening more often than not you very well might be identifying as a primal being.
What happens now?
Well…if you find yourself facing the urge to bite or the urge to whine or lick or hell, be chased relentlessly, even viciously, and your heart skips a beat and you start to feel ashamed, I want you to understand this — you are not wrong. There is nothing wrong about exploring this wonderful side of yourself because you are tapping into the deepest parts of your mind and that’s beautiful.
And as for those fantasies, do not feel bad about them. Why you are there, in that forest for the chase, I cannot fully know, I can just say – for whatever reason – we enjoy these things, as we do the roller coaster or the mystery novel or a horror movie. We like the thrill, but guided. On our terms. To be experienced safely, with love and trust and a partner we adore.
That’s it for me right now. Should you want to talk primal or ask me questions about it, don’t you dare hesitate getting in touch with me. Okay? Good.
She wakes to the sound of him stumbling out of bed. Hurried footsteps on the carpet. ‘Everything okay?’ She manages to get out of her sleep-slack lips. ‘F-fine.’ He says behind the door of their en-suite bathroom. She didn’t hear it latch, he must’ve been in a hurry. ‘Dinner repeating?’ ‘Not exac…’ She hears the moan spill out across the acoustics of their bathroom. Feels the grin touch her lips. Suddenly she’s out of bed, cool spring morning air flushing over her arms, skimming the back of her neck, teasing her nipples.
Before she realizes what she’s doing the bathroom door swings open. He’s standing with his back to her, bare ass bathed in moonlight, but he spins at the sound of her approach. She can see through the dark, surprise etched on his face. His hands are cupped under his cock, which is hard and twitches in the air. The last throes of his dream. She blinks. The tiles are freezing her knees but she doesn’t care. There’s hunger in the pit of her stomach. She can’t find control. She can’t sit still. She’s aware of so much. That she’s on her knees. That he stands before her. That a slither of drool is rolling down her chin. She would die if she couldn’t — Her face dives into his palms — and she laps greedily at his cum.
The taste of him lights up her taste buds, her jaw clenches. She feels her tongue scoop it up, feels her throat close as she swallows. What’s that sound? Oh, it’s her. Swallowing eagerly. Moaning with each taste. Like an eager pup at its dinner. He lets out a whimper above her, working the last throes of his own sleepy orgasm. And here she is, on her knees, taking his cum for herself. It’s hers, hers. Only hers. A whimper comes when the last of it is gone from his fingers. But some remain smeared along her lips. She licks it clean with the edges of her tongue. Then looks up at him and smiles. ‘Good pup.’ He manages to say.
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!
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.’
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.
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.
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.
‘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.
Tall, Dark and Dominant 