Being Naked In The Wintertime

Being naked in the winter time has been absolutely thrilling to me this year. Yes, there have been moments where it’s been a freezing 6 degrees Celsius but this year, I feel like I have been experimenting with letting that cold linger on my body.

I sleep naked in the winter. I have an all powerful blanket – and even my lady to snuggle – but the moments where I first fall or roll or collapse into bed and the cold just cancels out all thought – the sheets are like ice, the air skins across my feet, lifting across my ass and to my cock…it’s….incredible.

Anything I was thinking of before I hopped into bed – responding to email, dinner tomorrow, my cat yowling at closed doors – it’s all gone. I – a Dominant – is completely dominated by the weather. I’m frozen in place – pun maybe intended – my body unable to reboot as my primal side emerges. I suddenly want to roll around and snark and drool and Fuck myself into bed until I come hard all over my own stomach – or just grind into the bed until I fall asleep.

On other days, I find myself naked even with the chill around me. Come 2am, I have sat on my lounge utterly naked and have meditated on the cold, feeling it all around me. Feeling….wild and unabashed and charged with energy.

There’s a peacefulness to being naked during winter. Not only are you striped bare, the cold is confronting. You leave aside your world and are left to focus, perhaps more than ever, on your senses. How your heart flutters, how you are breathing, how the cold reaches in to the very core of you and holds you there to confront the stillness.

We’re so busy, us humans. We’re always thinking of cooking dinner, working hard, remembering birthdays, attending to meetings, making sure to stay in contact with friends and family. We never allow time to just exist in the moment and feel. We rarely stop, put the phone down and sit still a moment.

Perhaps you can do this too. Find a moment in your day, set aside, say 15 minutes. Find your favourite spot to just unwind – your bedroom, your couch, somewhere outdoors hidden from the neighbours.

Put down the phone. Undress. Listen to your world, your heart and your breathing. What do you find in your stillness?

If you decided to try this, do let me know how you found it either by comment section or email. If you can’t unwind and become frustrated, don’t let it get to you – it takes a while to adjust to sitting still. It will take practice.

Psycho-Sexual

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was how hard I was. I was lying on my stomach, you see, so not only was I pressing it into the bed, aching like I rarely do of a morning, but I could feel, not just the tip of my Cock, but it’s entire length. Pushing up between my stomach and the bed, fighting to get free. Fighting for relief.

The second thing I noticed was the memories. Once aware of my surroundings, they come rushing back. I suddenly felt her hesitance, as I unbuttoned her blouse. I could feel how wet she was when I slid the full length of myself inside her. Do you know how powerful that is? To feel that so strong after waking? I could feel her essence coat my shaft right down to the tip of her balls – and through that, I felt an awareness of her.

I could hear her curse.

The word ‘fuck’ slithered out of her lips in a hushed strained voice.

I remember the way my name left her lips – panicked, wondering, hesitant.

‘They’ll catch us’ she said. ‘They’re coming up the stairs.’

I can feel her urgency even writing this now.

Oh me, the dream me, was not worried. He was alight with a buzz, you see. It was the energy rocketing through his veins, the flip side of cortisol, but he was not scared. Dream me was confident.

She squeaked as I took my stride, sliding out then easing in.

‘Where are you guys?’ Came their voices. The voices of family. ‘What are you doing up there?’

My sister – my dream sister – my not-sister. My sister from another mister’s memories. My sister with someone else’s memories. My doppelgänger of a sister, her features changing, her face shifting into something like playdough, had my memories from another life, how wet she was, how hard she was.

‘I’m here’ she croaked. She was winded beneath me. It wasn’t my weight, you see, but my cock, knocking the wind from her sails.

She was nude beneath me, her body pale, resembling something else from another life. This isn’t her, not my sister. Not really. Who is this woman beneath me, wriggling in ecstasy, feeling that terrible fullness of me inside her, the type that eats at you, the type you feel even after the act. Who are we, that we have given ourselves over to lust, in all it’s frenzied, frantic power.

She, this stranger, will feel it long after dream me is no longer conscious.

I ponder all this, cock ever hard, coated in sweat, the remnants of an orgasm lingering, as I shake off somebody’s else’s life.

Here’s A Long Post About the Mind

She grips his hips

and licks her lips

and tells him that she likes it on her hands and knees.

He’s warm within,

Alive and on fire.

This woman is his sister.

A mix of dreams, thoughts and feelings, pooling together in a vat like some sort of candy concoction and I’m Willy Wonka.

Metaphor? Nonsense? Desires from the deep?

In his work The Interpretation of Dreams, Freud mentions ‘the dream is the liberation of the spirit from the pressure of external nature, a detachment of the soul from the fetters of matter’.

I won’t deny I have a high sex drive and some dreams are merely subconscious thoughts, fragmented and pieced together. But if the answer is merely I’m a sexual creature and that is all, I am disappointed.

Is it that simplistic?

I guess the reason I’m bringing this all up is because I want to talk about the things we’re scared about.

Do you ever have a thought – maybe in your waking life, maybe in your dreams, that is so unlike you? It’s piercing and potent and powerful and it sucker punches you right in the gut?

I do. And I have half an answer why.

I’ve always had an overactive imagination. Anyone that knows me well can tell you about the dreams I recount, the stories I pitch, my weird humour.

I’m not unsatisfied in my life. Quite the contrary. I’m right where I want to be for the first time in my adult life. So it can’t be that.

Have we, as humans, as people into D/s and BDSM opened a door in our minds that connects back to the core – our primal, animalistic selves? And what does that even mean?

I will say that sometimes I feel guilty. With the stories I write, the women I mistreat, all sacrificed to some bloody beast at the centre of myself, demanding flesh and sweat and other bodily fluids.

But that being said, those stories and this blog are some part of me. And rather than turn a blind eye, I write them down. Because at the end of the day, Writing fantasy, erotica or otherwise, is a hobby of mine. And exploring the depths of my own mind is an interest to me.

I do remember a reader writing in to tell me the intensity of a story shocked her in how it made her aroused by it – for reasons she struggled to put into words.

So maybe I’m just psychotic? I don’t know. I’d feel like I would know when things become too dark.

But I’m getting side tracked. I’m thinking out loud.

Imagination is a powerful tool. The mind is a powerful tool. Within it, are all sorts of memories, fantasies, thoughts and feelings. How some thoughts form, how dreams are patched together, by a thought or a memory or a sensation, can’t be helped.

So we should not react too heavily or get our heads turned by a nonsense dream. Let it wash over you and live out your day.

The Collar And The Leash

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There’s something so primal and raw about leashing your submissive that it all connects to my beast. It’s something that connects to that that force that many don’t want to really talk about or address. And it is something that connects to Animal Roleplaying, which I will get to at a later date. But what I wanted to talk about is the psychological play about the collar and the leash.

The thing is, it doesn’t even have to be sexual. It can be just something shared between the two of you, just a beautiful past time. When talk about The Leash, I talk about having her by my side as I read or as we play video games together, or watch our favourite programs. She is always by my side. Always. She has that security she so craves and I am satisfied by owning her in such a way. I feel complete, like my animal tendencies are fulfilled. Fulfilled – there’s that word again. Curious isn’t it?

The collar I have touched upon earlier but the leash? The leash bounds her to me. Her movement is restricted and anywhere she has to go, she has to ask my permission. She has to ask my permission regardless but here, she’s definitely restricted and incapable of acting out. Why? Because all it takes is a gentle tug to remind her of her place.

It’s something that ties into our very basic and primal instincts, something that we can play with in a safe environment – I.E our homes. Essentially, we are animals. Don’t fight that thought because there is no progress traveling backwards. We are animals so why not harness that edgier and primal side in this context?

Of course there is the sexual side to the act as well. Seeing her as naked as her name day, with nothing but the collar on and the leash, which is in my hand. It makes me want to take her. It makes me want to unleash her, direct her to the bed in the position that is my favourite, and it makes me want to take her, to howl with her. It makes me want to pump her till my cock pulsates and unloads my warm come upon her face.

Does The Collar and The Leash bring out the animal in us more so? Do we find truth in our interactions? Do we unlock secrets from the depths of our brain? And why does it feel so fucking good to have this woman by my side, leashed and all?

The power of Orgasm Denial

When I say I’m a fan of psychological punishment, I mean I go all out — I pull out all the stops.

And seeing as it’s 12-29am as I write this and my tired mind pulls out all filters, I want to talk about something we all know as Orgasm Denial.
There is nothing quite as sensual and erotic – and stimulating to my Dominant side – than having my submissive writhe in agony as I tell her she cannot play, that she has to watch me touch myself, all while I’m inches from her face.
“Please” She will say, growing agitated and fidgety. “It aches”
I refuse. I get her to edge and edge. I love to edge. I think it’s an intense experience — and sharing that with someone is even more intense, because come that release – well…I’ve never felt anything like it.
But Orgasm Denial as psychological punishment that satisfies my Dom. It goes beyond the act of edging, there’s something within me that takes pleasure about being a mind fuck to my submissive.
I actually ENJOY seeing her beg..seeing her lose her mind and just throw anything at me in hopes I let her come. She is at my mercy, trying to kiss my lips – which I deny.
And the best thing – the absolute best thing – is that she can’t act out. She’s frozen in place because somehow, someway my commands has her captivated. I mean, she could easily disobey. But she doesn’t. She can’t. For the life of her, she just can’t.
All these feelings swirl around in my head as I touch myself over going mad – a delicious dance of me with my hands as I watch her bite her lip and grip the bedsheets to stop her hands from wandering.
Maybe I’ll ease on top of her and put her out of her misery with my cock. Maybe I’ll let her use her favourite toy. The delicious possibilities are endless.
This is just one method of psychological torture I like to inflict upon my submissive. It’s a balance we both enjoy and sometimes a nice departure from our living and loving D/s relationship.