12 Days of Kinkmas: Day #11 – “A Kitten for Christmas”




She kept the best gift for last.
After all was unwrapped on their quiet Christmas morning, after they had their breakfast together – coffee and blueberry bagels – she disappeared into the spare room of their first house together, pulling open the cupboard door and reaching up over head to grab the box with the red and white stripes pattern.
She returned to him waiting on the couch patiently, hands in lap, and gently sat the box down in his lap.
“What’s this?” He asked, eyeing the box suspiciously.

She knew he didn’t like surprises – and something in her delighted in this small twist of fun she was doing to him – but she nodded towards him in a gesture that said open it and see.
He did so, carefully lifting the lid with both arms to see — the contents wrapped in plain gold wrapping paper.
He sighed, the way he knew she found funny, and paid no mind to the delicate wrapping paper, tearing it free and finding –
Cat ears around a headband.
He pulled it out of the box, running his hands over the black fuzz on the ears.
She couldn’t supress the smile on her face, it spread like wildfire, her cheeks taking the full brunt of the force.
Below the cat ears was a pink collar, as soft and fuzzy as the ears, with a little silver pendant attached reading Kitten.

“Interesting…just your size.”
He placed the collar on the cat ears – there was more to come.
Below the collar was a medium sized butt-plug, sleek and black. Attached to the end of it was a cat tail, soft and fuzzy (again) with a white stripe down the middle of it. All of this bought for just $79.99 – though he would never know that.
“I…must say. I am lost for words.”
She knew this, could tell this, from just the sound of his voice. He had this tone about him when he couldn’t find the words. It was a sweet feature. Genuine and shy and honest.

She could tell he liked it though, she could see thatin his eyes, the way they lit up with mischief, his mind going a million miles an hour just thinking of the possibilities.
Before she could talk about it, before she could say what was on her mind or even address how they’ve both been wanting to explore this part of themselves for the better part of their busy year, he was already getting up, pink fuzzy collar in hand.
“May I…Or would you rather –“

She was already brushing the intruding hair out of her eyes and behind her neck before he could finish.
With the collar attached, warm and snug around her neck, she felt truly at home – comfortable. At peace. She could tell by the way his eyes were beginning to glass over at he was at the same spot she was.

He put his arm around her and drew her in for a cuddle.

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #5 – ‘Born Again’



Seventeen year old Jennifer was sprawled out on a towel on the floor, dressed in only her lime green cotton panties. Her long blonde hair fell across her snow white-skin, curling around her small breasts.
Freckles spread outwards in a sporadic pattern across her stomach, where they would reach across her thighs and around to her ass.
Never had she felt so alive than she did now.
Never had she felt like someone understood her so completely, in all of the ways, like Caleb did.
He stood before her, completely nude, her boyfriend of just one year, messy crop of blonde hair.
“Are you ready?”

Her response came out strained, rushed by her giddiness, her breathlessness.
She reached down, arms brushing past the curves of her breast, to peel back her panties and toss them aside.
The basement in which they were in was silent, save for the low hum of the mini fridge tucked away in the corner across the other end of the room.
Light filtered in through the window next to where Jen lay. Outside it was a summer’s day, middle of December, but you’d never know by the grey skies and gentle wind a-blowing.
Jen felt her nakedness now, could feel the cool air around her exposed nipples, around her shaven cunt.
Caleb let out a sharp exhale, then his eyes narrowed and focused downwards.
Something in her mind told Jen to close her eyes, she followed suit.

When the stream hit her, she jumped – and instantly felt like a fool. From somewhere behind her eyes, Caleb was moaning in relief.
The stream lashed at her stomach, warm and stinging. It travelled upwards across her breasts, falling across her hair and pelting at her skin.
Jen felt that breathlessness rush out of her tightened chest and up through her throat. She joined Caleb in the fever dream, in this frantic vocal act.
She wanted to reach down and relieve this building pressure in her clit but she remembered Caleb urging her not to before hand, demanding it to her as he had liked to do since they began to be more intimate.

The stream splashed off her breasts and onto her chin, leaving a droplet on her lower lips.
Almost instinctively, she licked her lips and tasted a saltiness her mind instantly described to her as ‘sweet’.
The stream travelled downwards, marking her stomach with its sting, wavering slightly but still with a power to pelt.
It reached between her legs, scalding her clit before traveling downwards across her clit.
Her legs trembled at the sensitivity, at the act, at something she wasn’t quite sure she could accurately describe if someone had asked her.
The pressure in the stream began to falter, coming to drip across her right leg in short bursts before dying completely.
The two teenage lovers panted breathlessly in that moment, maintaining eye contact.

Every inch of Jennifer’s body was stinging from the shower, tender to the touch, coated in Caleb’s essence.
She only had one thing on her mind then – could she play now?




12 Days of Kinkmas 2018 – Day #1: ‘Olives’


There are volumes unspoken when she asks if he can place the olive into her mouth himself.

Outside the boundaries of their existence, wind howls and rain lashes at the windows. Inside, the only noise comes from her wet lips as she parts them gently. Otherwise, if there were other forces, other creatures occupying the same space, they were not stirring like these two.

He didn’t like olives at all – the texture, the taste – the horrid salty bitter taste that seemed to evolve in his mouth after taking it in.
What even was that change in taste that crept up on you?
So when he ordered the pizza – Joe’s Special – without the olives, lo and behold, maybe to spite him, maybe because it was late on a Friday, maybe because it was close to Christmas, business was booming and the maker was exhausted, the olives were here after all. Mocking him, as they lay scattered across the topping.
When she said she’d have them, he started peeling them off and placing them on a clean plate.
No, she had said, turning to him, looking at him with her green eyes that seemed to come alive and deepen, feed them to me.

He hesitated, looking at her, a lock of sandy blonde hair covering her left eye, a mischievous grin spreading across her face like light streaming in slowly through a window. She stood so close to him he could smell her – not the ghost of her perfume from work – no, her. Her scent.

Suddenly he became aware of more – the outline of her nipples through her grey singlet, the shape of her breasts as she leaned inward to him, looking at him with the intensely lit green eyes.

And her lips…

When he placed the first olive into her mouth, he did so timidly. She giggled, and it was like the old cliché – like music to his ears. When he placed the second olive into her mouth, he noticed her tongue dart out ever so smoothly to pull the olive into her mouth.
He watched her, curious, as she swallowed and look back at him, waiting patiently.
What was behind her eyes, he wondered. There was mischief, yes, that much was in her smile, in the way her eyes focused up on him from where she stood. There was something else though. A seed planted.

Suddenly he wasn’t standing before her in their kitchen anymore, suddenly he was in some darkened corner of space-time where she was taking his cock into her mouth – and he could feel her. Her wet lips coating his shaft with her own saliva, he could feel her moan vibrate around him as she took his length in. He could hear her lips smack – in eagerness? In catching a breath? – As he pulled out of her. He could see it in her eyes that she wanted it again – hungrily, breathlessly, desperately.

Yet he was standing in the kitchen, her opposite him, her mouth parted gently, waiting for the next olive, her eyes glossy, mischievous, wondering – in space-time? Perhaps.


I’m a Dinosaur In An Ever-Changing Landscape

It’s strange for me to think how I’ve been blogging for three and a bit years now. It’s strange because when I started, I met some fellow bloggers and got – invested? Attached? Too close? – to their musings, their stories and their voice. I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve but I didn’t expect to be drawn to this.

In the beginning, they would challenge my perspective, offering fresh insight. I recall someone writing to me and asking if I would talk more about the psychology behind Dominance and how it relates to me – things I never considered, or at least took for granted as they were every day material for me. I recall talking to someone about their frustrations towards their own marriage, offering what little counsel a regular Joe like me could. I recall challenging perceptions of readers as they challenged mine, all kindly of course. Most of all I recall that investment in their lives as much as how they could invest in my own.

And then their words would stop. Their journey through life and kink and BDSM would go on outside of the interwebs. That could be for any number of reason – personal, lack of interest, maybe they felt they said all that COULD be said (a fear of mine to be sure) – or maybe life, ever the meddling mistress, got in the way.

So then comes a new group of bloggers, each with their own distinct voice and perspective, each with their own attitudes and backgrounds – to challenge me, to chew a piece of my mind, to understand.

It’s strange to consider that, in terms of the Internet and WordPress, or even in BDSM, that I may be a dinosaur. An ageing lizard. I mean, three years is a long time to blog. Will there be a point where I just start to repeat myself? Will I become obsolete? AM I obsolete?

My mind is drawn to one specific encounter – a tumblr account, now deactivated – I don’t blame that, Tumblr can be weird – who said my words had inspired her to seek the D/s life she’s always wanted. I still hold that as a badge of honour – again, because I’m a regular Joe that struggles with self worth. But then, for whatever reason, this person disappears.

At this point I would put the phone in which I scribble thoughts down, turn to my best advisor, kitten, and say ‘Am I over thinking things?’. ‘Am I over-thinking things?’ – a question I’ll often ask her during a misunderstanding between family, friends, work or when I’m writing a long-winded piece such as this.

Still, the idea that I’m some sort of relic – a dinosaur, a fussy Daddy, a fuddy Duddy, an old man blogger, one of the last of the few that signed up in 2015 to blog and is still writing, who knows – it just makes me wonder what sort of relevance I can bring? Or if I’ll be disconnected from the ever-changing landscape?

Or maybe I’m just over thinking.

February Musings

Have you ever seen someone, perhaps they are on youtube, Facebook, whatever, say how they are trying to respond messages or keep up with fans but there are so many that they possibly can’t? It’s not a thing of rudeness, it’s just with time constraints, life reasoning, they simply can’t?

Well, I never thought I’d get to that point. But, the thing is, I kinda am. I pride myself on the fact that I set out to respond to every email and check every blog. So far, I think I’ve done pretty good. I’m very VERY forgetful, to the point I am like a comical character bumbling around spaces, but if such a thing occurs, you have the right to slap me and make me remember.

ANYhow. The point I wanted to make that between my studies and my work and any time I write for the blog, it’s getting harder to keep up to date with newcomers or your blogs or life adventures and that sucks the big one.

What that generally means is that I’m slow to get to your blog – but trust me, when I do, I usually binge and spam your notifications with comments on your writing or troubles or days. And I love that part of WordPress. To me, it’s the most fulfilling part of the whole experience of writing.

So I am taking the space right there to say to you lovely ladies and gents that if you’d specifically like my feedback or advice or even just a general chat, please message me and I’ll get on that asap, if I haven’t already. I’m always lurking after all!

Speaking of lurkers, It’s still heart warming to see people from all over visit this weird little space. I believe I saw Norway visited the other day! Norway! What a lovely place! I can only imagine the type of personality to come out of Norway! Electric, dark, exotic. What stories could a mind from there tell? I wonder!

Never be shy to write in, people! I know it might be hard to put thoughts into words but I don’t bite! Least not always…