Thank You

I just checked my stats now and to my surprise I’ve hit 1000 followers – which is absolutely insane to think of. 1000 people. I was blown away with 1 person but 1000?

It means the world to me that my words have been able to connect with people, either to help or to meditate on their life or to arouse. Never in a million years, did I think anyone would be interested in what I had to share – or that I’d find lovely people to communicate with to make my world a little less lonely – it still floors me that someone thanks me for something so THANK YOU – for reading my writings, for reaching out and saying hello, for any critical conversations, for challenging my perceptions as a human being and as a dominant. Thank you!

To anyone I haven’t had the pleasure talking to, know that you are always welcome to write in to me, no matter the topic. My email or twitter DM is always open, you never have to feel insecure or inexperienced or silly around me, no matter age or nationality or language barrier. You’re always welcome!

But yeah, don’t congratulate me! This isn’t me fishing for praise. This is me expressing my dumbfounded gratitude at those that find me worthy of a follow. I know I’ve been writing slower this year so I hope you stick with me. I always have something dark and kinky around the corner!

Torment

A pretty little thing lay bound to the bed, chains linked across her bare body.

Her auburn hair had fallen across her furrowed brow, strands reaching down to mask her eyes.

The muscles in her neck clenched tight as her stomach reached up to meet the cool kiss of the chains around her breasts, pockets of ice biting at her nipples.

He hovered above her, a leg on each side of her, his thick and uncut cock fully hard as it frames shadows across her belly button.

His cock bobs in the air – in truth, he uses what muscles he has to hold tight. He feels the pleasure swirling from the pit of his stomach down to his shaft, reaching its own tendril to skim underneath his testicles.

Pre-come glistens the tip of his cock. He knows this, is aware of this. He uses this to his advantage, letting a strand run down his shaft and across the length of his testicles to drop across her chained stomach.

She murmurs in frustration, a strangled sound somewhere between a beg and a fierce cry. He may be aware of how Come is dripping in a sequence of dots traveling upwards to her breasts but the one thing He isn’t aware of is how badly she craves to taste him.

Her thirst is ridiculous, unquenchable. In this moment, bound and at the mercy of Him, she truly believes that if she can’t taste him, just a drop even, she will descend into madness.

In a heartbeat it terrifies her, this longing. An image comes fully formed to her, an animal writhing and growling and howling, it’s throat raw, spittle bubbling on its lips, pupils large. It’s body vibrating with desperation. Somehow she understands that she will become the animal if she doesn’t own up to her own feelings, if she cannot accept what she wants and the ferocity of how badly she wants it.

She can feel his come smack against her flesh, can lift her head just enough so that she can see his Cock bobbing in the air, a drop beading on its head, but not His face. She imagines his smile – and her thirst for him grows.

Late Night Reflection

One of the reasons why I started this blog was because I have so many dark thoughts in my mind – sexually, you understand. Sadistic thoughts, deviant thoughts. Perverted.

Sometimes that can get lonely, sometimes – well, not sometimes – for the most part, I have a thought that could consist of having a sex Slave frozen in the snow, just to see her tits harden, to challenge her perceptions psychologically, sometimes I think of brutal, feral rape.

And I think I’m insane – the only person out there that feels that way. And so starting this blog was my way of making sense of that primal unfiltered part of me, with the hopes that A) I would find I was not alone and B) I could help someone out there that’s just like me. Maybe, some way, I can help them find their voice.

It means so SO much to me when someone writes to me and expresses how they’ve been trying to find the courage to write to me to ask a question or engage in a discussion about the subject matter I wrote about. I think it take immense strength to approach someone and open up about something so personal and I’m honoured some part of me can help in some small way.

Looking back on my growth, as a human, as a man, as a lover and as a dominant – my journey through bdsm and kink has been so much more than labels and D/s and dynamics, it’s been about my journey to begin to express myself, process myself and to take the steps to accept that part of myself, to understand what I can.

Writing helps me reflect on these desires, to examine their depths – and to create, which I love doing. So, here’s to trying to write more.

Spring Brings Out My Primal

I can hear it – the rain rattling across the roof, a rhythm just for me.

I can feel it – stirring from its long rest, shaking off the fog of sleep.

I am aware of my heart sounding off in my ears, the warm blood in my veins.

My toes uncurl against fresh sheets, eager to move, to race.

Nothing has no rhyme or reason. What is the meaning behind the season?

It wrestles me to take hold. I feel its needs take control.

And I am but a puppet, a monster cast in black and white. Expressionistic. Fatalistic.

Bones and muscle lock in place.

Gnarled fingertips claw beneath my skin. I feel it frustrated deep within.

Without it I’m a shell, a jagged edge incomplete. I need it here with me, in on chatter, eavesdropping with devilish delight.

Come and set me free.

On Discovering I was Primal

I didn’t meet a person within the BDSM community that identified as being a primal until I was 26.

I didn’t even know the full extent of being a primal – I didn’t know about pet play, being a predator, being a prey or traits OF a primal person, even when I had a few of those traits.

I knew I was dominant. I knew I liked being naked outdoors, knew that it exhilarated me. I knew that the outdoors, as much of a house creature I can be, thrilled me. Oh to think of running, the wind in my hair, my heart beating, my legs kicking into gear. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

When I was 26, long after my marriage failed, I decided to sign up to Fetlife and not shut it down out of fear this time. And through happenstance, I met a lovely Canadian lady who I got along really well with – I mean, similar sense of humour, the type of rapid fire wit that flows. It was lovely, and I didn’t quite understand at the time why it was so lovely. Until she, on a whim, started to express wolf-like aspects – little whines over Skype calls, talk of wrestling over a disagreement about favourite movies. I started to sense something, or maybe I DEVELOPED the means TO SENSE through talking to her.

And the topic of being primal came up. I was a bit confused at first, till she pointed out traits I had, which she, or the animal within her, responded to. And suddenly it all made sense – why I liked to growl, why I liked to run naked as a teenager through the Bush, why I felt SOMETHING fighting back within me when I was married and had chosen to stop thinking of BDSM and kink because I wanted to work for my marriage and be a good husband. Something primal and animalistic was there, it always there.

As these things sometimes go, one day we just stopped talking. Days went by, then weeks and then months. I haven’t spoken to her since, which is a shame because I owe her a lot. I guess that’s life, in a way. Strangers. Angels even? Who knows.

I’ve learned a lot about primal since then. A lot of it has come through googling, a lot has come through my own development and my development with my kitten, who has primal traits herself.

It’s strange meeting another primal person because sometimes I get this sense, however brief. I pick up on a trait, an inkling in someone. I can feel their openness and spontaneity and how raw they have themselves open to conversation – and how they conversation can flow! Usually these people and I get on like a house on fire – sense of humour and personality is similar and it’s easy to chat to them.

But it can be lonely too, sometimes. I check reddit, I’m part of Fetlife. I occasionally log into The Cage – I rarely see anything about a primal. I know it can be anything from not being advertised or being straightforward enough to mention – but it’s almost like it’s not at the forefront of Kink or D/s or BDSM. Or maybe it’s just me and it is there but behind whatever else someone displays via their notes or text or picture.

I don’t know about about anyone else, but sometimes it can feel like you are alone adrift at sea. I am blessed to have my kitten, my partner, who licks me and wrestles me to the bed – I have that connection now. But I didn’t always, and even then sometimes it’s just nice to know that there are others like you out there too, getting in touch with their own darkest desires.

To any folk out there, you are definitely not alone. There are more of us than you may think.

August Q/A!

Hello!

It’s been a while since I have done one of these Q/A posts. I normally like to do them every month or so – for new readers or longtime readers or even lurkers – just so that there’s a space to ask some questions, be they about BDSM in general, my writing or even if you just want to understand dominance in general – but I realised I haven’t due to pesky life. Weird.

Anyway, for this month’s I’ve collected some questions that I’ve been asked and that I’d love to share with you all. If there’s something you want answered please don’t hesitate to get in contact with me at my Twitter or tumblr or even email – darkanddominant@hotmail.com

You couldn’t possibly be a bother, I truly swear.

I’ve always wondered what kind of things do dominants see in those who are submissive that marks them as that?

This is an excellent question – because a lot of the time, I feel a sense of something and I never know if that’s my own imaginative mind, a product of my anxiety disorder or what so there’s always a chance of me either embarrassing myself or being right after all.

Generally, it’s mainly a sense that I get. I can get that vibe through text, it can be in the way they express themselves, something that I feel between the lines. Sometimes I can sense a brat through jovial chat, or a primal through late night musings. More often then not I can sense it in person, through body language or eye contact. I don’t know how I sense it, but it’s there in the pit of my stomach. And it could be my mind running to places or it could be genuine, both have happened.

I remember (incoming ramble) – when I was separating from my wife and I was introduced to this chat app by a friend and through that friend I met a tight knit community that helped me heal.

They were all non-kink folk, it was a general chat, but I befriended – somehow – this lovely New Yorker amongst them and each time I was on, we talked more and more to the point where we built up a sort of friendship. And one day she mentioned she was reading 50 shades of Grey. And me, at this point, wasn’t the fully formed dominant I’d be months later, but I was on the path and through talking to her – I don’t know whether I was simply there, whether I helped or whether the universe is magical and for whatever reason we were two beings drawn to each other’s energy, but she came to more of an understanding of her interest in kink and how truly submissive she was.

There are pockets in time where I’ve had that happen, either to close friends or to the lovely people who write in to me. But yeah – sometimes it’s even a case of working through their personality with them, like maybe they really are a switch or a masochist or maybe they are feeling primal and it’s been eating at them for a while. For whatever reason, I get an inkling there.

What’s a favourite story of yours from the blog?

My favourite stories are the ones that I write and I get lost in it – the world disappears, my eyes glaze over and my hands are just writing furiously and often with a lot of spelling errors!

‘Sand’ is one favourite of mine, because it’s dark and weird and slightly grotesque – but I can taste the salt water and smell the beach. Feel the slime of the invasive creature.

Another favourite would be ‘Hera’. That one was part of a contest, where I used the winner’s concepts and then wrote them a story, which was weird and science fiction-themed and anime-inspired but – again, it was a love letter, in a way, to my own geekiness but also just some really dark twisted things that make me quite aroused.

I love ‘Valhalla’ as well because so far it’s just been this big, beautiful and sexy mess of writing. I began it when I was watching a lot of anime and reading a lot of graphic novels so the idea of a continuous story, with story arcs and ideas and such, in this setting, was fascinating. It’s still going on my mind, and I will keep going until I feel I’ve done everything I can with sex Slaves and Norse mythology.

Are there different degrees to being primal?

Outside of wanting to explore primal play as either a predator or prey, I would think some of it trickles into the lives of people, no matter the environment.

Because you’ve got to understand, being primal isn’t strictly about sexuality or being sexual, it can be about being silly or angry or sad – so long as you acknowledge those feelings and don’t bury them.

I’m no expert, I can only go off my own life denying my own urges to be primal and what it was like to suppress them and then to finally give in to that intoxicating and giddy and guilt-inducing feeling. But I feel like some, like me, are interested in feeling the more extreme sides, and everything that comes with it, the sexual, the pet play, the running naked, the feral, lovely sex.

Where as some might just want to run naked and feel the lighter sides of being primal. Maybe they are scared of what will happen to their minds, which is a real, genuine fear and is terrifying, or maybe they aren’t interested in the BDSM-play or sexual side of it. Maybe they aren’t even aware that what they are feeling and experiencing is primal. And if anyone out there is struggling with coming to terms with letting out their inner animalistic side, I am always here to talk when you are ready.

What stories, if any, are you working on now?

So right now, two stories that I’m working on are Valhalla, which consists of me laying the ground work for future stories – I’ve done a lot of research into Norse mythology and who were the major characters in those stories, as well as who were the minor characters that make up the background. It’s a lot of fun to not only form a mythology on top of mythology but also, at the same time, explore the sexual identity of these characters.

The second story I’m working on is set during the later years of the Wild West, in which a woman in a small town starts to discover she’s a dominant. That one is taking a little more time because I keep rewriting the first part – and the more I rewrite the longer and more unwieldy it becomes for me.

I mentioned it in passing, probably a few hundred articles ago, and the idea of this woman on the verge of her discovery, in a time where the Wild West was giving out to a new world, excited me. I loved the idea so much I started researching customs and small towns and politics and relationships. It was the best sort of feeling you can get as a writer, to want to create.

But I’m still tinkering at the idea. As a reader with a ferocious appetite, I see a lot of male authors write real clunky-like from the perspective as a woman, so I’m trying to write in a way that I hope is sincere and not awkward. We will see.

Are you more of a music guy or a movie guy?

Probably more of a movie guy. I like my music, I was raised in a household of music and with an itch to play a musical instrument, so I like to listen to anything from The Beatles to Chet Baker. The other night I was in a real Motley Crue / Guns N’ Roses vibe – real glam rock / seedy dive vibe.

But I do love my movies and I watch a loooooooooot of entertainment. From horror to animation, science fiction to comedy, I really like anything that challenges me, makes me laugh, thrills me, even if it’s absurd. I like my old spaghetti westerns and mafia films, and o could probably talk about film-making for hours. I’m a big geek.

Anyway, that’s me done for now. If you have a question, please do not hesitate. I know it can feel like you don’t know what to say or how to even say it but if you just write in and it feels messy, try to ignore it because I promise you I read every word and there is no judgement whatsoever from me.

Wave-Length

Her pain healed him as much as it did herself.

Through her gasps and moans, he felt a piece of himself coming back.

Through her tears, her whispered confession if her fears, heightened by pain, brought out by pain, he found another piece of himself in sharing that moment with her.

Suddenly she was not a stranger anymore, suddenly he understood her behaviour, suddenly it all made sense to her, the past weekend, the past days, the frustrating silences where her tongue froze, words stiff on her lips, things she wanted to tell him but didn’t because she doubted — herself.

He held the chain connecting the clamps to her nipples, he controlled the surge of her pain, opened the door to pleasure. The endless stream of consciousness funnelling itself from her mind to his. He understood the right amount and adjusted accordingly – and she…she understood to trust him, to allow him herself, to allow herself to let go of control, of the desire to hold back. No one had wanted her mind before, why should he? But no, that was not correct. That was something else, something damaging burrowing into her skull. She needed to fight back on that thought because he…he was there for her, and would always be there for her, through the bad and the good, through the pain and the pleasure, through the devastating cries and the moments of raw human vulnerability.

He needed to let go as much as she did, had wanted to before but always doubted himself and his place in her life. Each and every day.

Pulling the chain so that she rose, in anguish, in tears, in pleasure, took every aspect of himself, to look past a gentle nature, to take himself there to that secluded part of his soul she had always marked – and in turn take back there, to show her around the place, the place that was hers.

Through her pain they opened a wave-length only they shared. Maybe it was always there, this ability to communicate, but maybe pain was the tool, however controlled it was – or had to be – needed to take that communication further.