Don’t wait too long

To chase your dream

To dance at midnight

To bear gifts

To reach out to a friend,

Old or new,

Acquaintance or interest,

Dream subject or dance partner.

Because the reality is,

Sooner or later,

The connection will sever.

It’s only a matter of time.


The Liebster Award – 2017

Good evening!

During my 12 Days Of… 2017 run, I was nominated for The Liebster Award, which took me some time to grasp and digest.

Essentially, in someone else’s eyes – in this case, the lovely Scarlet A. Rhiannon who writes bravely for her blog Branded in Blood – you are worthy of praise, which is where the award comes in.

It operates as a chain mail in a way – I.E if you don’t pass this on in 5 minutes, the spooky ghost will steal your panties – except the interesting aspect here is that you become involved and engaged with the works of others.


1. NaughtyNora – Domestic Discipline & Our Happy Marriage

2. MysticalKitty – Journaling my Surrender

3. Sasha Holden 1

4. Echnelis, Silently Sinful

5. MissAgathaArmstrong – Thoughts of Him

Congratulations, you lovely people!

And now for the Q/A…

1. How long have you been writing and how did you begin?

I have been writing as long as I can remember. If you were to pull out early teacher’s comments from when I was 8, you could see that they wrote that I focused less on school and more on imaginary worlds.

These imaginary worlds turned erotic once I hit my teens, but I do love to get lost in the genres of horror, fantasy and science fiction.

2. What is the thing you love most about D/s and the community?

I love that there is this unspoken element to people all around us. Teachers, students, grocery shoppers, workers, the people at the cafe. It could be anyone.

Beyond that, I love that it ties into psychology, into the subconscious, into the things we don’t talk about at parties. All these complex emotions and feelings we build with another complex soul, it’s beautiful and special.

3. If cream is to coffee what milk is to chocolate, _______ is to you as what is to tea?

Sugar. I don’t know, I don’t like tea.

4. What is your five year plan?

Oh gosh, now we are getting deeper! I guess it would be that old Vulcan proverb – live long and prosper. To not forget my dreams, my drives. And to wake up each day not taking my life and my loves for granted.

5. If you could have any job in the world, money and education no object, what would you choose?

Any job. In the world. Hm.

Probably a screenwriter. Or an author in general. To scare people with my stories. Maybe even be a counsellor on the side!

6. If you could right one “wrong” about the world we live in what would it be?

I would clean out people in politics, especially in Australia. I think there are plenty of middle aged people making old world decisions that are holding back society and the wellbeing of people. I would start by attempting to bring in progressive thinkers, young fresh minds. But what do I know? I’m some pleb!

7. If I asked you to murder one person, no consequences, would you? And if so, who would it be?

Nope. Even if it’s a barbaric and unforgivable person, I would leave that for the system. I have enough nightmares, why add that to my conscience.

8. What ruined your generation?

Something ruined my generation?! I have no idea. There’s good and bad in each generation but RUINED? I wouldn’t use such a term. Peace and love for all!

9. What is your biggest failure?

I’ve made a few short films that are pretty cringe. And there was that one crush of mine in high school that didn’t return my love letter with approval. Other than that, I have no idea. Failure is something I tend to want to learn from so I consider it insightful. I can’t think of anything in my current adult life.

10. What inspires you to blog?

What inspires me to blog? It is a concept. A concept that someone out there, pouring their heart into google, comes across my blog, takes the time to read my rambles and thinks – Hey. I’m not alone. And hopefully their mind lets them calm down a moment.

It’s what brings me back all the time.


1. I’m left handed.

2. I’m currently wearing blue and white striped boxer shorts!

3. My favourite animal is a white tiger.

4. My features are dark hair and eyes, hence the title of my blog.

5. When I was 19 and single, I embarked on a passionate affair with a 26 year old lady.

6. I almost drowned when I was 8.

7. I can never finish one book at a time. I am currently hopping between books.

8. I once edged for six hours straight. No I was not blistered or sore afterwards.

9. I wrote a short film about the anxieties of having sex for the first time. It’s terrible to watch now.

10. I used to run naked through the forest. Now I’m in suburbia, I cant anymore.

11. My nose is itchy.

Questions for my Nominations!

1. What drives you to write your blog?

2. What was the last book you read? Did you like it? Did you not? Why, why not?

3. What are your hopes and dreams for 2018?

4. If you could go back in time and talk to yourself, what would you say?

5. What is the last thing that made you laugh?

6. What do you love about writing?

7. Do you write outside of your blog?

8. What’s a typical day in your life look like?

9. How are you today?

10. Tell me a joke

11. What do you have planned after writing this?

The Official Rules Of The Liebster Award

If you have been nominated for The Liebster Award AND IF YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT, write a blog post about the Liebster award in which you:

1. Thank the person who nominated you, and post a link to their blog on your blog;

2. Display the award on your blog — by including it in your post and/or displaying it using a “widget” or a “gadget”. (Note that the best way to do this is to save the image to your own computer and then upload it to your blog post.);

3. Answer 11 questions about yourself, which will be provided to you by the person who nominated you;

4. Provide 11 random facts about yourself;

5. Nominate 5 – 11 blogs that you feel deserve the award, who have a less than 1000 followers. (Note that you can always ask the blog owner this since not all blogs display a widget that lets the readers know this information!);

6. Create a new list of questions for the blogger to answer; OR

7. List these rules in your post (You can copy and paste from here.)

8. Once you have written and published it, you then have to inform the people/blogs that you nominated that they have been nominated for the Liebster award and provide a link for them to your post so that they can learn about it (they might not have ever heard of it!)

12 Days of BDSM Christmas – #12: After


I was in a daze writing these stories. For me, that’s a sign that they’re important, or that they’re magical. Which is why they’re included in this little festive selection.


I began with a concept, which was to take Christmas Hymns / songs and turn them into something incredibly dirty and or nasty. Sometimes they were just downright sensual and gentle, which was the case with O Holy Night. Other times, they were weird and surreal, like Silent Night.


These stories were taxing because I spent the early hours of the morning getting lost in them. I would often finish a draft and feel like I woke up out of a lucid dream. As if I were lost in an alternate universe.


They aren’t traditional stories in a sense – they’re not compromised of Beginnings or Middles or Ends, they’re moments, things I find sensual or appealing. They’re unconventional I guess, and I hope you enjoy them.


To break up the lengthier stories, I thought up the idea of “Interludes” – free form writing, shorter pieces. They were fun and experimental and I enjoyed the different format. It was a challenge to write shorter pieces, as I tend to dwell in the moment and just write novellas. I almost cut ‘Silent Night’ down in length but I couldn’t. It was hypnotic and just magical. It came out of no where.


Most of these stories came out of no where. I started with the title of the song but then wrote freely, only stopping to check I wasn’t leaving behind too many continuity errors in my mad dash to keep up with my mind.


But enough about all this technical mumbo jumbo – if you have any questions about any pieces, any curiosities you wish to satisfy, feel free to email me about them.


For now, I want to wish each and every one of you a Merry Christmas, a Happy Holidays, a Happy Hanukkah – however you celebrate, may it be safe and merry and full of beautiful memories to last your lifetimes!


No doubt you will hear from me before the New Year but for now, Good morning, good evening and good night!

12 Days of BDSM Christmas 2017 – #11: Candlelight Carol



‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change’


Jodie Weber stood completely nude, facing the tiles of her bathroom. The plan was to retire for the evening before her husband’s Christmas party had started to die down. She had said her farewells and prepared the bath. Only, now…


Now her sandy blonde hair was in a tangle, spread out across her forehead and eyes like webbing. Her hands were before her, propping herself up as she bent forward. They had begun to tremble from the weight. Her weight.

How long had she been standing here?


Her cunt was cool, the fresh drops of her urine left as beads on her trimmed pubic hair. That was when he slipped into the bathroom – when she was relieving herself on the toilet. She swore she must’ve locked the door but the fact that he stood there before her, smirking smugly, told her she had been wrong. And Jodie wished her husband had fixed the door sooner, that lock had been unlatching for a while.


The man that had told her to finish urinating was a William, an old friend from High School she recently connected with. Her husband didn’t like him, found him weird, but Jodie kept in touch with him all the same. She had invited him here because truth is told, she didn’t have many friends anymore, and the party was beginning to be filled with her husband’s greatest hits of friends, College – Work Years.


But when William told her to finish urinating, when the sheer shock at seeing him released the rest of it, when he pulled her by the hair and told her to strip and face the wall, she did. He looked like a man possessed and she didn’t want to cross that man in any which way.


Jodie trembled once she had started to undress. Her hands shook as she pulled her dark jeans around her ankles, her colorful Sesame Street panties she thought would be fun and youthful for her, became tangled around her knees. When William once again told her to undress, her body stiffened. She wanted to obey but her body went down into lockdown. William must’ve anticipated this, or at least was planning on it, because he was unbuckling his belt with one hand and locking the door with another.


When he smacked her, the jolt teleported her back to her childhood. Her father, a conservative catholic, caught her masturbating in her room and belted her with the strap. Jodie suddenly felt ashamed, confused, and sick to the stomach. She hadn’t thought about that incident for years now, her father’s voice – what he had said to her, had faded. ‘Filth’ was a word mentioned, that’s all she remembered.


William had her undress soon enough; the third strike of the belt did that for her. Tears had begun to swell in her eyes. She felt childish, sick. Elated. Excited. The mix made her queasy and kept her focus on the shame.


When Jodie was completely nude, William told her to raise both arms high above her. When Jodie hesitated, he struck her with the belt again, right across her ass, and as pain throbbed there, he proceeded to tell her to make haste.


Jodie felt exposed. At 32, she was still coming to terms with her own body and she wasn’t there yet, not really. Though friends and family told her she was slim and pretty, when Jodie looked in the mirror, all she saw was a mass of flab.


The man behind her – William, she reminded herself, As in Will from 12th grade – laughed softly. It wasn’t distasteful, or bitter. It sounded genuine, as if in shock. Or content. Or maybe, just maybe Jodie was reading too much into it and needed to break free.


He broke the silence, running his hand up her back, caressing the curves of her ass. She jumped at his touch, but something deep within her told her not to, as that piece of information was important.


‘Do you remember…that prayer they taught us in school? ‘God grant me the serenity..?’.

When he slapped the left side of her ass, she nodded.

‘Yes’ came her trembling voice.

‘Say it for me. Say it all for me, Jo’

There it was – Jo. Her father used to call her Jo. The father that had laid her over his knee and smacked her as punishment all those years ago. Jodie didn’t want that though, so she began to say the prayer, only it came out in a whimper.


She felt silly so she started again. Naked and bent over as she leaned into the cold tile wall, she shared the prayer, frozen still.


And yet he struck her, again and again, after each sentence.

The courage to change the things I can. 


and the wisdom to know the difference.



I noticed you are planning a bath. Candlelight, hm? How romantic’

Jodie had forgotten the water was rushing. She glanced down, steam filling her eyes. Just one splash could distract him enough for her to get away. Get downstairs.

He struck her again and her thoughts rattled away.

He left her side then, and that’s when her world plunged into darkness.

Candlelight danced up the walls lively as she trembled in the small space between the toilet and the bathtub.

‘Hypnotic, really’ Came William’s voice. ‘The flame. How it reaches, the mood it sets’


Her body started to scream, started to burn. A cry came out through Jodie’s moist lips but William silenced her with the palm of his hand.

They stood together in silence then, Jodie eyeing him from a side angle as the candle wax dripped down from the left side of her ass.


‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate your sweet cries, they truly are a symphony. It’s just, now is not the time for that. A pity.’

His palm disappeared and allowed her to breathe, the air felt sweet to inhale down.

Wax hit the right side of her ass, and sizzled against her skin. The heat, the pain, was biting into her. Her knees buckled and she lost her footing, falling into the wall. Her breasts grazed the tiles, hardening at the cold.


‘Turn please’

Jodie looked back at the sound of his voice. ‘What?’


The water stopped rushing at once.

Jodie looked down, perplexed, when William’s voice grew short. ‘Face me’.

Jodie turned to the direction of his voice and was met with that sharp heat, now familiar pain. It trickled down her right breast, circling around her nipple. Jodie whimpered.

She suddenly felt breath on her and realized it was William blowing on the wax around the nipple.

‘You’re even more beautiful than I imagined all these years you know?’

The sentence scared her. Was she going to die today?


Jodie could feel the wax growing stiff on her buttocks. Still, she knelt it against the cool tiles so as to take the edge off.

William had instructed her to keep her hands high above her, and she had done so, but fighting the impulse to scrape the wax off was hard. Worse, her hands felt like dead weight. They were starting to hurt.


When the wax dropped onto her left breast and sent a red-hot flare across her entire body, Jodie had to bite her lip to stop from screaming. She instantly tasted blood. When William blew softly on her left breast, and the nipple hardened in response, Jodie felt the weirdest sensation in her cunt. Tickling, was it? No. An ache? Not sure? Trying to think of what it was, what the mix was compromised of, took her mind away from the lingering red-hot flare on her tits.


There was a sound, shuffling feet. The movement in the light of the candle sent shadows dancing up the wall, like spidery limbs out on a mission. William was kneeling before her, Jodie saw. She could see this much.


His hand stretched across her to gently turn the bath’s tap – and the sound of water gushing broke the silence between them.


As the bath ran, just like Jodie intended, she sat there in the shadow of William, wax dripping in places she’d kept for her husband. New sensations flooded in, a mix of feelings, rage and arousal.


And yet, she gave in to William, could feel herself giving in as he spoke the words ‘And now we will clean you up’

12 Days Of BDSM Christmas 2017 – #10: Do You Hear What I Hear?

She sits on an old fold out chair

On the freshly mowed lawn

Scorching in body and mind,

from the fires of December.

Yet compulsions arise,

Compulsions that compel

Hands on skin

Hands to dig

Weaving under her Grey green shorts

Pulling apart her plain pink panties,

Cotton and drenched,

Sweat and arousal.

She digs at the burden,

Glides at the burden,

Legs stretched enough apart to

Ease in three fingers,




At her flesh.

The string of saliva on

The corners of her mouth

Stretch out and break away.

The sensation leaves behind a primal


She can feel all of it,

Her body around the Earth,

The dirt between her toes,

The sweat on her forehead,

The air on her thighs.

And when she tweaks her nipple

Through the thin thing she calls a singlet,

When her nail,

Jagged from growing out,

Digs deep in her flesh,

She can’t contain the moan.

Fingers driven by a sole purpose,

So frantic you can hear them work,

Can smell her work,

And when her neck tightens,

When her legs cramp up,

When it hits her,

Her control is lost in the crashing wave,

And she sobs out loud.

And who was there to hear,

From across the street,

From down the road,

As she broke the possession

And once again led a normal life.

12 Days of BDSM Christmas 2017 – #9: Interlude III: Rite of Passage



IT comes in fragments now,

Like images reflecting off pieces of broken glass,

Shifting, changing,

The more you move.


I remember the bed made up for me on the ground level,

I recall the wooden stairs that creaked so loudly that

When I awoke at the dawn of a new day,

I feared I would wake your house.


I remember the bed sat against a window that

Looked into the backyard pool.

I remember the name of the lively dog,

Who would wake me at the light of day.


And I remember you,

Tired and yet wide eyed,

Sneaking down the stairs

Dressed in a loose pink night dress that

Barely covered your breasts or your legs.

I remember the way your dark hair curled

Around your eyes.

I remember that look in your eyes,

You had to have more,

You had to see me.

Why else would the dawn wake you?


I know we kissed


Lovers that had the world

Lovers that forgot time itself

I know you straddled me sometimes

Because I can sometimes still hear your giggle,

Soft and mischevious.

But now I’m old

And time itself has forgotten me.


So like fragments,

I have the world

And I have the memories.

I have the memories

And I have the sounds.

I have the sounds

and I have the sights.


And I remember,

Twisting the pool cue,

Sliding it deeper,

Hearing the whispered catch on your breath,

Catch on the guttural animal cry

escaping your lips

As you beg me to let you come.


It comes in fragments now,

The trembling subsiding,

The breathing slowing,

The waves of sleep surrounding us,

Dream taking over us.


Creativity begs torture

Sometimes I don’t mind,

Sometimes I do.

Glass can cut.

12 Days of BDSM Christmas 2017 – #8: Joy to the World



Once upon a time, a man gave a lady a challenge. It was a cruel one: Sadistic, tough, psychological – but the lady, strong minded and used to toughening things out, took it upon herself to take the challenge.


It was a risky task: For each hour of the day, she was to bring herself close to orgasm but stop herself. Every time she did, she was to message the man her exploits. If she failed, she was to wait the next day blame start again. Only when the clock struck 12am was she allowed to orgasm, and she had to record it for the man for safe keeping.


For the first few hours, the lady found it fun. Exhilarating. She rose to the task of edging quietly in the bathroom of her work. The thrill of getting caught, she had said, drove her close each time.


By midday, she needed no time to bring herself close. She was already dripping, her panties soaked. She cursed the man and grazed her knuckles against the bathroom wall, but she stopped herself and she texted her exploits as arranged.


The Challenge became complicated when, after work, the lady’s friends invited her for after work drinks. The lady, sore and shivering and close to madness, didn’t want to. She felt like any tiny thing could bring her over. Every step felt heavy, and she could feel her panties twisted up her ass.


She wanted to fuck. Without rhyme or reason or love. The sheer primal madness shocked her, scared her. Anxiety pummeled her mind – and still she stumbled on her words, accepting the invitation out.


The pub was loud and distracting. Her friends told stories of the past, present and future, and the lady noticed things she never had noticed before – a friend’s cleavage, for example, or the light behind her eyes. Or the way her nose wrinkles as she smiles and laughs.


The lady was transported away from the conversation and for a full minute had tasted the juices of her friend, lapping up every drop as the friend moaned beneath her, cane beneath her.


Another hour had gone by. Then another. Each time, she texted the man, each time she stopped. Her vision was blurry; sweat was in beads across her face. Her nipples were sore, her cunt ached. She wanted to fuck, she wanted to come. She wanted to strip off and pour bourbon down her tits and let the whole pub suck it out of her skin, cleansing the pores, covering her in spittle.


For the train home, she thought of her co-worker, a blonde, blue eyed pretty thing. I wonder if she liked her nipples in a clamp, thought the lady, but pushed the image from the mind. The clock was close to the next hour, she noticed as she jiggles her legs.


She had to urinate but didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire, coming as she urinated. She didn’t want to be caught on the train, forced to come, because if she didn’t act, then the punishment would begin and she wouldn’t come.


On the hour, she came through the door. She found the man in the kitchen, doing the dishes. He stopped when he heard her and turned, facing her, his sharp eyes on her. He pointed at the clock.


He kept his finger extended to the clock on the wall; she wriggled out of her dress.


He continued to scrub dishes; she unclasped her bra and dropped it to the ground.

He continues to scrub dishes, she glided two fingers across her slick wet cunt, and letting out the moans she had also left behind in the pub and at work.


When it came 10pm, she was in tears, furiously rubbing herself. The man watched from across the room, his face propped up by his hands. She knelt before him, crying, grunting, and screaming.


She came, letting out a grunt she barely recognized. Her body, her entire body, trembled, and she collapsed sobbing, on the ground, her cunt squirting out the last of her juices on the wooden bedroom floor.


‘I made a mess’ the lady said, and apologized.

The man moved across the room and brought her to his arms and held her. He told her she was good, and that he was pleased.

‘I’ll clean it after this’


After the hug, after he cleaned her and the mess the both of them had made, the two lay tangled in a nude embrace.

‘You don’t know what that was like’ She said softly as she began to drift asleep.