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.

Just Write

So. I just got an email from a reader of my blog and it struck me as sad and it’s for these reasons that I want to write this piece.

If you’re going to write in to me, if you want to write in to me, there’s a couple things I, personally, want you to know and understand.

I’m not as busy as you think. I’m not running around like a headless chook, know that while I may work, I also definitely check my email daily and respond in full as soon as I can.

I don’t respond to emails to be polite to you, to what a reader described as ‘a self proclaimed fangirl’ – I respond because I want to. You must understand, I started this blog not just to share my fantasies and satisfy a part of me, I did it in case it could inspire someone as awkward as I was when I started off.

So I love hearing from people – young, old, male, female, Australian, American, Norwegian – the more the merrier. Language barriers be damned! I love conversing with people and I love talking BDSM and it’s lifestyles.

Whether you’re a fan or seeking answers or even if you a bone to pick with me about something I wrote. Grill me. I welcome all of it, criticism, friendly chatter, the like.

You’re not bothering me. At all. In all my years of blogging, in responding to the kind people that write in, I can honestly say not one email has bugged me, not one. Even if one person has a laundry list of questions, I’ll sit down and work it out with them until they’re more spent then I am. Seriously. So never ever think that YOU are the person that will be too much for me, because that just won’t be the case. Try me, I dare you!

Do you want to write but don’t know what to say? Do you feel stupid because I can talk so openly and you find it rough to? I’ve had years to process how I feel, to work to rise above my own shyness. I was the same as you in the beginning. We all start somewhere and blossom on our own time.

I will say this though – just write. Don’t worry about grammar or context or anything, just write. I honestly care not for long novel-length texts, I read every word and respond. I’ll even write a long novel-length email of my own.

Start at the beginning. Write how you feel. Find a place to start at, to get the ball rolling, and then just let it go – just write and let it loose. If it feels good, write it. If it doesn’t, write it anyway and send it.

Too many times have I read that someone wanted to write in sooner or deleted several iterations of the email they just sent – and it breaks my heart.

I know I can’t TELL people what to do. I know I can’t get people to talk as frankly as I do, but I’m writing this because I want you to know, anything you have to say, in any way, is perfectly A-OK by me and that you should not feel shame or delete what you write, because I mostly certainly want to read it. Don’t even press that delete button or I’ll slap a crop against your knuckles!

Be yourself. That’s all I ask of you. Everything else, please don’t worry. I’m not as scary as your mind makes me out to be!


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.

The Claiming

She could hide from her friends, she could hide from her family, she could hide from the world.

But she couldn’t hide from her own mind – the perverse, the wicked, the sacrilegious, the inhumane.

Soon it would come, this physical manifestation of all she would bury. It would claw at her, bruise her, mark her. It would drag her by her ankles out the front door and into the storm, out where the rain would fall so hard that the droplets felt like stones against her flesh.

Oh she could run from her own mind. But eventually it would find her and it would claim her soul.

30 Days of Kink – Day #6: My Weirdest Sexual Fantasy

Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

This is going to be tough because I’m generally weird – my background is in gothic horror. I have a thing for how things of a horror or thriller nature radiate eroticism. It’s something I like to explore in my stories.

I mean, on this blog I’ve written about tentacles and a teen being sexually assaulted by a creature from the ocean below. I’ve written about cults and vampires and ghosts but I think my strangest fantasy surely has to be a poor little teenage girl getting violated by a demonic tree.

I have an interest in that kind of backwoods supernatural horror, the rustic charm of the setting, that almost spiritual feeling of nature around you, that these places around you are ancient- so combining it with a delicious erotic edge, I just couldn’t pass up exploring it.

I just had this image in my head of this poor girl, restrained by coarse vines, being both vaginally and anally penetrated, hoarse from screaming, hurting all over…and yet…forced into submission, into pleasure. Forced into orgasming repeatedly. I think of her body being marked – and I can see these marks in my head as I had these from exploring the country as a kid. But then I think on this ache, of her being torn between this awful stinging bite and her orgasm crashing over her.

It’s almost like some kind of ritual, as if this girl, and her essence and spirit is the nutrient this horrible tree needs. Which is super cheesy I know, but I think of the woods as being this ancient and living and breathing entity and I think how it could actually work.

In the end, after aching in pain all over, abused and broken and hysterical, the tree is alerted to an incoming car, drops the girl, slivers back into hibernation and the girl catches a ride home.

It was inspired by the 1981 horror film The Evil Dead to be sure (which is where the image above is from – this would be the kind of stuff I’d recreate as a photographer if I had the skill to design it all) but I remember it coming fully formed to me in a dream.

But is that most interesting? I’m not entirely sure. I was going to write this as a story, you see, but felt it was too weird that readers wouldn’t accept it. I’m always cautious of that one idea being the final nail in the coffin.

The Woods: An Outline of a scrapped story

It’s 11:45pm and I’m seeing out my 31st birthday while I head my lady sleep soundly from where I sit in the lounge. I have things to talk about – transformations, stories, more mental musings, but not now. I have never been so tired in all my life.

Instead, I wanted to tell followers – anyone who has been wondering – that I’m still here and still writing. I’ve been absent. Lost in worlds and words and life. I’ll come back soon.

Until then, in the interest of the Halloween season, I wanted to share a particularly grotesque, kinda gothic story I scrapped out of fear of being too weird, too dark and too absurd. And since I tell everyone to follow their hearts and stay true to themselves, I thought I’d share. So here’s a rough draft outline of what would happen to a poor teenage girl late at night in the Woods.

Jen is at her neighbours birthday party with her family when she decides to leave out of lack of interest.

One of the guys there, taunts her walk home by singing the ‘if you go out in the woods today..’

Jen ignores him and makes her way back home, using nothing but the light from her phone.

Something grabs at her leg and drags her to the side of the road where the tree hangs.

In horror, Jen can only watch the sentient tree tear off her little black dress, revealing light blue bra and camo panties.

She’s soon undressed and, suspended in the air, receives a vine, smooth and slick from sap, enter her anally. Jen is left to let out guttural moans as she is an anally penetrated on the spot, her mind racing.

Jen wriggles free and crawls along the ground, trying to scream. The tree drags her back and continues to fuck her ass while taking her from the front. She comes. Once. Twice. A third, painfully. She’s bound, spanked, fucked, crying screaming, half-way moaning.

She sees light bounce off the road and that’s when the trees fall limp all of a sudden. A man approaches her. She screams at him, curses at him, she’s terrified of him, but he does not dare leave her alone like this, her clothes in shreds, her body bruised and scratched.

He waits by her and gives her all the time she needs.

In my notes for this outline, dated third of July 2017, the only thing I’ve written is that this came to me in a dream. If I had to guess, growing up in the country, walking at night, and having an active imagination with the forest around me, all led to the creation of this dream. That and a dash of The Evil Dead.

I’ve always been fascinated by gothic horror and I’ve always been fascinated by taking light and casting shadows. And then there’s the wicked enjoyment of forced submission and orgasming.

Goodnight readers. Sleep tight.

The Run


It goes like this.

This pretty little thing of eighteen – dressed in a black sundress that runs to her knees, laced with a sunflower print – runs through the forest in the middle of the night, the long grass lashing at her legs, the wind hitting the sweat on her forehead, the tree branches with its gnarled fingers whipping her legs.

There’s a hole torn in her dress, where her stomach is, where he grabbed at her when she tried to run from his kiss.

He was after her – had asked her to come around the side of the house, away from the party, to talk. James, her oldest friend, the one who sat with her on the swing-set at summer camp and listened to her talk about her boyfriend woes back in the seventh grade.

Now they were eighteen and at a friend of a friend’s party twenty minutes out of town in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. Away from the house was where he had tried to kiss her forcefully, his lips wet, and the kiss eager.

Emily had slapped him away, had seen the shock in his eyes as he reeled backwards, but then she had something else in those eyes. Madness, a look possessed. Shock morphed into delight, a devilish grin. He grabbed, tearing that hole in her dress, and she ran.

When she pauses to catch her breath, her lungs working overtime, he catches her, throwing her to the ground. She doesn’t have the time to react; she’s down on her aching back, dizzy, breathless, lost on where she is.

His full weight is upon her, his dirty hands lifting her dress, exposing her black lacy boylegs – bought just this afternoon – to the forest. She can feel the cool wind.

She opens her mouth to scream but only a strangled whimper comes loose and she thinks through all this – how pathetic am I?

As she kicks her legs and wriggles beneath him, he’s peeling her panties down with a speed she didn’t know he possessed. He dodges her bare dirty legs, throws the lacy clump aside.

She sounds like a wounded animal as she tries to speak, tries to reason, tries to swat his hands away from peeling the straps of her dress off her slender pale shoulders but it’s all for naught. The energy, her lungs, is rebooting herself from underneath him.

As the dress peels back and her bare tits are let loose, she tries to reason that he’s drunk, that this isn’t the sweet tender James, but she can’t smell any alcohol, only sweat. She licks her lips, tastes the saltiness from the run, the bitterness of dirt.

He throws away her dress with a grunt; it falls in a tangle across the shrub. She lies there, completely naked, on her back, blinking back tears, fighting confusion and madness as she watches James peel off his jeans, exposing his hard cock coated in precum that glistens in the moonlight.

With a steady hand, he grips her thigh – then she feels his stomach press against her, feels his cock stretch her apart and go deeper. She feels a wave of sickness crash over, a spiral of manic energy sweeping across her body like goosebumps.

She chokes out his name but pain erupts through her body, his mouth is on her flesh, clenching her nipple in his mouth.

He’s speaking through his clenched teeth, a mad man speaking in alliteration under his breath.

She’s there but not there, out of mind, out of sight. Watching this happening, finding her glistening pale body, secreted somehow, marked by the forest, belonging to the forest, as he fucks her.

Their bodies find their rhythm. Her body finds the rhythm. They’re suddenly moving, swaying, as one entity. She’s not herself, or maybe she is and she never realised this, that she was, that she could enjoy, that she could belong.

His teeth sink into her neck paralysing her, locking her body into place. She feels her legs stiffen, hears herself as he slips out of her thrusting against her thigh, humping thin air.

She grunts in frustration.

With a growl, she flips him over so that he’s off her, on her back. He watches her, and for a moment she sees a bewilderment in those eyes, can see him, the real him, the sweetest James. His eyes are glassy.

She’s sitting on him now, her legs on either side of him, his cock against her stomach.

Not breaking eye contact, she grabs his cock by the head and forces it down between her. It slides back in with ease.

She can feel him fill her again and something screams inside her, a burning intensity to not stop, because nothing could stop her, nothing at all. This confuses her, makes her feel ill. She wonders if she will vomit, all over him, embarrassing her and the forest. Nothing comes.

She can feel this drive within her, it worms its way across her veins, it possesses her arm, her hand, to pinch her nipples tightly and pull them out. Her desire to feel his cock all the way inside her before ripping it out along her slit is insatiable. SHE is insatiable. An insatiable fucking slut of a girl.

There’s something around her, around them, in the forest. She can’t see it, can’t explain it, but something is there, something is watching the two of them, something is feeding off the two of them, chanting to them in the same maddened vein James was earlier.

The world around her is spinning and she’s caught up in it, up in this delirious and dizzying nightmare of pleasure she can’t wake from.

He pushes her off and she fall backwards, emitting something between a sulk and a moan. In a blur of movement, he whips her around so that she’s on all fours and grips her hips.

He eases into her ass.

It’s unlike anything she’s experienced.

She’s trapped in a dimension of pleasure and pain.

An anal doll.

They scream as one and the forest screams with them.