On Inexperience, Writing & Self-Exploration

I’ve been pondering about a question that came my way…gosh, a few months ago now I think? Time has been weird lately – but it was about whether someone who is new to BDSM could write about it, fictional or otherwise, successfully? Or have it be correct in any way?

I’ve been thinking about experience a lot – when it comes to BDSM. I’ve been in a bit of a teacher / mentor mood, I guess, because someone new to the lifestyle wrote in to me and expressed frustrations about being ghosted by a potential Dom due to a lack of experience.

I can’t say I agree with that reasoning but I certainly understand how one could come to think like that. But I digress.

I think that when it comes to writing about BDSM, it’s important to trust in where your mind wants to go, do you understand? Because when you put pen to paper, you ignite your mind. You form a sentence. Then another one. Then you create a paragraph.

Or you don’t. Instead, your heart’s a mess and so is your writing. But it’s down, it’s on the screen or the page and you’ve trapped it. Whatever is in your head is there, frozen in time. A symbol of YOU.

What I’m saying is – writing is cathartic. And through exploring it, you’ll find pieces of your self, through which you night learn some truths about your tastes.

And if you want to write about a specific moral scenario – a rape fantasy, say – do what feels right to you. It’s only a fantasy. But if that’s not enough, write your thoughts on it in a seperate file or page. Explore how you feel about whatever it is you are confronting. Hell, ask the community. Ask me, my door is open.

Regardless of inexperience. Or shyness.

Writing…whether you want to and you’re either a dominant or a submissive or both, it’s about discipline. It’s about sitting down and confronting structure. Not just of words but of your mind. So find a time in the day to write 300 words. Do it again the next day. Leave each break on a moment you are excited to come back to. In a week, you’ll have a decent chunk of the story or your thoughts out.

As for that pesky experience thing, that’s another realm of variables. What if you are knowledgable enough about BDSM but aren’t in a circumstance to explore physically to gain more of an understanding of your wants and needs?

The best answer I have for that is one that might not be to your interests. When I was alone – a lonely dominant, I guess you could say, I peered into the depths of my sexuality. I explored and became comfortable with nudity. I explored my pain threshold, my comfort with verbal degradation. I found new ways to heighten masturbation. Little things that excited and stimulated my mind.

Everybody is different though and to that, one must find what works for them. But still, I think there are things you can do to gain experience.

Please don’t let shyness deter you. Or your writing. Or your self-exploration. Or from reaching out to a friend, the community, a Dom or sub or even me. There’s no easy way to say this but you’re going to have to jump into that pool if you want to write or to reach out. And just like coming up for air after that plunge, it all feels a little bit better after you jump.

Seriously though. You’ve got this.

There Are No Words

At 4am this morning, I woke from a dream so incredibly detailed, with its own mythology and the like, that I scrambled for my phone and jotted down 1,372 tired words. I’ve read over it just now, having woken later in the morning, and have left it unedited and untouched, save for some spelling mistakes and sentences that didn’t make sense. What you will read is something I’ve written while not entirely awake, my hand pulled along by forces beyond this world.

I know some of you enjoy looking into the mind of the process or the writer or even ME, so I hope this intrigues you at the very least.

I can remember her taking my face in her hands, and looking at me with those deep blue eyes. My god, how deep and blue and expansive they are. How kind and thoughtful they are. Oceans. They are the sea.

I see her eyes flicker but before I can contemplate what that means, she’s leaning in to kiss me deeply.

Christ, her lips are so soft. They seem to sink right into my own lips. As if merging together.

I can feel my heart leap in my chest.

As she holds the kiss, as I hold the kiss, I suddenly see everything. I see her ass, lily white and gorgeous, I see her free of the shackles of her past life. I see her freedom. And it makes my heart pound in my chest.

When she pulls away, I feel like I know her more through that kiss. As if, through the act, a bond was created – and we fused.

She has to wipe the dark curl of hair from her eyes. Or I do.

I want to but I can’t look away from those deep, mesmerising eyes. I feel like I know her more now, know her better.

She kisses me again suddenly, deeper, harder. My stomach flips in excitement – or is that her excitement I feel, now that we are bonded. Now that my emotion is shared through the bond and hers is shared in my mind.

A sense of understanding. That’s what it is.

I can feel her soft hands on my face, cradling me, as if she wanted this for a while.

I want to tell her to be free, like I know she wants to be. There’s a side to her that I can sense. I want to scream it at her beautiful blue eyes, even as I wipe her dark curls out of her face.

Do what you want, what you must, for the freedom of your soul, for your health, but I know the truth. She senses it too now, my weirdness. My indulgence. I’m encroaching on something.

The other women around me don’t seem to mind our shared kiss. They wait patiently in silence, or do they observe? And if they observe, what do they see? Did I get it all wrong, terribly wrong? But that can’t be! She kissed me. I sense her. I sense her so strongly.

One by one hand, their hands lower me down to the cool metal table. How many women are there? Well, there’s the vampire – I know that. Blonde hair, ice blue eyes. There’s the girl in the hoody with the kind eyes. There’s the fiery redhead in the singlet with the rosy cheeks.

Somehow I know they’re actually all vampires. Except me and her. She who regards me with her deep blue eyes as big as the moon.

Does he know how lucky he is to have her?Where is he anyway?

As if on cue, he wanders into the small room, eyes ablaze. There’s fury.

In a heartbeat, before he can see, she tears her hands away from mine – somewhere along my counting of how many women there are around me, she took my hands in hers.

I didn’t even finish counting anyway. There’s more than three. They’re all gathered around me in a circle, her included.

I can feel her through the bond, I can tell she wants to undress and be naked. I can tell that’s how she likes to be. It comes in a flash in my mind, and I can see her walking along her natural habitat – a forest – completely nude, grass crunching beneath her feet.

“For a little extra you can become a vampire.” A woman at the end of the table says. She’s looking at me with tired eyes that seem to sag in their sockets. She’s dressed all in black, even with a black robe. The tattooist.

I shake my head. “No, thank you, just the tattoo. Like hers.”

I point to the woman with the kind eyes. She’s watching me closely, a smile across her ruby red lips. Out of all the women that have taken up residence in my home since my partner left, this one has spent the most time talking to me.

On her chest, above her breasts, she has a tattoo of a symbol that’s foreign to me. I couldn’t begin to describe it. I only know I want it on my chest.

And it just so happens one of the women in this wonderful, warm tribe, is an artist of the tattooing kind.

When did I get so lucky, to have this support from all these beautiful women around me? All these endlessly kind beings? I’d tip my hat if I wore one. I’m afraid the only thing I wear is my heart on my sleeve ever since she left me. Five years gone and cheated on me the past few months for some bloke with dark features, same as me. What did I have that he didn’t? Why did that draw the attention of a tribe of men and women into my home and why do they support me endlessly in this relationship breakdown?

May the party live forever.

I know she senses my thoughts because she frowns to herself. That or it’s because he’s circling her, his eyes on her as he joins her to her right, where he perches like a bird or a ghost or a bodyguard. I can’t decide which. I’m sure he didn’t think about this possibility when he, too, came into my home. I certainly didn’t expect to spark her interest. I’m not even sure she would talk to me if I didn’t talk to her first. The only thing I know about her is that she’s not a vampire like the others and that her wonderful eyes are as big as the moon.

Do I regret the kiss? I’m not sure, to be entirely honest. My heart and mind and very soul still rages at the recent betrayal of my ex. I mean, after she came clean about the affair, she still wanted to suckle on my cock while the others finger fucked her into a delirious state.

We all knew she did it to pass the time – her family was picking her up, her bags were packed – but we still did this. We all did this.

So there’s rage behind my willingness, that I’ll admit, but when she placed my face in her hands and kissed me that first time, I wasn’t just hypnotised, I was mesmerised. Because I could feel her thoughts. I could sense that she wanted to silence my pain as much she wanted to silence hers.

Does that make me a bad person?

There’s no fear in me when the women hold my legs down and apart. I trust these new friends of mine. They did offer me vampirism after all. They even wanted to charge me! But no, this was about the tattoo. The tattoo that would mark my pain and hurt forever, the tattoo that would bond me to these traveling nomads, friends for life.

Some of them, like her, had boyfriends. They were grouped in one room of the house watching tv and drinking. Eventually they would retire to their rooms and sleep, snoring softly.

The circle of women talk amongst themselves. Some of them banter. It makes me smile. They must’ve been traveling together for so long they’ve made friendships for life. Is this what this tattoo is? Am I part of the tribe?

I feel her soft hand on my arm and meet her eyes. There’s something else there now. A wound of sorts flickers behind her eyes. But who would wound the moon? Who?

Despite this, it’s a shy smile she gives me and it makes my heart race. I close my eyes and feel her warmth rising through the bond. It makes me smile too.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, dear readers! I hope it’s a wondrous year full of some beautiful memories you will treasure for a lifetime!

I still kick myself that people follow me – be it for the stories or random outlooks – especially in 2019, when I wrote less due to some anxiety spikes throughout the year and then finding a contract that keeps me writing – which I’m blessed for, I just need to manage time better. New goals this year!

Lastly, I want to say…no matter if you’re a man or a woman, a submissive or a dominant, no matter if you have zero experience in BDSM or a tonne of it, if you have a question about BDSM, want to say hello, ask about something I’ve written or want to talk philosophy of BDSM, you are always welcome to contact me personally, through my email or Twitter. Please don’t worry about being a bother, I am always happy to talk, no matter if it’s what I call ‘word vomit.’

I always tell people to ‘just write’ and not worry about structure or spelling mistakes or what have you, because I’ll read it no matter the length.

If you’re worried about me being busy and you don’t want to add to that, please try not to be. Writing to someone is far different than my work. It’s a welcomed respite. And even though I can be forgetful once in a while (Which I’m working on), I promise you I’ll always reply. I reply, not out of obligation, but because I genuinely want to. All are welcome.

Your endless support means the world to me. Thank you for following, for finding me interesting enough to follow, and hopefully I deliver for you this year.

Let’s make this a great year!

In The Flesh, Part I

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Content Warning: This is a story about a kidnapping and being forced into sexual slavery. As such, it may hit too close to home for some readers. I apologise in advance if it does.

He watched her as she hung on the spot, sobbing behind the ball gag wedged in her mouth. Her dark brown hair, almost black, maybe even dyed black he thought, spread out in strands across her forehead, running down across her shoulders and across her frumpy maroon dress that fell over her body.
He had chained her there, arms spread apart across a wooden board, here in his garage. His stomach had tickled, part with chill, part with thrill, as he moved her across to his home, to his realm.

He never meant to grab her – Stephanie. In all honesty, when he moved into the estate, he had expected a quiet neighborhood torn from the scripts of a fifties sitcom.
That he met her at all was pure chance – she knocked on his door, all smiles – the postman had left her his mail on her doorstep while she was at work.
He smiled, offered a joke and thanks – and the next time they saw each other was by coincidence – when he was collecting mail, say, or when he came home from work at a time she happened to be coming home to.

She was married and with children, he found out, glimpsing a look at her one evening, hopping out of her car with her husband and their two small children, a wee boy and girl, following close behind. Not only that, he had seen them through the blinds of their livingroom. He saw them watching TV, laughing.

Each time he spotted Stephanie, interacted with Stephanie, he noticed more details about her – the way her lips seemed naturally ruby-esque – or how her eyes seemed dark brown one moment but violet the next.
How she spoke like something was on her mind but gave no room to talk of it, leaving him wondering if it was a part of his imagination.

No, he never meant to grab her — but something came over him, searing heat that prickled down his body to his cock.
She was out the front of her house and on the phone, pacing back and forth in a long maroon dress that swished along the concrete beneath her feet.
He had pulled into his driveway, killed the engine, and got out of the car.
Bits of conversation traveled across the road.
‘…. Would you think I had? Have you?’
If she saw him, she gave no sign – he crossed his yard, fumbled for the house key in his pockets.
‘Nah, I’m not a fan of..that.. The whole thing makes me laugh. I just don’t buy it.’
He had stopped with his key in the slot. What on earth was she on about?
‘Me? No. I’m not into that smut.’

Something in him snapped just hearing that.
He looked back at her pacing and felt something in the pit of his stomach.
Looking at her twist her face in disgust, he realized he was trembling.
He waited for her to finish the call, twisting the conversation over his head, something compelling him, awakening within him.
It all happened in a heartbeat, him crossing the distance between them, grabbing her around the neck, feeling his cock go hard as she choked audibly, spit wetting her lips.
Her legs flailed out beneath her, kicking dust across the concrete.
She tried to reach back across to him, to smack him, but she couldn’t find the strength.
Stephanie fell limp.

Why oh why was she wearing that frumpy dress? He thought, his mind back in the present as he stared at her wriggling on the spot.
He spat the words themselves at her as he closed the distance between them. His hand lashed out at her dress, seizing a handful near her chest and tearing it down.
Black buttons went skittering across the floor, clinking across the dirty concrete.
With the dress half torn and hanging around her stomach like a wilted flower, he took in the sight of her creamy pale flesh.
She was curvier than he expected, then he imagined. Her hips were shaped in, what was that actual reference? An hourglass? Was that it?
Pale stretch marks laced her stomach in thin slits across her stomach.
God, she was beautiful.
Stephanie’s eyes were wide with fury as drool seeped from her lips and slithered down across her neck. He could almost feel the heat on his skin from the way she was staring at him.
She was still in her bra and panties – plain black lace. They hugged her skin tightly, digging in.
She was yelling at him through the ball gag, but it came out as muffled to his ears.

“What you abhor is what I…adore, Stephanie.” He was speaking to her calmly.
His words only served to make her scream through her gag at him in pure rage now, the volume of her muffled cries rising.
Something curled up from the pit of his stomach and lit up his brain. He struck her across the face.
“Silence. You will listen to me.”
Angry eyes only turned to stare back at him. Not pleading, not fearful, only anger.
“I wish to educate you on some matters. In order to do that, I am going to have to…WE are going to have to break you down, Stephanie. Make you see.”
She flinched as he reached out and grabbed her bra between the cups and yanked it free. Her whole body lifted forward as he pulled, the hooks tearing undone and coming around her shoulders. Her large, full breasts spilled out of her bra.
In the silence, he took in the sight of them – her soft and light pink nipples, starting to rise from the coolness of his garage, her darkened areolas, the stretch marks across her breasts in pale thin, vertical slashes.
Slowly and silently, he looped the bra around her chained hands, helping her as she whimpered.

Keeping silent, he lowered himself to her knees before her. As he did so, she started to whimper loudly again, yelling unintelligibly through the gag.
He hung his head, sighed and then lashed out at her, striking her across the thighs.
“Behavior. Emotion. Perspective. You will see. You will relearn.”
He yanked down her panties, revealing her untamed bush, wrestling her legs still to slink them off her legs.
Getting back up on his legs, he tossed her panties aside.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Stephanie. Not yet anyway. Not anymore then I need to. I…have a book here, you see.”
He moved across to a desk tucked away in the corner where a creased, leather bound book was resting and picked it up, showing it to her.
“I want…to read you some erotica. Smut as you say. These are my favorites. These are what helped me. Now..”
He stepped towards her tear-soaked face.
“If you stay quiet, I won’t punish you. But if you try to yell or scream….”
He undid his belt and pulled it free of his jeans.
Stephanie’s wide eyes fell down at the sight of it.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to belt you.”
Stephanie shook her head and whimpered.
Fear.
He couldn’t help but grin as he moved across the room to grab a stool that was resting against the wall.
Her eyes watched him as he dragged it across the concrete to rest just before her chained, exposed body hanging in the air.
Sitting down slowly on the stool, feeling its rigidness against his ass, he set the dusty book in his lap and opened it to Chapter One.
“Let’s start with something relatively…light. A story about a woman who finds herself drawn to a mysterious being in the woods behind her new house.”
He began to read.

*

When the story was done, he rested the book in his lap. Stephanie was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling.
In the beginning of the story, her face was screwed up in contempt as she grunted and wailed. Partway through the story, though, she ceased her cries and hung her head, her body vibrating as she sobbed.
The sobs grew quiet towards the end and now, as he finished, she was still.
When he closed the book, she looked up, her eyes red raw.
“I want to ask you what you think.” He said. “So I’m going to remove your gag. I want you to take the time to relax. But if you scream or call out or even yell obscenities in my direction, the gag goes back on. Do I make myself clear?”
Stephanie nodded, her eyes glistening with tears.
Slowly, he rose to his feet and stepped towards her. He could feel his cock tenting in his pants. He reached out with his hand and pulled the drool-soaked gag from her mouth.
Instantly, Stephanie’s face twisted into a snarl. She lunged at him, her mouth drawn open and snapped at him in a bite.
He felt her teeth come down on his wrist, pain flared red-hot through his body as he withdrew his hand from her.
Compulsion flooded his mind.
He raised his hand that gripped his belt and —

He hesitated. Stephanie had her eyes clenched shut, trying to brace herself.
Watching her flinch, his hand relaxed. He exhaled, letting the moment of anger ooze out from his body.
“I told you not to do that, Stephanie.” He said, his voice hard and cold.
“Fuck you and fuck your sick little stories.” Stephanie seethed right back at him, her eyes burning.
She struggled against him as he plucked the gag from her chin and popped it back in her mouth, stifling a rising scream from her lips.
“Now, I’m going to punish you for that. I just wanted to still my hand and make sure you know: What I do, I measure in my mind.”
Stephanie’s head jutted out as she swore through the gag as she stared at him.
“Oh, you can think and speak freely – for now. We’ll rewire that thought process.”
He stepped behind her, to her bare and shapely ass.
He raised the hand clutching his belt and swung it down across her left ass cheek.
CRACK!
The sound reverberated all around them.
Stephanie whimpered through the gag, her legs trembling on the spot.
“Behavior.” He spoke in the following silence.
He swung the belt down across her right ass cheek.
CRACK!
Stephanie flinched, yelling something through the gag He couldn’t decipher.
Her inability to handle herself, to stay still and silent, sent a jolt of anger through his mind just as her muffled cries made his cock throb.
Maybe he needed to discipline himself further.
“Emotion.” He said, shaking the thought away for another time.
He raised the belt and struck her a third time, across her entire ass this time – right in the center.
CRACK!
Stephanie’s cries grew louder this time. Her drool hit the concrete below her with a loud, satisfying smacking sound.
“Perspective.”
He walked around to face her. Her eyes had a glimmer of that rage they had earlier.
“Behavior – We’ll identify what needs to be modified. Emotion, and this, it seems, is the most important one for you. There are negative emotions in you but that’s not all. I feel something else. Something deceptive. Something…defensive. Stephanie, that sort of emotional privacy will not be tolerated in any way, you understand. I…”
He searched for the words as she watched him, sobbing through her gag. Her dark hair was strewn around her face, her eyes growing red.
“…Want you to understand, and in saying that, I want to understand you. I want to train you. I’m going to remove your gag again. Do not bite me, do not curse at me, not if you want another lesson.”

Stephanie didn’t resist when he pried the gag from her mouth. She watched him closely as he slipped his fingers across her wet lips and plucked it out.
“You crazy fuck, I’ll-“
He swung the belt across her breasts.
CRACK!
A strangled cry came tumbling out of her lips, cutting off her words.
He watched her as she gathered her senses, panting heavily.
“My husband, he’ll-“
CRACK!
A sob sputtered across her lips.
“Please, I have children, they’ll-“
CRACK!
“Ffffuck!” Stephanie hissed out loud.
“What do…you want…with me?” She said between gulps of air.
“What three things did I mention to you?”
He was in her face, looking her straight in the eyes. Her eyes reflected a scared woman looking back at him.
“What?”
CRACK!
Splotches of red had began to show across her tits.
“This will get easier the more we practice.” He said, his voice coming out a little harder then he intended.
“Uh…um…B-b-Behavior?”
“Yes. And?”
He lifted his hand with the belt in the air.
Stephanie moaned at the sight of it, the sound trembling off her lips.
Was that a moan of nervous energy or something else?
“Emmm…E-e-motion.”
“What else?”
“P-pppp-perspective.”
He lowered the belt. “Yes. Good. You did well.”
He paused, before adding.
“This isn’t going to be easy. Our minds, they run by logic that we build our life around and even hide from. You’re going to resist. That’s fine. But there will be no privacy for you. Not with me. So. What are you feeling?”
“I just want to go home. Please.”
“In time. Not just yet. There’s much to learn. What else do you feel?”
Stephanie’s eyes darted around the room, blinking out tears. She licked her lips.
“Scared. Scared and..weird.”
“Weird how?”
Stephanie wriggled her arms on the spot.
“I don’t know!”
He could sense something behind her frustration but he’d push her later.
“Alright. Are you hungry?”
“What?!” Her eyes grew wide as she met his gaze. Either she didn’t understand his question or she couldn’t believe it. Or both.
“Do you have an appetite for food? The hour grows late.”
Stephanie broke eye contact.
“Y-yes…”
He nodded, watching her closely. Her answer was genuine.
Why wouldn’t it be?
“I’m going to go away and cook something up. And then, when I’ve eaten, I’ll come back and feed you myself. Behave, and I’ll move you to my spare bedroom. You’ll have toilet privileges. But act up again? You can stay here this evening. In the dark. Do I make myself clear?”
Stephanie was frozen watching him. She didn’t seem to blink.
“Well?”
His voice seemed to break her out of a daze. She nodded vigorously. “Y-yes.”
He nodded, plucked the gag back into her mouth and left through a doorway behind them, leaving her bound and naked and waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November AMA!

I’ve had a lot of questions come my way of late so I figured I’d post some of them here!

As always, if you have any questions, you are more than welcome to get in touch!

On Writing

Do you write in one go or over the course of a long period of time, returning to it?

Sometimes I’ll write in one go. I’ve written stories for the blog like that. They’ll come to me out of nowhere and I’ll write them in one sitting – but if they’re bigger, I’ll break it off in chunks and spread them out over the week. Sometimes even longer.

I usually aim for 2,000 words a day. I’ll write more if I get lost in the story but I aim for 2k, knowing that I can stop there if I’m feeling drained and I can still feel like I have accomplished something in the day.

Do you take notes first or make a structure or do you just sit down to write and see what happens?

I take a tonne of notes – things that never even make the final story. It’s weird because I’ll plan out the setting like I’m building a house. So – say I have a scene with two characters living in an apartment, right? I’ll design the floor plan of the house – in my head, not in actuality – so I have a mental guide I can flesh out and narrate.

I also sketch out profiles on characters – their flaws, backstories, tastes, favourite novels. Even if it doesn’t get in there, it helps me build a character as I write the story.

I usually plan out a draft structure for chapters – but only the basic bullet points for what I want to hit. I like to freeform write so I leave s little room for spontaneous writing where voices and ideas come to me that I never planned for but let them breathe anyway.

Do you edit lots?

I try to. It’s a sin that I don’t do it enough. There is so much I read to proofread on the blog but there’s so also so much that escapes my busy eye so easily! It’s crazy.

So I apologise if I piss off some of you.

How much of what you write sees the light of day?

Hmmmm. More then 50%, I know that much.

There’s a lot that I put onto the blog, that are my genuine, raw fantasies unprocessed – but then some get drafted on my phone that I feel are too weird or too dark or even too personal.

I sometimes get worried I’ll go too far or I’ll sound too weird or mopey and I just leave it to sit on my phone. Case in point – the story about a teenage girl walking home from a party and being sexually assaulted by a possessed tree.

But I’ve also written this really vulnerable thing during an anxiety attack that I never posted because there’s always a fear of rejection I guess.

How do you write in terms of surroundings? music? place? time of day? do you write alone?

I have to write alone. In complete silence. I need to be able to transport my mind to the scene so I can see and hear and taste and all of those other weird writer things. Generally, though, I write for the blog during the night or curled up in bed naked.

Writing naked is therapeutic in a way and makes me feel comfortable and liberated enough to write freely. If that makes sense.

Sometimes I’ll write curled up in bed, if it’s a rainy day and the rain is pelting down on the window. It really sets the mood and charges me.

What is your most common source of inspiration? books, movies, music, daily life, dreams? people watching at the supermarket?

I would say my most common source is my dreams, followed my daily life. I have a lot of weird sexual dreams where I can feel every minute detail so intensely. Like, I can feel how hard I am, how wet this made up woman (or my kitten) is , I can sense my orgasm. Sometimes I even come – the point is, it’s very vivid and detailed. And weird.

But it’s not just dreaming, I gather inspiration from everywhere – the way my kitten has this foxy, babydoll look in her eye, a scene in a horror where a woman is skinny dipping. Hell, I remember writing about a submissive Japanese woman who fought back against conventions to be a samurai. I had her whole backstory fleshed out, did my research a bit, before I felt I couldn’t do it. But that just came from my interest in ancient Japanese history. And samurai cinema, of course. Ahem.

On Dominance

If you could only element of the lifestyle, what would you choose? The sexual or the non sexual?

It would definitely be the non-sexual because I find those tiny details endlessly fascinating. When I think about what I enjoy as a dominant and what calls to me, it’s the little soulful interactions like setting creative tasks or deep, meaningful conversation that fulfil me.

Come to think of it, the non-sexual parts were what largely interested in me the more I read up on BDSM and D/s. I was always curious about the sexual parts but what drew me in was the aspects that make up the dynamic in a non sexual way.

What are your favourite non sexual parts of the dynamic?

Being soulful with one another, you know? The little moments like that. Organising structure and protocol and setting tasks like kneeling before bed and asking the dominant if they can share the bed – or picking out outfits she’ll wear together. Little psychological interactions like that.

Are you able to differentiate between sexual and non-sexual or do they bleed together sometimes?

Oh they definitely have the chance to bleed together, depending on context. But yeah, a big part of what I ‘chased’ when I was learning to be dominant was the non-sexual side of the dynamic. To me, that’s what I was feeling in the pit of my stomach – the call for control of that structure and mind of another. That’s what stood out. So I learnt backwards, I guess? Or rather just learnt of the non sexual interactions first because I was intrigued by the psychology behind it.

Does it bother you to admit weakness?

Sometimes! If I’m particularly anxious, I will ruminate on what I think are my weaknesses, like weird social personality or my inability to properly express myself or just how absent minded I can be.

I’m getting better at slowly accepting that this is who I am, but some days it’ll hit me harder than others.

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.

Thank You For Your Company

For those of you out there that have heard my interview as part of the Darker Side Of Spice event, I just want to thank you for coming along and supporting some positivity and good will in the community.

I’m just a regular garden-variety guy working on a little BDSM blog in my own corner of the world, so opening my blog or my twitter or even tumblr and finding people visiting – most from Australia and New Zealand, Which is cool – I love the idea that there’s people so close to home out there reading – is a touching thing, especially when a lot of the time when I write, I’m always sure that this dark fantasy is going to be THE ONE that makes people re-evaluate their opinion of me.

And yet…through weird sea creatures and possessive shadow, through my strangest erotic nightmares, people are still here. Knowing that maybe my darker thoughts give solace to someone out there and makes them feel less alone is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Knowing that I can help iron out a thought in someone’s mind or relationship or personal growth – to be a part of that, is so touching in ways I can’t even begin to express.

So thank you – very, very much.

And don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’m a night owl, I’m always by a computer or a phone, scribbling down dreams and interactions and thoughts – you’re always welcome to drop by and say hello.

Oh and if there’s a topic I haven’t touched on, I am always looking to expand! Just run it by me and I’ll start thinking deeply!

Why Do You Care So Much?! – And Other Frequently Asked Questions

As I lay in bed and enjoy winter’s gentle kiss on my bare skin, I thought I’d compile a list of frequently asked questions that come my way. It’s not a huge list I’m afraid but hopefully some might recognise themselves in these.

Why do you care so much about the people out there, newcomer or otherwise?

This is a big one that I get, and rightly so I guess. The internet can be a dodgy place and a recurring element that I’ve seen since starting the blog and offering counsel / mentoring is emotionally and physically abusive men, generally preying on women who have started to realise they’re submissive.

I care so much because I guess I see a lot of myself in people that write in to me. I can sense that trepidation and uncertainty. I mean, the world of Kink is so layered and vast that it’s terrifying. Where do you even start?

It’s partially because of my upbringing – I come from a conservative Catholic household – but also because of my insecurity, magnified by my shyness and my undiagnosed anxiety disorder. I was TERRIFIED at the prospect of, essentially, rebooting my life – finding a new place to live, finding someone who would, somehow share my sexual interests. It scared me so much that I stayed in a vanilla relationship longer than I should have.

And…I don’t want people to go through that. Not if I can help them find their voice and confidence and, at the very least, ease their anxiety or minds. I mean, even now I’ll get an email from someone who deleted several drafts before hitting send. Even now, on twitter, someone will message me and say they’ve been reading my blog for years – but haven’t said anything to me out of fear or guilt or shame – and it breaks my heart. Which is why I so often write to tell people it’s okay to write in to me.

This is a long response but another thing people ask after is my patience. The patience I have, with people asking questions – I haven’t hit a point where it’s become a nuisance. And I can’t tell you why I’m not bothered, I simply don’t feel annoyed. It’s just – I want to be available as much I can, and be this secure and helpful support.

Have you ever thought about doing a podcast?

I have, but being so shy and rambling and monotone I don’t know how entertaining I’d be. When I talk for a while, my anxiety tends to put the thought in that I’m self indulgent..or have tickets on myself – and I feel bad all on my own accord.

It’s a nice fantasy to think of having a BDSM podcast where I talk about a few things an episode – I could even have anxiety support sessions where I read a book or something – but would people enjoy it if I was the only speaker? I’m not sure.

I’d need a host that was like me – someone I could riff off and get talking. It can’t be my kitten because, a, her work and B – she is far too shy and reserved! You should’ve overheard me talking to her about voyeurism on a coffee run one day! She kept cursing me with a shy smile and flushing red.

Is being a Dominant exhausting, having to take care of so many different aspects?

Hmm, no! I mean, we take in note structure and mental well being and order – but these things become second nature with practice. And before they become second nature, they are things that you WANT to do – or at least that I WANT to do. There’s a constant drive there for me. Always…kinda like a PlayStation 4 on rest mode..it’s there in the background thinking away.

Because I want this – whether sexually or non sexually – it’s never a point of ‘ugh, gotta whip my lady now..’ It may become routine but it doesn’t become less exciting because of that fact. It’s still a constant pleasure and a thrill, to have the trust of someone. To hear their free moans and to be the one to guide them. To look them dead in the eye and hold their gaze.

The only time I can think of it being exhausting is when I’m in the midst of an anxiety storm and I lose not only will but my entire sex drive. In those moments, the last thing I want to do is be dominant.

What are your kitten’s thoughts on offering to talk to and / or mentor folk?

In the beginning, when I first wanted to do this, she had questions. I mean, even on a platonic level, talking bdsm and the like is still sexual. So that’s more than understandable. So we had a lengthy chat and I told her what I wanted to do and why, sharing how I felt and how I wanted to do something, anything, to alleviate minds and she understood.

She senses my need to share my writings and advice and opinions, though I think she’s worried that I’ll get hurt trying to help when you can’t possibly help everyone. And that’s why I try to help where I can, but not try to pry or overstep boundaries.

And something we always agreed on from the beginning was that bloglife didn’t overspill into any personal time spent together. Birthdays, brunch dates, family time together, Netflix on the couch, coffee runs – I always make time for us and never crisscross.

What do you get out of being a Mentor?

For me, there’s personal fulfilment that I’m getting, because I’m doing something I really want – and that’s helping someone, and guiding them and sometimes even seeing them grow.

I think it’s knowing that I helped in some small way that makes it worthwhile. I mean, I’ve gotten messages on Fetlife and tumblr from people I don’t know saying I was the inspiration for them to confront their own fears – and isn’t that the sweetest thing? It gives me the warm and fuzzies, honestly. I mean I’m just regular bloke from Australia, not even officially trained in counsel but I’m helping someone from the other side of the world. It’s beautiful.

I’ll stop it before things get War and Peace-levels of writing. If there’s a question you want to ask or one you feel was left out, let me know either in the comments below or at darkanddominant@hotmail.com

Remember, we all grow and bloom at different places. Don’t let others dictate your growth. Don’t define yourself by someone else’s thoughts on you – and whether you’re a long time lurker, first time reader or just want to chat all things BDSM and psychological – you are always more then welcome to write to me.

Incoming Rant and Ramble about being a BDSM Mentor

Grey sky leaking the bedroom windows, a soft rain on the roof over my head – laying naked in bed this winterly morning, I’ve been reflecting on my time acting as a mentor, of sorts, to those that have wanted or needed a recurring figure and friend to help them in their own journey, be they new and learning or savvy to the ways but finding new wrinkles in their mind.

When I first learned that such a thing as a BDSM Mentor existed, I didn’t really know what to make of it – was it key for some special sexual dynamic? Another riff on addressing one as ‘Sir’? It wasn’t until I read up on it, and read thoughts from the community on this here internet, that I realised what it was. And it spoke to me.

A mentor needs no ceremony, no bells and whistles, no special speech assigned to them – they merely are a friend on standby, someone to offer resources and guidance, someone who stands by the individual for as long as the individual needs their help.

A mentor is a preference though – one does not require a mentor. I didn’t have one, I stumbled through knowledge and here I am – and if someone like myself can do it, anyone can. No, a mentor is purely for those who feel they need the guidance. Someone to drop in and chat.

So in late 2016 / early 2017, I started to give it some thought. Could I be a mentor? Do I know enough? Can I help others? Am I worthy of their time? I doubted myself but my desire to help others where I struggled won over. I ran it by my kitten, clearing misconceptions, making sure that – if I were to chat with anyone about these things, man or woman, that she would be comfortable with that notion.

So I began to offer it more openly to readers here, being sure not to push the concept or make any shy person feel obligated, as I sometimes have been known to feel. I just wanted people to know someone could chat with them.

It became a thing of growth for me. I learned to be careful of influencing others with my own thoughts on kink, instead creating a space for them to feel at ease in their own skin. I listened and didn’t speak unless they asked. It’s not my place to interfere, I didn’t want to put thoughts in their head. If they needed a push, Well I would do that gently and only if I felt it was safe to do so. I didn’t want to rewrite their thought process.

Since 2017 I have been blessed to have had the opportunity to help people work through some of their own thoughts – and seeing these people go on to happy D/s relationships has been a beautiful and fulfilling thing for me, knowing in some tiny way that I helped them. It brings a tear to my eye.

It’s strange to me, when someone approaches me and apologises for their scattered email of thoughts or for wasting my time – because I’ve never had a problem with any of that. I’ve never felt out by an email, never minded wandering thoughts – as I’m the same – and I make the time to check my emails and blog. More than that, perhaps I think it’s strange because I can see myself in that person – scared and doubting, unsure about what they’re doing.

I don’t offer mentoring as much as I used to. A flare up in my anxiety caused me to doubt myself, leaving scars that remind me of those troubling thoughts – Who are you to offer that help? No one wants a stranger interfering. Just stop what you are doing.

But I try to relent and push through and still offer help where I can, because once in a while someone will write and say they’ve been trying to write for months but couldn’t overcome their own anxiety.

Being a mentor and mentoring fulfils my soul in many ways, but it has taught me growth. I’ve learned about who I am, about being a teacher, about the sides within me that someone I’m helping helps me see in the first place, thus teaching me.

It’s just a wholesome, lovely thing. And the fact that this person trusts me enough to let me in and help? That’s an honour.

The Many Ways In Which You Can Assert Dominance

Whether you’re new to being a dominant, or you’d like to try OR maybe you’ve hit a brick wall and a dry spell, regardless – there’s a few different and exciting concepts you can tackle to see if they work for you (and perhaps your partner in crime!) personally!

Dominance can be split up between the psychological and the physical. The psychological can relate to tasks such as writing essays, using body language and implementing concepts in which the dominant’s presence can linger within the mind of the submissive. The physical can relate to bondage, spanking, impact play, hands on bodies – the list can go on and on to really creative ways.

Something to consider here is what comes naturally to you as a Dominant. Get to know yourself, your limits and your tastes. Understand what it is you’d like to explore, what it is that drives you as a Dominant. What are some concepts that speak to you? What excites and stimulates your mind? What triggers that side to come out? Personally, I find that when confronted with a concept in BDSM, I slip naturally into the dynamic. I can feel that energy surging within me. It’s there.

As a counterpoint though, sometimes my anxiety creates interference with the broadcast and I can’t think or feel properly. If you’re like me, and you don’t know how to proceed, take a deep breath and think about using your voice, your body language.

A most important aspect to consider is your submissive. What are their interests? What would they like to explore? What works for them that will also work for you? Together, have a think about the concepts you’d like to touch on together, about the dynamic you’d like to have.

When it comes to matters of the psychological, I like to think about the ways in which I can leave a small piece of myself with her – to remind her of my ownership, of my presence with her to protect of her, of my love.

Concepts like dressing her, setting tasks like having her express a mantra each meal of the day, have her kneel before our bed and ask if she can share it with me, having her sleep naked, setting writing tasks like small essays, journaling or writing short erotic stories about what she enjoys.

Think about ways in which you can torment the mind of your submissive, to tease and taunt – but keep in mind at all times to be fair and within a safe environment. Remember to put your submissive first.

When it comes to matters of the physical, consider activities such as rope play, collaring, restraints and ball gags. Extend that line to thinking about ways in which the two of you can explore the environment together.

Keep in mind that this is my own D/s dynamic – everyone is different and has different needs and desires. Maybe this will work for you both and maybe it won’t.

Remember to be open and communicate with one another about your own needs – listen to one another.

On top of that, being dominant isn’t just a lush fantasy, it isn’t cause to be a dick and get your own way. It’s about being mindful of the vulnerability of another soul, it’s about exploring and harnessing the darkness within each other. It’s about knowing yourself and knowing when to be gentle and aggressive.

You’ve got this, just don’t doubt yourself.