A Dark, Sadistic Fantasy Of Mine

As a dominant, there has always been this sadistic bone in my body, this underlying aspect to my personality that delights in sheer torture, in humiliation and degradation.

One of the hottest fantasies of mine – to me – is the idea of stalking this woman from her home, kidnapping her and taking her to something abandoned industrial complex where its cold and dank and dark – and training her day in and day out to become a behaved little sex doll.

The one thing that thrills me and tickles my bones is the psychological interaction between, say, myself and this unnamed pretty little thing. I have this idea in me that I can break down, essentially, who she is – who she’s developed into.

The tastes that she has, the life that she’s built, whether she is in a relationship or married – I can work to break all that down – because….at the end of the day, we all have this spot in the back of our minds that we leave locked up, that we’re afraid of. It could be related to anything – being rude, being mean, being a sexual deviant, wanting to speak our minds but knowing better.

And I want to break that down in her. I want to…picture this – that she’s completely naked, chained by her hands to stand upright panting, sweating, begging. Picture that there’s she has some fight in her, that she will fight back to hold on to some semblance of who she was while I whip her with my belt.

You see, I want to find her limit. We can decide whether to push that limit or extend it softly later – but for now, I want to find it so I can get her to tell me EVERY. SINGLE. LITTLE. DETAIL. That her morality is locking up in the depths of her mind, either consciously or subconsciously. I want to break her down, raw and roughly and coarse, until she’s a sensitive mess of a human being, because then we get to who she is and what she wants and why.

And when she’s broken down and trembling, when every inch of her body and mind is on fire from this physical and emotional assault, then I can teach her, train her. To be obedient, to be a loving, giving, adoring Slave. No matter how long it takes. I’ve got the patience.

Why? Because minds fascinate me. I want to break down barriers, find the messy heart. I want to study what makes them tick, what darkness they have within them, what they consider light. I want to set them free.

It’s a dark fantasy in my head, a giddy rush to my cock, igniting my senses, stimulating my mind.

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.

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.

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.

Sex, Death and Nightmare Fuel

You know what’s interesting? Why my brain mixes filthy sex in an absurd setting with the horror genre.

I mean, one minute I’m hiding in a factory warehouse with a beloved actress from her friend transforming into a werewolf she beast — and the next I’m driving an American car while a Greek woman is naked and grinding into my kitten from the passenger seat of the car.

If I were to tell my mother, the gentlest human I know, the woman who would literally wash my mouth out with soap for cursing, this she would stop and think a moment — and say ‘Well, you didn’t get this from me.’

So why, brain? Tell me, why.

I’m an avid horror fan, ladies and gentleman. If you’re a long time reader you may have probably picked up on that fact – I merge erotica with dark fantasy and usually horror and I can tell you right now that a lot of my stories are purely from dreams – there’s hardly any fat or any filler I add later, it’s purely dream or nightmare fuel.

But yes, I’m an avid horror fan – Be it through books or film or tv, I soak up any media. Less so since I’m growing older and softer — but as a genre it’s something I gravitate towards because it’s such a liberating genre in a way – an artist can take this imagination and illustrate it via writing or via a movie with effects or lighting or animation – and that creation and ownership of fear, of that feeling of dread, is exhilarating and such a purge of emotion. I mean the world stops dead. You exist in the moment with this piece of media, do focused by this fear.

And sometimes not – sometimes you’re watching a bad movie you’ve seen way too many times before. Sometimes it’s a different purge, it’s a killer and these teens are going to get it. They’re stalked in a build up that is unleashed in a violent climax. Which, by the way, was always kinda sexy to me in a way I didn’t want to talk about because I felt guilty and fucked up. It was very primal and in a manner of being predator / prey.

So why is my brain mixing horror with eroticism? I have no freaking idea. Maybe because dreams are a funhouse of thoughts waiting to collide in some kaleidoscope of colours that is dependant on what you absorb in your life? Which, in my case, is the psychology of sex and…werewolf movies? I haven’t seen any lately? But I do like a good tortured human / beast movie!

I could be here all day talking elements – Why was I driving an American car? Why a Greek woman? Why on my lady? Because – back off, stranger – she’s mine! And why in a warehouse harbouring a werewolf?

As a horror fan, in the waking world, I was always intrigued by how horror films stimulate in their own way – how pressure builds and relaxes, builds and relaxes. Especially in, say, a slasher film, where sex is so often associated with death. A cynic would say that’s all marketed to the teenage demographic – and that’s correctomundo – but so many of the people I’ve met and friends made along the way as I’ve handled this blog have been into horror – so there’s a definite sexual link there beyond selling tickets to horny teenagers. It’s been interesting to find, in my own personal journey, that people who enjoy slasher films particularly are primal, whether they are aware or not.

But! It’s 2:43am in the morning and my caffeine is wearing out so it’s totally possible that I am just overtired and over-thinking!