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.

On My Religion, Sexuality and Love

If you’re a long time reader, chances are you’ve read me touch on my catholic upbringing as a child and into my teens and how that affected my sexuality. Talking or writing about it at length, though, is something I haven’t done here – and for no real reason, I just haven’t felt it was an interesting topic to anyone but me.

I want to address that. However I will ask you to bear with me, it might get messy.

My father and mother were devout Catholics and raised me as such. I did the whole nine yards – reconciliation, monthly confessions, communion, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday’s, Stations of the cross, Sunday Mass – the whole shebang.

We were a conservative Catholic household and lived a conservative Catholic life. Even the sheer sight of me shirtless around the house would cause outcry. Playful or not, I cannot say, but I just wanted to raise this point.

When I was 12, I started to catch on about sex. My dad, when confronted with the notion, told me flatly ‘Yeah, we did!’. As an adult, my mum would tell me it was my dad’s job to address it as she did to my sisters. As an adult, my dad would tell me he never did enough for me. I wonder if he remembers that conversation.

As a 12 year old though, I was weird sexually. I’m taking masturbation in the weirdest places, I’m talking being excited that I’d have the house myself so I can be naked, I’m talking the primal masturbating in the mud in a frenzy – weird.

Thing was, I was making sense of myself. I found the pulse within myself that reacted against my catholic teachings to be naked, to be primal, to fight back against the feelings of shame – which I very well have now writing this, even though I understand how implausible those feelings are.

This reactionary behaviour paved the way for me to explore myself sexually as a teenager, which led to writing erotica and eventually to the wide world of BDSM and kink.

Looking back as I write this, sex – for me – is a battle between two minds. There’s the part of me who is relaxed and in control and vibrant and flourishing and then —- there’s the insecure part of me, questioning – constantly questioning, telling me that what I want, what I’ve always wanted, won’t be accepted. Somehow I know this to be a product of what I was taught, teaching me that to be naked, to want degradation, humiliation, is all wrong. Disgusting.

These days I have good control over the other part of my brain, though it does exist during my most intimate moments. However, during my twenties, that wasn’t the case.

I can distinctly remember feeling the rush of being in the moment, sexually and as a dominant, and then coming down from that high terrifies, not knowing what that meant, guilty because of my actions – my need to command, to dress, to be sadistic.

I thought I was in the wrong for years, with every kinky discovery bringing with it a wave of shame and a terrifying feeling that, after so long of living my life, I would have to reboot EVERYTHING I knew. This feeling, this scary realisation, led me to suppress it, at this point strengthened by the fact that I was in a relationship with a woman I loved but had zero interest in kink, D/s or BDSM.

Hell, I don’t even know now, years later, if my depression and anxiety is merely hereditary or a manifestation of my upbringing as a conservative Catholic. I can only guess and say it’s hereditary plus the upbringing PLUS my social experiences as a teenager. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was shy. I was quiet. I still am.

What helped me, what still does – is trying to remember that my own development is important, that my happiness is important and that people like you, my dear readers, or kitten will accept me and my kinks and that it doesn’t mean I’m insane or sick or mentally ill.

These days, I’m not a practicing religious person – but I am spiritual. I live by a set of rules – to be kind to people, to love openly and accept everyone. I pray for my loves and my life and my animals but I consider my relationship between myself and God something entirely different to what’s prescribed in the bible. If that makes me agnostic or something, so be it, but I’d like to think that love is all you need and that if God exists, He – or she – would want me to be happy to my fullest extent. Outside of that, I try to be as kinky as I want 24/7. True to myself, in other words.

So was religion / being religious the catalyst for my feelings during sex? My anxiety? My development as a man? I’m not sure. I cannot say. I’m only a writer, half naked, musing to himself on a cool Monday morning.

How Can You Tell If You’re Dominant Or Submissive?

Ladies and gents, I’m kinda stumped.

Early in the week, I was talking to a lady about how to implement kink into her marriage with her husband, when she ran a question by me – How do you know if you’re Dominant?

I answered that question best I could in the moment, running my own experiences with identifying the feeling by her, hoping it would connect somehow. But now, days later, I’m still thinking it over. I don’t really know HOW. It all seems so organic looking back.

I have also recently had someone ask me If they’re still fully submissive if they enjoy being bratty – there’s a lot of misunderstanding about the persona and how it applies to the individual.

Unfortunately, there’s a lot of confused and alone people out there with a laundry list of questions and no one to ask. I’m more than happy to answer anything anyone has to ask, be you male, female, teenager, adult, new to the lifestyle or in the middle of a transformation or even someone with an inkling of kinkling.

Anyway, I thought I would try to the answer the question at length, hoping newcomers to BDSM might relate and it can help them in their own journey.

In the beginning, I had these feelings that I had understanding of. I didn’t know I could file my name calling under ‘Degradation and Humiliation’ nor did I understand why I was so interested in control – in exercising authority over my girlfriend. In these stages, there was no real sense of D/s and aftercare because I was immature and these feelings were immature and coarse and unrefined.

Before I continue, let me just write that there’s no absolute way for one person. Everyone is different and works differently.

I should say that my own development has come with a certain degree of blind luck. I met certain people at the right time in my life, people like me, through Fetlife or the semi-sketchy anonymous confessional app Whisper. I was a lucky bastard. I had the blessing of shaping who I was through encounters along my twenties.

Fetlife was a big player in my path, I would say. By signing up and looking around, I could see I wasn’t alone. I could even put a name to my kinks and thus have some semblance of understanding.

Google helped too, in a way, acting as a gateway to all sorts of media – books, images, blogs, people, Kink. Suddenly I knew of words like ‘Dominance’ and ‘submission’ and ‘dynamic’. Combine this with Fetlife and I had opportunities to feel the gravitational force to someone who was submissive. I’m talking, heart racing, cock hardening, breath quickening gravitational forces that helped me realise something was within me.

I know what you’re wondering. ‘Okay, but how does someone know if they’re dominant? Or even submissive?’

The best advice I can give is that it starts with an idea. Have a google of key concepts that come to mind when you think of BDSM – blindfolding, handcuffs, dirty talk. Start small. See if something strikes up your fancy.

If you want to reach deeper, have a look at concepts within a D/s relationship, such as setting tasks and rules and maintaining order. See if any of these concepts appeal to you on a base level. Try not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information – there can be a lot to learn but you can easily break it up into easily digestible parts.

Start small. Start light. A bit of spanking, a bit of issuing commands – talk to your partner about what they would like to try and see if it strikes a chord with you on any level.

The last advice I can give is to be open to yourself and to your partner. That goes for likes and dislikes and even if you’re uninterested. But always be open to trying at least. You never know what you’ll find on the road less travelled.

TMI LATE NIGHT TUESDAY! #1

What is sexy time to you?

Oh gosh. You know, I joke a lot using these words. I’ll often say to my kitten when I’m being playful or silly – something along the lines of ‘so, uh…how about after you get out of those clothes, we, uh, go have some sexy time, hm?’

So I guess it’s a silly – slightly humorous way of inciting a sexual encounter, and allllll that that might entail!

Who’s sexier – women or men?

Women, definitely. There’s a gentleness to their features that I adore. It’s in the way they express themselves – a hug or their voice or their presence. Plus, there’s something about a sharp witted, fierce and intelligent woman that I love.

How did you learn to masturbate, and how old were you when you first succeeded?

Oh gosh. How did I learn? I have no idea. Knowing me and knowing that I like to grind my cock against the bed sleepily or not as an adult, I probably did that as a pre-teen by accident and it became a thing.

Do you like taking naked photos of yourself?

I have my good and bad days. I’m certainly not the most photogenic dude but I do it sometimes to challenge that perception.

I happen to enjoy being naked so there’s an exhibitionist part of me, I just struggle sometimes with my own esteem.

What is your biggest sexual fear?

My biggest sexual fear? To falter in the moment when I am to lead. It has happened in the past. My lady had surprised me with my favourite lingerie of hers only for me to be so surprised I’ve been momentarily frozen. It’s a weird glitch in the mind that happens.

Like I’m indecisive a lot but this was different. It’s like – in this moment I doubted myself when faced with this goddess before me.

Bonus: To you, what does the ideal penis look like? (feel free to include artwork or photos).

Huh. Well, I mean. Let me look. *runs to google*

That’s the best I can think of? I mean, I’m no expert. I wouldn’t think size is too important to me. As a man, the bust size of a woman isn’t important, it’s more how wicked her mind can be. But I’m not good with the finding-dick-pictures-on-the-net

Israel: An Erotic Short

In the end I had to have her.

I could feel the frenzied energy pulsating between us. It manifested as her lips brushed mine, eager to meet but breathless wanting more.

Beneath me, the Israeli Woman squirmed, her piercing brown eyes half covered by her messy raven hair that had fallen forward.

Her lips were ruby red. Puffy. Wanting. Waiting for that kiss.

Her small breasts lifted upright, caught in a breath as she gulped for air.

Her darkened nipples, little nubs, hardened.

I could sense her wanting this just as much as I did, our bodies settling into our own rhythm, the music being our panting, her low moans. A symphony.

Nothing was more important than her. I was addicted to her breathless whispers, a Slave to her very existence.

I didn’t just slip into her, our bodies merged and became one. I understood her, as she understood me.

So when I rested within her, my cock filling her as much I could at full length, I knew then.

I knew I loved her and would do anything to protect her.

As she squirmed beneath me, writhing in seething agony at what probably was the sensation of my cock within her, an itch she couldn’t reach, she muttered something in her native language.

It came out soft and low, beauty deep to my foreign ear.

As I buried my head and breathed in the earthy scent of her dark hair, this I promised her: I would be with her. No matter what.

I must’ve been grinding my cock in my sleep again…


I remember being half awake and gliding the full length of my shaft against the sheets, drawing out the sensation of the grind.In my dreams, a recurring thought came back to me: Who wants to lick my shaven cock? Or nibble on my balls?

I remember being in a dream – in a deserted cabin in the middle of the Amazon. I needed to come so desperately that every part of my body ached. I could even feel that building within me – the orgasm.

 And as I write this I can feel it now. Lingering. Throbbing. Screaming for a touch, for a mouth to run its wet tongue along the length of it.

God help me. I’ve lost my mind. 

How are your dreams?

Being Nude Anywhere Is Thrilling

..And I don’t really know why.

Maybe it’s linked to the idea that my parents were repressed. Or I was taught it’s a big no no so I lived in a repressed state for my life. But anytime I undress here in my own place as an adult, I feel thrilled.

I just stripped off to go crawl into bed. I’m tired, I’ll have a nap. But the sheets on my skin, the gentle breeze on my cock. It’s electrifying. 

And is there any greater Joy? Probably. Maybe. But seriously, I don’t know why it is that I feel super charged. Maybe I’m just a nudist, maybe I just like nudity.

But it’s more than that, because I sleep nude, I write nude. Its a part of me in ways maybe I can’t recognise. Or maybe I’m reading too into it.

I mean I do it all the time, it should be second nature. So why is it still thrilling? 

The only answer I can come up with is that I’m a highly sensitive, highly sexual person. So perhaps that’s why. Because I’m always switched on, hard and ready for anything.

What say you, ladies and gents? Anyone share my highly sensitive, highly sexual mindset? Anyone reading in bed or wherever right now naked and comfortable?