Read To Me

Out in this clearing beyond the trees, out in this hidden place of theirs, she stands straight as she’s been taught, she prepares herself to read aloud using her big, projected voice as she’s been taught.

The book in her hand, the book in question is a classic – Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. Fitting, for this hidden place. It’s a rabbit hole in a whole different way.

Every Saturday they come here to read a chapter or two. She dresses for him – a comfortable dress, slinky panties. His choice. Then, once they arrive in the clearing, once he pulls out a chair from their small cottage in the woods – the tiniest structure with no power or plumbing, just a place to be with nature. A home away from their home. Once he pulls out this chair and sits down in it, sometimes crossing his legs, sometimes not, always burning a hole through her chest with those searing dark eyes of his – once he sits, he would always say those few words. Read to me.

The first time they tried this, she had asked him, “Why get dressed if I’m only getting undressed?”. She sat and listened when he explained to her why. That he wanted to see her in a ritual just for them, to shed her clothes and bare herself just for him. She had noted the glazed look in his eye as he spoke of being bare just for him. She kept that look with her through the winters, through the fifteen minute hike to the clearing. She kept it in the back of her mind when she read.

At first she was nervous to read. She never liked the sound of her own voice and though she was enjoying Alice and her odyssey into wonderland, the language and the rhythm of the language wasn’t always that easy to wrap her tongue around. When she’d mistake a word or made an error though, he did not chastise her, not once. He always watched her, that look in his eye, a smile spreading out across his face. He’d comfort her and tell her how well she’s doing, that it was okay.

When she was done, he’d rise from his chair, keep his gaze upon her as he slowly undressed down to nothing. She’d note his erection and find herself salivating as he led her to the comfortable, reliable double bed in that little shack where he’d take her.

Sometimes he took her where she stood, sometimes he’d take her roughly. One time he took her by the ass. She had only let him take her anally. It felt horrible to admit but deep down, she never trusted the ones that came before with that level of intimacy.

Now she feels his eyes on her as she stands there, holding the book in her hands, her heart kicking into overdrive as she feels the gentle breeze around him brush across her breasts.

He crosses his legs, loosens his tie – all the while holding her gaze.

“Read to me.” He says.

So This Blog Has Been Running For Five Years Today.

^ I never used to be comfortable with choking until my current partner, my kitten, egged me on like the low-key shit stirrer she knows she can be. That’s why I used this picture. Once upon a time, I used to squirm at choking. I used to feel nothing but distraught and guilt. I still do but now, at least, it comes with a level of horniness, precise control and sadistic glee.

But hello! Happy Thursday! According to WordPress, today marks the five year anniversary of this here blog. Since I’m sentimental about time measurement, I thought I’d indulge in a little note here.

I can’t start a sentence with a ‘I just want to thank…’ without thinking I’m accepting an award BUT I do genuinely want to thank each and every reader out there – the lurkers, the ones who found the courage to ask questions for themselves, the ones who trusted me enough to take me on as a mentor – or life coach, I suppose. Or is that lifestyle coach? Either way, I thank you for your endless support, your constructive criticisms, your challenging and friendly debates and your presence alone.

This blog has been an invaluable source of inspiration and growth for me, as has the people who comment in because concepts have arisen that have helped me reflect upon myself – such as that time I co-wrote a piece with a fellow writer about sadism and why I’m that way. But I feel like I’m still growing and finding things out about myself.

If I learned one thing about this experience, as both a human and a dominant, it’s that writing out my thoughts and reflecting has helped. So don’t let time slip by you. Challenge your thoughts, be who you want to be. Write for yourself. And don’t forget, as long as I’m running this weird blog, you’re never out of an anxiety buddy or someone to unload to!

One last thing. I’m always open to suggestions or things you’d like to see a focus on for this blog. If there’s something you’d like to hear about, let me know! Because chances are, it’s a window open for me.

Kneel For Me

How do I feel about kneeling?

I think it is a beautiful, soulful exchange. There’s something tender and touching about it, something exhilarating and erotic. About guiding her posture and looking into her eyes. About helping her to recite her mantra when she feels down or flat, so that she may be feel some semblance of how I see her.

O! If only I could create a gateway from my mind to hers, so she could see once and for all how I feel about her, as my friend and my pet and my whore and my submissive. How I’ve been wanting to write about her eyes but no world has never felt good enough to sketch in.

But it goes beyond just wanting that for her, it goes beyond wanting to lift her up. There’s a slight possessiveness, laced with a stab of guilt, at wanting to see her like no one else has. Of having – stealing – this moment in time to share together. Of feeling an insatiable, incredible desire that yearns for control and protocol and rules in a way I still don’t understand. This is a part that wrestles with other parts of me. Most times I want to earn her trust, that right to have her kneel. Most times I want to be worthy.

Sometimes I want to be greedy. I want to take. To force. To humiliate and degrade.

“Oh look at you, you poor tormented thing. Look how eager you are, how hard your nipples are. You’ve got it bad”. She’s got it bad, I think? No. I’ve got it bad. Sometimes my mind runs to sadistic tangents and fantasies. Sometimes it doesn’t care because it just wants the view of her bare ass, reflecting back at me from the full length mirror, ready to be marked red.

But there’s beauty in that sadism, beauty in the squeaks and gasps and cries and quiet “Yes, Sir.” or “Sorry, Sir. I couldn’t help myself.”

There’s beauty in these exchanges, on this day or the next.

Wouldn’t you agree?

I’m Gathering Questions for a later Q/A so Ask Me Anything!

Hullo ladies and gentlemen!

We’re at the end of February, seasons will be shifting soon and moods will be changing. I thought that now would be a good time to put it out there that I’d love to do another Q/A with my readers – new or regular.

Anything goes, really. There’s no boundaries to anything you want to ask. It can be about your own journey, it can be about me or something I’ve written, it could be about something you want me to write about, it could be questions about dating or D/s or — anything. For me, as long as you’re comfortable, the sky is the limit!

Please feel free to ask via commenting below or you are always welcome, submissive male or female, dominant female or male, slave, pet, newbie – whoever! – to write to me personally. You can reach me at my Twitter or at my email – darkanddominant@hotmail.com

I’ll be hoarding questions and answering them sometime in this last week of Feb so don’t worry about having too many. The only silly question is the one not asked!

Have a beautiful weekend!

Don’t Let Others Affect Your Kinky Mind

When I was starting to learn about BDSM and kink and dominance, one of the things that was terrible to shake was the idea of what other people thought. What would they think of me or my fantasies? Would they shun me or turn their nose up at me? Did I really think I was kinky when I was just mad?

It took a loooooong time to feel comfortable about myself and my fantasies – which happened to lead to this blog. I’ve been blessed to have people follow and enjoy what I write. It’s given me confidence and in many ways, a safe haven.

Even now, I will get some unsavoury responses to some of my stories or fantasies that I’ve put out there. That’s fine, because people are different and enjoy different things and have different approaches – but sometimes it can still sting a little.

My story – In The Flesh – a particularly dark (dark for me because I let myself go to dark places mentally) erotic story – I’ve been asked if I would actually DO something like that. I welcome questions that engage in whatever I write, because that’s fruitful and stimulating for me. Anyone can write in to me. But it made me think. Is it bad if I say, yes, in a controlled environment, I WOULD do something like that. Yes indeed. And it would make me hard and giddy and switch on this sadistic, Master-like aspect in me.

I guess what I’m trying to write is that I feel something so strongly as that and every once in a while I’ll take a step back and think “Woah, IS there something wrong with me?”. A fleeting thought, but a thought nonetheless.

I think, for those just looking to explore BDSM and kink, that you should by all means have your dark fantasies. And the best thing you can do is think freely without wondering what others think of you, so long as you understand the boundary between reality and play – OR, at least, the boundaries of consensual non-consent.

It may still sting from time to time, if you’re anything like me, but in time you will come to see that everyone operates in a different world and see through their own reality. So should you. And don’t you forget that!

In Which I Ramble About Primal Spirituality

I can’t blame people for thinking that being primal and feeling primal is all about pet play and all that entails. After all, in the beginning, when I didn’t know better, that’s where my mind jumped to.

But readers….goodness, it is so much more than that.

Ever since identifying as a primal here on this blog, I’ve had people ask me what it means exactly, and I’ve had many a philosophical discussions, some that move towards the analytical. To seek to understand.

I had an encounter today – think native Americans and howling – that triggered this feeling within me. A fondness for running wild, the wind on my skin, heart racing in my chest, howling until my throat was raw.

Being primal for me isn’t just a sexual fetish that I happen to enjoy, it’s almost a way of life, a wild feeling deep within me that wants to roam. It isn’t restlessness, not anymore (though I did feel that with my ex wife), but it’s more that I feel like being out in the wild, in communion with nature and other wild free ones such as myself. It’s a feeling where I want to go sit around a fire, worry about nothing and enjoy the evening and all of its splendour. It’s wanting to live, not exist, in this environment.

I struggle to explain the feeling, I know. I’ve talked in circles with people who ask and I feel bad about it because they ask me in the first place. It’s just this deep feeling that comes about. Of being in a tribe or a pack, of being one amongst a few other wild ones. It’s this and a whole bunch of other things. A need to howl till my throat is raw, to beat my chest and hoot.

Sometimes it even comes to identifying as an animal. A wolf or a bear perhaps. Because, see, you start to feel like there’s characteristics there within you. Traits like the animal. And maybe there are.

I used to think I was crazy for thinking this. It sounded delusional, to liken yourself to a wild animal, to feel animalistic sometimes. But then I discovered it was common in primal people. It’s so common that there exists packs of close friends, people that run together and hang together. I wasn’t alone.

And, at the end of a day, it goes deeper than just being primal. Because kink and BDSM can be spiritual for each and everyone of us. And sometimes we don’t know why we are drawn so deeply to it, we just FEEL it. Like an epiphany swelling in our chest. It’s there and raw and unfiltered and you shouldn’t shy from it, you should let it wash over you.

So if I had to end this day, and this piece, for you, dear readers of my blog, to which I’m eternally grateful for, then I want to end this moment with a little note: You are not crazy. You never were. This is just another piece of the puzzle. Take care of yourself. I’m always a message away if you feel like you are going stir crazy.

On My Mental Health & Nudity

Getting naked and being naked was a part of my journey into becoming more at ease with my sexuality. It was another piece of the puzzle in learning how to hold on to that confidence for myself. It was about learning to rewire my thoughts so I can learn to overcome my insecurity.

I can’t really put my finger on why that it is. Maybe it was because I spent my childhood on acres of bush land and developed a primal way to living. Maybe it was because I was raised in a conservative catholic household and nudity carried with it a sense of exhilaration, of something I shouldn’t be doing but am getting away with – something I still feel and know that others still feel in their own exhibitionist explorations.

Nudity was more than that though. It allowed me to confront my own sexuality and my own thoughts on kink and BDSM. It felt like a scalding shower, like I was stripping away the bullshit and there was nothing left but my vulnerable mind, raw and reeling.

I know being comfortable with my nudity was a turning point for me. I took nude selfies on Fetlife, challenging my perceptions. It helped that randoms found these photos and responded to him positively – but I feel that the real hurdle was just putting them online, of taking that dangerous leap into the unknown. Because the unknown is terrifying when we stare back into it, until we start to inch forward day by day – or even take that plunge.

Nudity allowed me to be in touch with all sorts of animalistic thoughts, some born from the exhilaration buzzing through me, some bubbling to the surface. By stripping away my clothes, I felt this weird sense of being in communion with the world around me. I felt positively charged. I felt good about exploring my racing thoughts as I was naked because I learned to sit with them. Day by day, I sat with them for a few minutes in a hour. Then I did that again the next day.

I resisted it in the beginning, feeling guilty and gross and nauseated. I felt that I wanted to hide away. But in the end, long story short and after much resistance and baby steps, I pieced together how I felt, thereby confronting my own insecurities.

When a new dominant or submissive writes in to me and asks about the ways in which they can confront their own feelings, I often recommend a period of reflection in the nude. As a mentor, I’ve recommended what has worked for me. And sometimes it helps or feels worthwhile for the individual, sometimes it doesn’t work at all. Everyone is different.

For me, growing at ease with myself and learning how to own this insecurity within myself meant coming to terms with the shape of my body. There’s a lot of things connected to nudity for me – my animalism, my dominance, my comfort. It was all knitted together from childhood, left for me to examine years later.

These days, I still feel silly or shy, but these moments are fleeting. I know my mind now and diffusing negative thoughts has become a little easier.