Write What Scares You

He writes what scares him, even if it doesn’t make sense, even if the ideas are stitched together to make a surreal pattern that leads to places he’s not sure he wants to go.

People, settings and voices come to him from the dark, ancient and feral and wanting, taking shape in the dark.

He writes and it scares him, the detail that comes – the way the man with his weight upon the woman, the unsuspecting victim as her blouse is torn to shreds, the words that come on their own – ‘as her blouse tears open, her breasts spill out’. Spill out. Vulgar. Crass. Rough. Unrefined. Intoxicating.

He can hear her yelps, inhuman, animalistic – as she’s stripped down to her cotton navy blue panties, he already knows this is the first time anyone has seen her naked in five years before They do.

It scares him, what he writes. How fully formed the thought is, how vivid and how vile – how he can see her pale legs kicking in the air, how he can smell her perfume laced with swear, how he would never wish this upon her, she who just came into his world.

What scares him only compels him, his hand unwavering from the page, viciously, spitefully, inflicting the rape of this blonde’s body and mind and feeding off of her sweat, cries while pushing her limits.

And why? Why violate her? Why take her ass, just to hear her voice crack and strain as He, with no regard at all, tears her anus. Why cause her pain and anguish? Why fill her mind with doubt, as pain turns to pleasure, as her body betrays her savagely, leading to her orgasm.

There is pain and anguish, yes, but there is something else. Beauty and Power, Raw and unprocessed.

He’s scared of himself in the end, the part that wanted it, desperately, savagely, his mouth watering for the taste of her. Her, the woman lying naked and breathless on the floor of the subway corridor.

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Don’t be ashamed of your rape fantasies. Explore what they mean to you. Have a think about the particular details of your fantasy and why it appeals to you.

Fantasies are simply that – fantasies. They’re not a reflection of your morals as a human being. They’re there for you to safely explore the darker impulses of the human mind – YOUR darker impulses.

Should you wish to take that fantasy to the next level, remember that any BDSM scene or setting should be discussed thoroughly before hand, and with safety measures in place to ensue that exploration is healthy and safe.

Try writing it down, capturing it onto the page so you can look back and know.

If you are troubled by a particularly savage thought, I’m always an email away, regardless of time zone. I rarely sleep.

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #9 – ‘The Interview’

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ELIZABETH ABIGAIL QUINN

PART ONE OF RECORDED INTERVIEW

Date: – 9/12/18

 Duration: – 14 Minutes

No. Of Pages: – 3

 

 

Detective Andrews: This interview is being tape recorded at 10am. My name is Detective Aaron Andrews. Miss, what’s your full name?

Elizabeth Quinn: Elizabeth Abigail Quinn.

Detective Andrews: Okay. Just start whenever you’d like to, Miss Quinn.

Elizabeth Quinn: Uh…I’m not really sure where to start.

Detective Andrews: From the beginning – what do you remember? Or we can do this when you’re feeling up to it.

Elizabeth Quinn: I remember…I…I….It was late. I was…heading out to drinks. A get-together. Only…uh…someone….I mean, I don’t remember the next part…

Detective Andrews: That’s okay.

Elizabeth Quinn: I woke up in the room. Cold, I remember it being cold but it was like a bedroom. Uh. Unfurnished but with a bed… in the middle, the bed that I…uh…was tied to on. And there was this man…A santa, with a santa mask but with the full outfit, the red suit and…He would…He dressed me. Candy Cane socks and….green and red underwear and…this stupid elf hat. I was his Elf, he would say. His sweet elf. He’d..uh…he taught me things at first. How to, uh, kneel. To kneel with my back straight. If I was wrong he’d…

[Elizabeth turns around and lifts up her blouse, showing scars on her lower shoulder blade where she had been struck by the unknown assailant.]

Detective Andrews: He’d hit you.

Elizabeth Quinn: Sometimes with his fist. Other times with his belt. Most times he’d…punish me by uh, forcing me to….orgasm by….by….[inaudible]. A candy cane…. [inaudible]. Other times he would rape me. As a gift each morning he would say, and uh, each night as a goodnight. Sometimes I would wake up and I couldn’t tell what day it was, except that I was…..soaked. And he’d tell me. He’d say it in his santa voice – he’d always use that Santa voice – he’d talk to me about hypnotic suggestion. That he could cause me to…..orgasm. To squirt. I didn’t know what to believe, but sometimes I’d feel…well, I’d feel out of my body. But watching. And I would feel there, and present but I was only watching. And I could see myself… touching myself and….enjoying it? And…orgasming and squirting on cue and on myself and on the bed… I don’t know what to believe now. What was a dream and what was not…I mean I could see myself doing things I…..

Elizabeth Quinn: Before all that…he’d sit and read to me, gently, like some sort of children’s television host. He’d teach me about kneeling, yeah, and behaving – about slave discipline. About obedience. About servitude. About….about….my….

Detective Andrews: When you were found this morning, er, nude in an alleyway off of the CBD, you were talking about….other Elves?

Elizabeth Quinn: Other helpers…willing helpers.

Detective Andrews: Willing? Could you describe them?

Elizabeth Quinn: I can’t…I…I mean, they had their own masks…

Detective Andrews: Anything you can give me.

Elizabeth Quinn: One was a woman…she’d love to…She sounded…foreign? Uh, English I think? The other was a man. I couldn’t tell where he was from.. The both of them would help train me to be…what they’d call obedient, in the name of Christmas cheer. They’d take turns. Sometimes she would come, and feed me breakfast…uh…sometimes fruit…sometimes not. She would force me to watch porn with her and if I didn’t, she would hit me with her…paddle. I would come, for her amusement. Sometimes with her too, alongside her. A double…

Elizabeth Quinn: Other times I would be chained beneath them sometimes, while they masturbated over me, watching me and each other. Sometimes I’d be forced to…perform oral while someone took me anally. It was like being in a nightmare. I never knew it would end. When they would decide to stop flogging me, both of them. Almost in time. Almost.

Elizabeth Quinn: Sometimes…sometimes I could be above all four of us, watching. Like something out of a dream. Hovering and watching me, seeing how pink my….behind was. How raw my skin was, like I wasn’t me anymore. Like I WAS this elf….or that I no longer existed anymore. That I was viewing a dream of myself. Or that I was waking to reality.

Detective Andrews: This was the hypnotic suggestion?

Elizabeth Quinn: Yes. Or. So I think. I don’t know. Is this what you want?

Detective Andrews: Anything you can give us, about who these criminals were, about where you were for so long…Your family filed a missing persons report back in June…

Elizabeth Quinn: June….I can’t believe it’s been so long. This elf – I mean…I’m sorry. I’ve been trying not to do that this whole time.

Detective Andrews: No, do not apologise.

Elizabeth Quinn: They called it speech protocol. If I got it right without missing a beat, I’d be fed. And if I didn’t…

Detective Andrews: We don’t have to talk about it.

Elizabeth Quinn: I’m sorry.

Detective Andrews: There’s really no need to apologise, Miss Quinn.

Elizabeth Quinn: Please don’t [inaudible].

Detective Andrews: I would never. Er, we can stop this here for now.

END OF PART ONE

 

 

 

 

30 Days of Kink – Day #6: My Weirdest Sexual Fantasy

Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

This is going to be tough because I’m generally weird – my background is in gothic horror. I have a thing for how things of a horror or thriller nature radiate eroticism. It’s something I like to explore in my stories.

I mean, on this blog I’ve written about tentacles and a teen being sexually assaulted by a creature from the ocean below. I’ve written about cults and vampires and ghosts but I think my strangest fantasy surely has to be a poor little teenage girl getting violated by a demonic tree.

I have an interest in that kind of backwoods supernatural horror, the rustic charm of the setting, that almost spiritual feeling of nature around you, that these places around you are ancient- so combining it with a delicious erotic edge, I just couldn’t pass up exploring it.

I just had this image in my head of this poor girl, restrained by coarse vines, being both vaginally and anally penetrated, hoarse from screaming, hurting all over…and yet…forced into submission, into pleasure. Forced into orgasming repeatedly. I think of her body being marked – and I can see these marks in my head as I had these from exploring the country as a kid. But then I think on this ache, of her being torn between this awful stinging bite and her orgasm crashing over her.

It’s almost like some kind of ritual, as if this girl, and her essence and spirit is the nutrient this horrible tree needs. Which is super cheesy I know, but I think of the woods as being this ancient and living and breathing entity and I think how it could actually work.

In the end, after aching in pain all over, abused and broken and hysterical, the tree is alerted to an incoming car, drops the girl, slivers back into hibernation and the girl catches a ride home.

It was inspired by the 1981 horror film The Evil Dead to be sure (which is where the image above is from – this would be the kind of stuff I’d recreate as a photographer if I had the skill to design it all) but I remember it coming fully formed to me in a dream.

But is that most interesting? I’m not entirely sure. I was going to write this as a story, you see, but felt it was too weird that readers wouldn’t accept it. I’m always cautious of that one idea being the final nail in the coffin.

In The Light of Day: Coming To Terms with Our Deepest Darkest Fantasies

When I started this blog and started writing up some rape fantasies – some of them already fully formed, some of them coming to me in dreams, I had received emails from readers who were disturbed by their intrigue in what I was writing. The two sides of their brain – analytical and creative – were wrestling with each other and the result was a morbid curiosity.

Just yesterday I read a comment on a blog post in which the user stated that some of their darker fantasies won’t ever see the light of day on their blog – out of fear of being too weird, too dark, too violent. It could also be that they want to keep that imagery to themselves and not share with the waking world.

I understand that all too well. Just a couple of days ago I posted a rough outline of a story called The Woods, in which a teenage girl is anally raped by a demonic tree. I scrapped it because I thought ‘gee, you’re really pushing it this time aren’t you?’ .

Pushing my comfort zone as a writer and the comfort zones of readers is an interest of mine – because I want to shed light on my own mindset while seeing if it has a place in the mindset of a reader.

I’m fascinated by people’s minds – what they don’t want to say but yet feel so strongly. I do it too, I have ideas I delete because I’m worried – worried that maybe i am too weird sexually after all. And maybe this whole WordPress thing is a fluke. I mean, as of writing this, my outline of The Woods has no response, which could either mean I am too weird and people didn’t dig it, or that it’s still a new post. Being an anxious person, I tend to spiral in thought.

And yet I’m compelled to keep pushing, to see what works and what doesn’t, to see if my weirdness can actually arouse in a primal animalistic way. Maybe it doesn’t work with poor Jen and this mystical tree but maybe it will for another encounter. I’m not sure.

I would love to tell anyone – any blogger here or any reader – to be themselves, to challenge that part of themselves that lives in fear of exposing this part of their mind. Because I know it can find an audience, because I know it can be cathartic to release this dark pressure and side of yourself to others who might secretly be in the same boat. But it’s not easy to confront that side of yourself. It takes courage and acceptance and a willingness to expose something so cerebral and precious with the world that could potentially be rejected.

It’s a risk to be sure, but if it connects with someone it can be a beautiful thing. A really beautiful thing.

To that end, I have an idea. It may not take off, people may not even respond, but I have an idea as of this moment regardless. Every idea a writer has is built around the question ‘What if?’, right? Well what if I created an anthology of darkest fantasies that belonged to readers or bloggers? Hear me out – readers or bloggers could submit anonymously, either through my email or through my tumblr where you can actually submit anonymously to blogs, and I could take the broad strokes of the fantasy to submit a story each month or week.

No one would know who it belonged to, only the person themselves. Everything else could be hidden as it was.

Of course that would mean sharing with and trusting me, which is the only hiccup I could see, but as a writer and reader myself, I’m excited by the idea of this. A way to interact with people and flex my creative muscles.

That being said, far be it for me to say that’s easy – I’ve spent my life fighting to be open. So it’s entirely up to whoever made it this far in this blog! I want to hear from you!

Some Version Of You

Some version of you exists in my mind,

Drenched in sweat,

Quivering

So degraded and humiliated you’re trembling,

Skin stinging from rope and an open palm,

A clit so sore you don’t want to move,

Burning, scorching marks from the paddle,

Nipples pulsating from the bite.

You don’t understand. You don’t understand. How could you? No one’s ever tested you, ever tested your limits, ever twisted your mind. No one has ever been curious enough to wonder how your mind sounds when the last moment of sanity slithers from your lips, and drips, down your throat like the bead of sweat from your temples.

But I do. He does.

We want to break you, to violate your sweet tight cunt till you are forced to come, till your thighs tremble to rock with the umpteenth orgasm that will wash over you. And when you’re spent, we will flip you over and fuck your untouched ass till you feel so disgustingly full you will squeeze your eyes shut tightly and feel the nagging presence of a headache.

With each thrust, you’ll repeat back to me. I am Nothing. I am No One. I am Ready to be His Toy. With each forced orgasm, you’ll thank me, through gritted teeth, till I don’t have to remind you, till you know the words.

And when I fuck your salty mouth with my aching cock, grasping the nipple clamps planted fiercely on your tits, tugging them like a rider alerts a horse, you fucking animal, I am going to shoot my load down the back of your throat till you swallow.

Only then will you be free, left to curl up, left with the ache, left with the come drying on your lips, rocking and panting and promising and pleading:

I am nothing. I am no one. I am ready to be His toy.

Ice And Fire, Part I

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Note: This is the first instalment in my Dark Disney entry into the Frozen world and — it’s more than a little dark. So hopefully you find a little nook to climb into and disappear into this piece.

 

For the first time in years, Elsa didn’t feel completely and utterly alone.
Where she had spent the days huddled in the corner of her bedroom fearing what the townsfolk of Arendelle might do to her if they found out the truth about her, now she walked with the crowd, doing fantastical magic tricks for children and adults alike.
The people adored her and accepted her – and still, something deep down within her rumbled through her chest, coursing itself through her veins.
It was her familiar friend fear that coiled itself around her heart, feeling her mind with dark thoughts and imagery.
In those moments, she panicked as a thought prickled its way up her spine: What if I lash out again? What if this takes over me and I not only bring Arendelle to ruins but the whole world?

Sometimes she had dreams. In those dreams, she walked through the ruins of Arendelle frozen still, its people locked still in the moment of when the icy blast hit them.
Elsa walked through the snowy landscape, moving pass the still faces twisted in grimaces of horror.
Each dream of a frozen Arendelle took the same path: Elsa walked through the town towards the Great Lake, now just solid ice.
Each dream, she didn’t want to look, she didn’t want to see – but she could not tear herself out of the moment. She couldn’t get away.
She couldn’t stop looking at the frozen figure of her younger sister Anna, her eyes wide and lifeless. A victim of Elsa’s emotional outburst.
Everything hit her in the moment she saw Anna’s face – the heartbreak, the loss of life, of everyone, especially her sister, who she loved more than anything.

On those days, after she awoke from her nightmare, she would rush into Anna’s room, just to see her beautiful face once more.
Elsa thought all about this and more and as she watched Kristoff, Sven, Anna and Olaf sit in the Town Square together enjoying their lunch.
A thought came to her mind then – a thought so out of the ordinary that it seemed to strike her with electricity: She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.
O, it’s not uncommon to think such a thing about your family or your friends, that’s true indeed, but Elsa found that the thought came with such a surge that it took her by surprise.

Is it merely love for my sister after years of loneliness or am I missing something? Elsa wondered.
In truth, she had been desperately lonely all those years she had spent in her room living with nothing but her fear and anxieties, longing for a companion that wasn’t made out of ice. Longing for warmth. But nothing came and she was utterly alone.
Now that that time had passed and the town had accepted Elsa, Elsa and Anna were reunited at last.

Thinking of Anna now, Elsa realized that suddenly thinking of her as ‘beautiful’ took on a whole dimension and form.
She noticed the way her green eyes became lighter in the sun or how her freckles sit across her face.
Elsa was aware now, of things she hasn’t seen in her sister before and it frightened her.
Before Anna could notice and invite her over, Elsa turned and headed back up the palace steps, to withdraw into the throne room.

She lit a fire and warmed her hands. The thought of inspecting Anna closely made her feel like a freak.
Her body, typically, began to freeze the floor around her.
“No” she spat, exasperated. “Please, not again!”
The ice crackled as it spread over the carpet, freezing it still.
A chill shot up her thighs and teased the slit of her cunt.
Elsa focused on the fire. The warmth.

Warmth.
Summer.
Heat.
Scorched.
Deserts.
Tropical.
Baking, sunburn.
Warmth.

Anna.

“No!”

Ice shot out of her in a shockwave, covering the floor beneath her in a sheet of white.
The doors to the throne room opened and an Arendelle guard stepped forward.
“Is everything alright, my queen?”
Before Elsa could move he was beside her, moving her by the wrist out of the ice.
“Please, I’m alright”
Elsa grabbed a towel off a nearby table and bent down to place it over the dampened spot.
As she did so, she noticed the guard looking down her dress, which had lifted forward, exposing her breasts that were snug against the fabric.

It all happened so fast.
The guard reached out to her and pulled her up.
Elsa cried out in surprise and immediately went to conjure her powers, but it was too late, the guard had her pinned facing the wall.
“I’ve always wanted a taste of the ice queen. We’ve all heard the rumors you don’t take men into your quarters. I’ll be the first”
Elsa struggled to move, struggled to fight back but it was no use. He had her pinned and he was strong.

Rough hands tore at her Ice blue dress.
Elsa felt the cool summer breeze skim across her legs and tickle her ass.
Something pulsated within her.
In a matter of seconds, the guard was tearing down her panties.
The light blue with white polka dots color scheme got tangled around her knees. The tightly wound material cut into her skin.

That’s when she felt his hot breath on her left ear.
“I’ve waited a long time to see what secrets lay beneath.”
“You just wait till my sister -”
“It’s a lovely day, my queen. Don’t ruin it with threats”
Elsa went to struggle again but the guard kept her firmly in place.
“Now let’s see how icy your cunt is”

The man kept a fistful of her golden hair while he lowered himself down along her bare ass.
Elsa whimpered – a haggard pathetic sound – and hugged the wall to inch herself away from him.
It made no difference, she was helpless, captured to be still by this man.
He drew close to her and she could feel his hands thumb at her ass, splitting it open slowly.

When the wetness of his tongue slid into her, she shrieked and tried to thrash but his hand held her still.
The guard slid his tongue from the opening of her anus down to her slit.
She heard him chuckle.
“Smooth? I didn’t take you for smooth, my queen. I thought your pubes would be ice blue”
With that, he lowered his tongue upon her.
Elsa was horrified to find that her body betrayed her. The impulse that shook through her that moment told her it felt nice, soothing – but still she struggled back against.

With one leg, she kicked him back.
He was surprised, taken back even, but he was ready for her.
“You little conniving whore” He hissed as he held her to the ground.
“Daddy was just trying to take care of you, best he knows how”
Elsa struggled against him. The two grunted in unison for two very different reasons.
Elsa felt the man go still a moment – then she felt something hard against her back. It slid between her ass and pressed against her.

At once it started to burn and then — she fell into a daze.
She couldn’t tell what happened at that point. Her vision became a blur and she had the strangest sense of feeling full.
She fought against the sensation but arms felt tied to a claim.
Stinging pain shot through her body. It erupted in pulsating waves, one after the other.

The guard, she saw, was smacking her.
“Do you know what happens to naughty girls that misbehave? They get reigned in.”
The guard spoke lowly, almost to himself. His voice was manic.
How did this happen, think Elsa, as the guard was massaging his cock between her ass cheeks.
Suddenly the guard had her up against the wall facing him.
He lowered her down.

“Change of plans” He mumbled with a laugh.
Elsa has to do a double take to his words and just as she deciphered it, his cock slid into her mouth and down her throat.
It was warm and salty, with the faintest taste of sweat as it thrust in and out of her wet mouth.
The very action made Elsa gag.
Elsa was against the wall as his thick uncut cock slid in and out of her mouth again and again.
She struggled to breath against the constant sensation of her throat being filled.
Somewhere above he groaned as his hips thrust into her.
Elsa tried swatting him away but he held her in place, his thrusting quickening.
“No” she cried, pushing against him.
“Breath a little ice on it, honey” He purred as his cock slid smoothly down her throat.
She could taste herself on his cock.
The sensation caused her to jerk and forward and swipe at him.
Her left hand hit him in the stomach and he recoiled.
He yanked on her hair and whispered. “Little frustrating bitch, I was close”
He spat on her – a thick glob of saliva struck her face.
It stung her cheeks and slid down to the corners of her mouth.

The lightheadedness that was with Elsa earlier in the day was returning and she realised she was struggling to breathe.
She grappled frantically at the man to try and get some air, her chest heaving for that relief.
She got it when the man slid his cock roughly out of her mouth and shot his load all over her face.
It hit her in pulsating waves, rolling down her cheeks and necks and pooling around her nipples.
The man laughed to himself as he stood back and watched her.
Elsa looked around at her surroundings, panting, taking in huge gulps of air.
“No…..No…”
The guard just laughed.
“NO” cried Elsa in defiance – and that’s when a dazzling blinding light shot out of her hands and enveloped everything she saw in a furious white light.

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

Exploring sexuality in BDSM and D/s relationships

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I wanted to talk about sexuality in BDSM because it’s something that sparks a lot of confusion and controversy among certain circles.

Some folk new to the idea of BDSM might figure that the role of the Dominant is assigned to a man, just as the role of the submissive is assigned to a female. This isn’t true and it’s one of the beautiful things about BDSM and a D/s relationship.

The role can belong to any gender who possesses that mindset and traits. In fact, people can move between the two roles, which has led to some people using the label ‘switch’.

So you see, two men can be engaged in a D/s relationship, just as two women can be engaged in a D/s relationship. In other examples, the woman can be the Dominant (or ‘Domme’) and her submissive can even be a male. There’s no shame in a man stepping forth and declaring he is submissive, just as there should be no shame in a gay couple coming forth and declaring their roles and their love for each other.

I’m of a belief that it doesn’t matter who you are or what your sexual preference is, so long as you treat me with kindness, warmth and respect, I’ll do the same to you.

Another point I want to address relates to submissive men. A man might be submissive and afraid to admit it because doing so might lead others to believe he is homosexual. Yeah, that’s a possibility. It shouldn’t matter and it’s unfortunate it does but a submissive male doesn’t necessarily mean they are into the same sex. Just because you enjoy the idea of anal sex or anal pleasure does not mean you are into men. There’s nerve endings on the ass, you know? With practice, you can stimulate yourself to what I am sure would be powerful orgasms.

I feel like there is an unspoken problem there, between folk enjoying anal pleasure , even at the hands of a Dom/Domme.
That’s media, that’s society talking. Don’t define things by a narrow label – labels are for soup. Enjoy and embrace who you are, regardless of tastes. A Domme women and a submissive man may have a relationship as fruitful and powerful as any other, just as a Dominant man and a submissive man may have a beautiful and healthy relationship.

I feel there are people out there struggling with their sexuality and with their interest in BDSM and pursuing a D/s relationship when they don’t need to be worried about it at all.

If anything, look at it this way: What is sexuality? It can’t be as simple as what’s out there can it? Especially when something like BDSM and D/s relationships are challenging the concept of what it means to like this or what it means to like that? Like love, it can’t be defined, as love is different person to person.
My head’s all over the place with this and I’m not sure I am making sense. At the end of the day, don’t let media and society’s narrow views on sexuality define you. Just because you the mainstream media might be populated with straight sex and news articles and folk frown on your tastes doesn’t mean anything.

If you’re gay, be proud and happy. If you’re a submissive man, be proud of it. If you’re a lesbian, be proud and stand tall because you know what? What you want to explore is beautiful and you are on the cusp of exploring your true identity. Even if it doesn’t work out, look at this way: you tried exploring something most people are afraid to explore. You’re better than those that want to live with hate in their hearts.

Sexuality is fluid. We should be open to experiences and sensations and forget about small minded labels. That’s not who we are.

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