The Prisoner

When it comes to writing, especially erotica, there’s always one concept that comes to me and I have no idea from where it originated.

Why did my mind piece together such a surreal, sensuous image? What does that mean for me? Is the image heralding the return of my dominant side? A side that has, I must admit, taken a back seat in the days following a particularly nasty bout of anxiety.

Or was it there all along? Influences and memories and turns on all stitched together under a pale grey sky within my mindscape, waiting to come out?

I ponder all of this as I ponder her – the nude woman lying on her back on the hotel bedroom, illuminated by the soft glow of the room’s television, the only source of light in the room.

I think of this woman – blonde hair folded underneath her, her breasts caught in the quickened rhythm of her breathing. Her nipples, stiff, pointing upwards towards the ceiling.

I can see the faint trace of her ribcage, the slick glean of sweat across her body, beading across her stomach.

I can see the soft fuzz across her slit and, if I peer hard enough at the image, I can see it glisten under the eye of the television.

And I can see the wires – thick, grey, sturdy – wrapped around her body, coiling around her chest and weaving down, snake-like, across her legs and under her ass.

She is bound, held tightly in place. I can only guess how the cables feel across her skin, how they pinch, how they are cool across her breasts.

I can see her arms held high above, locked in position, the cables winding up around her wrists, and I can see that she does not resist. That there is no struggle.

No, quite the opposite. Her body reverberates with an intensity I can feel worlds away. I can feel her pleasure, just as I can feel the pain bite at several points in her body where the cables cling tight.

I can hear her breath catch in her throat, hear her heart in my own ears. I can see her eyes, glued to the image on the television, static. A prisoner of the times.

This bound woman comes without touching one part of her body, is held by the cables as the orgasm hits every inch of her. An electrical current.

I’ve no idea where this image comes from but I feel her there with me every step of the way.

Write What Scares You

He writes what scares him, even if it doesn’t make sense, even if the ideas are stitched together to make a surreal pattern that leads to places he’s not sure he wants to go.

People, settings and voices come to him from the dark, ancient and feral and wanting, taking shape in the dark.

He writes and it scares him, the detail that comes – the way the man with his weight upon the woman, the unsuspecting victim as her blouse is torn to shreds, the words that come on their own – ‘as her blouse tears open, her breasts spill out’. Spill out. Vulgar. Crass. Rough. Unrefined. Intoxicating.

He can hear her yelps, inhuman, animalistic – as she’s stripped down to her cotton navy blue panties, he already knows this is the first time anyone has seen her naked in five years before They do.

It scares him, what he writes. How fully formed the thought is, how vivid and how vile – how he can see her pale legs kicking in the air, how he can smell her perfume laced with swear, how he would never wish this upon her, she who just came into his world.

What scares him only compels him, his hand unwavering from the page, viciously, spitefully, inflicting the rape of this blonde’s body and mind and feeding off of her sweat, cries while pushing her limits.

And why? Why violate her? Why take her ass, just to hear her voice crack and strain as He, with no regard at all, tears her anus. Why cause her pain and anguish? Why fill her mind with doubt, as pain turns to pleasure, as her body betrays her savagely, leading to her orgasm.

There is pain and anguish, yes, but there is something else. Beauty and Power, Raw and unprocessed.

He’s scared of himself in the end, the part that wanted it, desperately, savagely, his mouth watering for the taste of her. Her, the woman lying naked and breathless on the floor of the subway corridor.

————————-

Don’t be ashamed of your rape fantasies. Explore what they mean to you. Have a think about the particular details of your fantasy and why it appeals to you.

Fantasies are simply that – fantasies. They’re not a reflection of your morals as a human being. They’re there for you to safely explore the darker impulses of the human mind – YOUR darker impulses.

Should you wish to take that fantasy to the next level, remember that any BDSM scene or setting should be discussed thoroughly before hand, and with safety measures in place to ensue that exploration is healthy and safe.

Try writing it down, capturing it onto the page so you can look back and know.

If you are troubled by a particularly savage thought, I’m always an email away, regardless of time zone. I rarely sleep.

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.

30 Days of Kink – Day #2: List Your Kinks!

Describes what it is about being Dominant or submissive that excites and arouses you the most.

Here’s the thing – I wrote a list of links but it felt very cold and disconnected and by-the-numbers. I guess that was unavoidable though because lists are lists right? That’s how they go.

Anyway. My kinks are varied. I like a lot of psychological acts like sensory deprivation and orgasm denial – acts to really bring a mind to its darkest corners. Of course that crosses into the boundaries of Consensual Non Consent, wherein lies some nipple and breast play-torture. I do love to bite, slap, smack, suckle, stretch, pinch, squeeze and pull.

As a primal I am into exhibitionism, pet play and voyeurism. I guess cages and collars and leashes can be added in this category, as I love to lead a good kitten, bathe her when she’s dirty, feed her when she’s hungry.

There’s a sadistic side to me that likes to indulge in face slapping, hair pulling, degrading physically and verbally, spitting and flogging. There’s something liberating about tapping into that mindset. It’s almost a feral energy. If that makes any sense to either the dominant readers or submissive ones.

As to what excites me the most about being dominant, that kind of ties into yesterday’s entry — I like the psychological aspects behind it. That is to say, sharing this untethered connection with someone and peeking behind the curtain into their mind. I like knowing how people behave and why they behave that way behind closed doors. I like sharing that rawness with people.

But there’s other things right? The spiritual ever-in-need-of-balancing urge to dominate. I need that certain dynamic and I can’t really explain why it’s so important or how, only that if I can’t have that, it’s imbalanced and I’m moody and it’s just a spectacular human mess, right?

On top of all that messy qualities, there’s an interest in that edge of sexuality. A calling to, what I perceive to be, darkness. An interest in tapping into that animalistic and brutal and unfiltered vein and seeing how deep the rabbit hole is. A way to experience an edge, danger, in a safe and controlled environment, either by myself through text or with another being.

Surrender

He was completely out of his element, a Dominant on his back, nude with his hands linked above his head.

Everything in his burning hot body told him to run, to get out of there and never look back, but something intrigued him to come, to undress before this Dominant.

For years he had looked at women, had desired them with all the fire provided by Hades. So when he looked at the completely shaven cock of the Dominant before him, stiff and throbbing at the edge of the bed, he wondered where this had come from, this aching, this hunger?

He didn’t just look at this Cock and desire it, though his mouth had watered curiously, no – he thought it Beautiful, was puzzled by its beauty to him. He didn’t just want to put his mouth over it, he wanted to savour the taste. To feel the veins in its shaft ache on his lips, on his tongue. And what did come taste like?

He felt new and stupid, lying here.

‘Get over here’ he wanted to say. ‘I want this right now’

But that was what he gave up tonight, just to try. And something about it felt wild in a way that quickened his heart.

The man before him, slightly slim, slightly muscular, regarded him with a cruelty, a sadistic smile. No, a smirk. Teasing. He lowered himself over him, letting his cock brush his own.

Down came his mouth, planting a kiss on his thigh, then lower across to the base of his cock. Tingles. Things he never felt before.

He surrendered to this fear, this change within him. Tonight he wasn’t going backwards. Not anymore.

If Life Were A Slasher Film, You’d Be My Victim


Violated.

Sometimes we think we understand words. You know – understand their full meaning in so many different ways. But sometimes an experience comes along that redefines that feeling – that word. And from that point in time onwards, you live your life with the updated knowledge that this is love, that this is heartbreak. That you knew Violation when your husband tried it out on you while the kids were away, while you both still felt human. 

But I promise you, if I catch you in my woods. If I find you’re skinny dipping in my Lake or getting high in the cabins, I will do you the honours of taking the word violated and redefine it when I back you into a corner.

When your mascara runs, when your body trembles and your breasts sway with the panic — when I coil my hands around your thin loose top that classifies as an item of clothing and tear it off, you will come to understand what it means to be violated.

When your body is pinned under mine, and you can smell the sweat I’ve worked up stalking you, watching you and the rest of those friends of yours — when my hand finds the slit of your cunt, roughly divides its folds eagerly with my fingers and your body betrays you with its act of preparing you for the act, you will come to understand what it means to be violated. 

When my other hand finds your nipple, your sweet puffy nipples, and pulls outwardly with all of my might – when you feel as if you can’t take the pain anymore, you will come to understand what it means to be violated.

And at the moment your mind snaps, when the madness washes over you, when your body breaks beneath my coarse caress, you will come to redefine what it means to be violated. 

Because no matter what anyone does to you in the comfort of your bedroom or little fucking play scene you have set out for each other. No matter if he takes you while you swim in the warm inviting lake.

What I can do, in the darkness, with your mind, while you’re alone and staring at your reflection in the full length mirror in the cabin bedrooms will be so much worse.

Behave. 

Hera, Ch. 4

Chapter Four

 

Breaking The Girl

 

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Kadie gasped for air.
She could still feel the cable wiggling in her ass, though in reality it had been long removed.
Kadie looked around – it was pitch black.
That’s when she felt the collar around her neck. It was cool and she could feel the leather dig against her neck when she swallowed.
Suddenly doors opened to her left and in whizzed the Med Drone over to her.
Good evening, specimen.
Kadie went to speak, choked and coughed. She tried again.
“Where…am…”
Same place. Time for your mantra. Something I’ve been working on specifically just for you.
Repeat after me:

 I am a slave.

My mind and body belong to my Mistress.

 Kadie just stared at the Med Drone angrily, unable to control her breathing.
“Mistress? You think you can adequately be a Mistress? You’re a machine. You could never be-“
The logs of Captain Fuller dictate to me that she was indeed partial to becoming what humans call Mistress. As the nature of becoming Mistress intrigues me, I will endeavour to learn. As Captain Fuller refused to teach me the laws of Bondage, Dominance, Sadomasochism and Masochism I will learn on my own accord.
“Fuck you” Kadie barked.
The Med Drone looked at her a moment, as if thinking.
Then a tube hovered from the ceiling down to Kadie’s stomach.
Very well.

The tube was a high-pressure water hose and it shot out at Kadie in full force, stinging her stomach, tits and legs in the spray.
Unclean little girl.
The jet stream moved down, trailing the pressure from Kadie’s stomach down to her clit. It was immense and hard against her tender skin.
Kadie screamed against the full force as the jet stream hit her cunt, pain exploding across her body.
The assault continued, numbing her slit and thighs.
Kadie screamed and screamed until she was hoarse, barely able to get anything out.
She could feel the orgasm rising in her. It made her furious. She tried to squeeze her legs shut but now they trembled; now they burnt. She was on fire. She was furious and on fire.
She was coming and furious and on fire.
It hit her hard, knocking her backwards.
A scream tore out through her throat, burning her insides.
The hose kept hitting her on her clit but she was frozen, clenching her eyes shut as if that would help with the pain of the pressure. It didn’t.
The hose shut off.
Tsk Tsk, little girl.
The light in the room went out.

She couldn’t tell the time anymore. Days were indistinguishable. Everything was dark until it wasn’t, when the med drone came in from her left to feed her meals, the light seeping in from the outside.
When Hera

(Sister’s)

Voice came over the comms, specifying her mantra, Kadie screamed. Some days she swore. Other days she cried. Every day ended in the same way, the hose bringing her to the edge of orgasm before Hera

(Sister)

was pleased and they disappeared.
Every morning it was the hose on her clit, ever evening it was machinery cables, filling her ass and cunt. Every day her orgasm was denied.
How many times a day they made her edge, she wasn’t sure.
Kadie was reduced to that of an animal. Grunting, screaming till her throat felt like bleeding.
After some time, her cunt, which was far too tender and sensitive, quivered and Kadie found comfort in the orgasm that felt like it tore her body apart.
Sister

(Hera)

didn’t like that though. She was punished with the cables whipping her ass and breasts.
When was the last time she had slept? Kadie didn’t know.
She wondered this as the med drone whizzed in and the lights flickered on.
Kadie lunged for it but was still being suspended.
Let’s begin came Sister

(Hera’s)

Voice.

I am a slave.

My mind and body belong to my Mistress.

 

 

Kadie didn’t say anything – and the silence was deafening.
Suddenly she felt herself being rotated. The cables that held her in place turned her around so that Kadie’s ass was facing the med drone, with Kadie facing the wall.
I’ve monitored the crew to test how long they can endure pain. Kadie, so far you’ve exceeded my expectations. They have not.
Kadie screamed at the wall, struggling in the air.

Sister

(Hera?)

was silent.
Very well.
A cable struck Kadie’s ass. Pain shot up her back. She let out a howl.
Again.
The cable struck again.
And again.
Both cheeks were turned raw red. Her left side even felt like it drew blood.
Kadie whimpered as she hung in the air, jolting every second while the cable struck her ass.
When the lights went out and the cable’s retreated, Kadie let out a sob. The cable’s holding her, lowered her to the floor, where another pair of cables chained her to the ground.
The cool metal floor of the room was a welcomed relief to her ass and she let out a sigh.

Here she was, alone again. No way of telling the time, body stinging and frustrating of all, her cunt with that dull maddening ache she can’t scratch on her own accord.
That’s when the room lit up and Kadie could hear the whir of machinery.
The doors to the room opened and Bronwyn stepped inside, a metal collar around her neck. She was completely nude and calmly walked towards Kadie.
“Bronwyn?” Kadie hoarsely asked.
Bronwyn didn’t say anything. She came to a stop just before Kadie’s mouth, her shaven cunt hovering before her.

Her face was flat, empty. Nothing was there. Nothing readable.
Bronwyn closed her eyes and started to tug on her pierced nipple.
“Bronwyn, what’s happened to you?”
Bronwyn didn’t open her eyes. She reached down her body and started running a finger down her slit.
Kadie’s eyes followed down to see Bronwyn’s fingers slick with her arousal. Her instinct was to look away.
“S-sister, stop this.”
The cables lifted Kadie on her knees so that her mouth was inches away from Bronwyn’s hands working her clit.
She looked up at Bronwyn and pleaded with her to stop, but Bronwyn moved to music Kadie couldn’t hear.
“What has she done to you?”
At that, Bronwyn’s eyes opened and she looked down to Kadie.
“She hasn’t done anything to doll. Doll wants to be the instrument. But doll knows who She favours. It’s Kadie.”
“Me?”
“Kadie has the mind She favours, the body She delights. One day doll asked after Kadie, but She just got mad.”
Bronwyn turned her back to Kadie, revealing her ass, slick with sweat and covered in scars.
A spike struck Kadie, moved through her whole body. Something warm and anxiety inducing and oh so powerful. She was drawn back by her sudden racing thoughts.
The spike was a single thought: that she wanted to taste the sweat from Bronwyn’s ass.
What would it taste like? Sickly sweet? Salty?
She reeled at the concept and tried to move backwards but nothing worked. She was held in place by those damned cables.
“Doll got what she wants though. To be an instrument.”
Bronwyn moved back to face her, her body stiffening, her hands working furiously.
She moaned, bucking her hips forward. She started to tremble and her hair fell over her eyes.
“Bronwyn, please –“

Fluid smacked Kadie across her face, warm and salty.
Kadie gasped in shock, reeling from the sensation.
Bronwyn spoke in a quivering voice as she squirted across Kadie’s face.
“Doll is an instrument. Doll comes on command.”
Bronwyn’s juices ran down Kadie’s lips and another spike hit her across the face
Tasteittasteittasteittasteittasteittasteittasteit.

She resisted, spitting to the floor.
Bronwyn gasped and struck her face hard, leaving her left side stinging.
“Taste me” Bronwyn howled, demonic.
She grabbed Kadie by the throat and slid her index finger down her throat.
Kadie could taste Bronwyn and God help her, she tasted good.
That that was the first thing that came to her mind – the first thing – caused her to panic. She leant forward, scrambling on the spot.
Bronwyn just giggled and ran a thumb across Kadie’s nipples. “She’s got you, little lamb. My! How she does!”
Bronwyn then leant her head back and spat right in Kadie’s face.
It hit her right in the eye and ran down her cheeks.
Kadie couldn’t help but sob. It coiled up her throat and out her mouth, echoing across the room.

Bronwyn then leant in, right to Kadie’s ear and whispered very quietly.
“Don’t talk, listen. Look to the door at noon. I’m getting out of here. I can’t find the rest of the crew. Come with me.”
“I can’t, look at me!”
“I’ll distract her. You just make sure you get out. I’ve got a plan. We’re getting out on the lifeboats.”
Bronwyn moved away before Kadie could respond.
“Doll is pleased to have shown you who you belong to.” She spoke loudly.

With that, and still trembling, Bronwyn left, and the lights to the captain’s quarters went out.
Kadie was lifted up by the cables, aroused, confused and anxious. Her mind was with the rest of the crew. Where were they?
A thought entered her mind then: If Bronwyn wasn’t controlled after all, why did she still come across Kadie’s face? Was it just an act or was she driven by pleasure.
The doors to the captain’s quarters opened and the med drone appeared.
Time for a lesson came Sister’s

(Hera’s?)

voice.
Kadie prepared to be assaulted for the evening, her cunt left drenched and in a spasm as she denied yet another orgasm all night.
She just had to wait till noon the next day.

 

To be continued…