30 Days of Kink: Day #13 – In Which I Attempt to Explain Why Kink Appeals to Me

Explain as best you can what the appeal of kink/BDSM is to you? Why are you drawn to what you’re drawn to?

Oof! How much time have you got to read? Ask anyone you know that has written to me personally about how I can ramble about any given topic to anyone that will listen. Which, now that I write that down, doesn’t sound too inviting. Hmm.

What is the appeal of kink? I think I’ve always been drawn to psychology in some way. I’ve always wanted to study it at university but chickened out because I felt I wasn’t smart enough to get by in that regard.

The reason why I bring up psychology is because the idea of peeling back minds and getting to the heart of the matter, the psyche of someone, of knowing someone on a very intimate level is very stimulating to me in many ways.

And so the idea of bearing my soul, of exploring these fantasies I felt were too tough and gritty and off, with someone who felt the same way about their own minds, was a beautiful thought. It spoke to my meaning of life for me because it was very much about coming to terms with my own humanity.

For the longest time I’ve been trying to decipher how I feel and what that means – not only for myself but, like, at all. For this life. So to let go off all of that worry and become almost symbiotic with someone else – it was liberating. To explore the far reaches of your mind without judgement and explore our humanity and what it means to like these things and why, that is all soulful and gorgeous to me in ways I could never succinctly express.

As for why I’m drawn to all this beyond that reasoning? I’m not sure I know exactly why. I know I like the allure of dark things – I’m drawn to gothic eroticism for example, for how it can deftly juggle both aspects and create a satisfying pull between them.

I don’t know why I feel the need to want to practice 24/7 D/s – or why I feel compelled to such ideas as ownership and sadism. I just know that without them, I’m not really who I am anymore. I’m prone to mood swings and depersonalisation and depression because there’s no outlet or anything you know? There’s no way to circumvent.

30 Days of Kink – Day #5: My First Kinky Experience

What was you first kinky sexual experience? If you haven’t yet had that first time write about what you hope to have happen.

My first kinky sexual experience? Gosh. I would have to say that it was during my teenage years when I would masturbate in strange places. I did a lot of strange shit as a kid, from masturbating in a KFC, grinding my cock into the carpet of a bedroom so I feel that rough burn, I’ve tasted my own come as a teenager.

I can’t quite remember my first sexual kinky experience, as nothing fucks you harder than time, but I do know that I experimented with sight and sound and sensation. Even masturbating with the vibrations from a gaming controller. I played a lot with masturbating in a bath, you see, or out in the rain, or swimming naked.

But! If we really want to talk ab actual non-singular physical sexual experience, I guess that would be letting a play partner see that primal side of myself unabashedly. Just straight up – no false pretences, no bullshit, none of this falsely polite talk and reserved feelings that can come out – just her and I communicating our deepest darkest fantasies with one another in a cosy little space away from the rest of the world. That was erotic on a very deep psychological level because it was about realising there was power in my voice and eyes more then I knew. More than I could even control.

Yes, I think if we want to talk the moments that blew my mind, it was from realising, somehow I’m still unsure about, that my voice and my words alone had the power to cause this play partner to orgasm. Just hearing the utter confusion ripple through her wavering voice – ‘what the shit? This is…insane’ – just that breathlessness from someone was a very psychological, very powerful moment.

It was a step in understanding that there was power in me, as silly as that might sound. Dormant power right? Things I didn’t know about my self or how I behaved that could bubble to the surface. Small attributes that could effect my partner in a big way.

30 Days of Kink – Day #4: A Prelude to Kink

Write about any early experiences that, in retrospect, hinted at your kinks.

When I was younger I used to love to be naked. To be naked was to confront this idea that my parents taught me that being naked was inappropriate, Hell I even got grief being shirtless during the summer.

But I did, I loved being naked. And I loved being naked outdoors. It might sound strange to some but being hidden away in the countryside, trees towering over me, my feet planted in fresh mud, the air on my ass – I felt in communion with something. And the fact that it was daring and different drove me into a frenzy.

I masturbated several times hidden in my little spots, far from the view of my folk’s place. I’ve laid down in the mud and would grind my cock into the earth and come so intensely.

Later, much later, I would discover that all of this was because I was in touch with my primal self. And that blew me away.

It was a startling revelation – but it was a revelation that spanned not just across my childhood but my entire life. I was in touch with this energy I was scared of, yet fascinated by. I always felt different. I always felt like no one could connect to me, that these thoughts I had were irrational.

So through learning I was in touch with this energy, I learned that MY LIFE was this beginning of exploring kink, because it was through understanding the concepts within the dynamic that I came to understand my thoughts, pleasant or unpleasant, that I worked up the courage to be more in touch with my feelings and acknowledging them. And through all this I worked up the courage to fight the fear of those intense thoughts, fear I still have when I post on the blog and worry that today is the day my sexual deviancy lets me down.

This primal dynamic is sort of the foundation to my sexual nature and weaves in and out through my non sexual life.

By The Sword, Part I

When the castle was quiet and the servant’s had all gone to bed, Princess Avellana snuck out from her chambers and moved down the spiral staircase of stone like a ghost.

Through the great hall she crept, candle in hand, moving from patches of light filtering in through windows back into the shadows. Her skin was ablaze with the summer heat, her nightdress sticking to her chest with glistening sweat. Yet it was her heart that drove her forward, her heart that had come up with this plan to be a sneak, her heart that had convinced her it was now or never.

Her goal was to reach the armory at the end of the hallway, and step inside. Within would be her object of affection, the thing she had dreamt about, soaking her sheets with tangy sweat. It was the right hand of the king’s prized possession – a two handed great sword crafted by the best blacksmith in the land. Dubbed ‘Chance’, it had a silver handle decorated with a grey stripe that bore the purest rubies Avellana had ever seen.

One time she had been sitting in on council when she saw it in person. She recalled her heart quickening, her nipples hardening. It was not the man that had done this to her, something deep within her had sensed, it was the sword. This weapon of destruction, oh how sharp could it be! How easily it could slit open a neck just to bathe the user in blood. Chance, thought Avellana.

In the beginning she wrestled with these violent thoughts. Fending off alternate realities in which she was mad, she sought solace in the woods outside the palace walls, bathing in the sun amongst the sun-kissed fields of grass , learning how to ease her mind. Learning how to merge the realities into a singular one.

But no matter how long she laid beneath the shield of grass, sun-drunk and aroused, the urge, sheer fascination crept back into her mind, and she found herself thinking of Chance and the adventures it embarked on out beyond the kingdom’s boundaries. What dastardly beasts! What ferocious foes! What devilish scoundrels!

Avellana gripped the armory’s doorknob gently, ignoring its cold touch that seized her hand. Pushing gently still, she emerged within the dark room, peering through the darkness, glimpsing only figures. Behind her, she shut the door as gently as she opened it.

As she moved through the room, her body began to tremble. It started as a light shiver on the arms, traveling down across her body, tingling and intense.

Gazing around at the swords, the shields, all faceless in the low light, doubt began to manifest. What if the Swordsman slept with his sword, clutching it gently, dreaming of adventure, of murder, of brutality.

Avellana scanned the room, feeling her heart seemingly creep up her throat from its place in her chest.

That’s when she saw it – there was no mistaking its ruby which the candlelight caught with its ever watchful gaze. The ruby, exposed even hanging still in its scabbard, seemed to gaze back at Avellana, drawing her near.

Hands trembling, breath coming out of her dry lips in short bursts, Avellana, the nineteen year old princess, stepped close towards the sword where it rested on the shelf, transfixed, enamoured. So captivated was she that she didn’t register her hands finding the tied knot in her nightgown. A swift gesture with the hands — and her gown collapsed to the floor.

Now fully nude and with her hands free, and her heart working overtime, Avellana reached up, the cool air caressing her armpits, and gently picked up the sword. She exhaled shakily, running her fingertips across the smooth leather sheath. Her chest was tight, the air was cool. Senses flooded her all at once. She inhaled the dark, exhaled the light – and pulled the sword free from the sheath.

A moment passed between Chance and Avellana. How queer the sight must’ve been to an onlooker, a nude girl, long blonde hair covering her breasts, her mound a faint light fuzz, holding a silver sword high above her, as if ready to strike.

Her mouth open, her throat dry, Avellana raised her left hand to the tip of Chance and pressed down. Something cold and sharp stung her and she reeled back her hand to look at the crimson dot on her finger tip. She drew it into her mouth, tasting the strange metallic tang. Thoughts running rampant, adventure, carnage, defence – she grinned as she looked back at the tip of the sword. How many victims fell to this device?

Laying on her gown sprawled out underneath her, right leg bent up, her left laying out, Avellana couldn’t help but smile. With her left hand, she lifted the sword gently down upon her body. Cold steel embraced her from her breasts down to between her legs. At first she jumped at the cool touch, giggling for her reaction, but then, with sudden ferocious concentration, she held the sword there against her thigh, fighting against the freeze, willing her mind to hold it, to take the chill. Her eyes clenched shut as she braced for the full brunt of the bite.

To be concluded…

TMI LATE NIGHT TUESDAY! #1

What is sexy time to you?

Oh gosh. You know, I joke a lot using these words. I’ll often say to my kitten when I’m being playful or silly – something along the lines of ‘so, uh…how about after you get out of those clothes, we, uh, go have some sexy time, hm?’

So I guess it’s a silly – slightly humorous way of inciting a sexual encounter, and allllll that that might entail!

Who’s sexier – women or men?

Women, definitely. There’s a gentleness to their features that I adore. It’s in the way they express themselves – a hug or their voice or their presence. Plus, there’s something about a sharp witted, fierce and intelligent woman that I love.

How did you learn to masturbate, and how old were you when you first succeeded?

Oh gosh. How did I learn? I have no idea. Knowing me and knowing that I like to grind my cock against the bed sleepily or not as an adult, I probably did that as a pre-teen by accident and it became a thing.

Do you like taking naked photos of yourself?

I have my good and bad days. I’m certainly not the most photogenic dude but I do it sometimes to challenge that perception.

I happen to enjoy being naked so there’s an exhibitionist part of me, I just struggle sometimes with my own esteem.

What is your biggest sexual fear?

My biggest sexual fear? To falter in the moment when I am to lead. It has happened in the past. My lady had surprised me with my favourite lingerie of hers only for me to be so surprised I’ve been momentarily frozen. It’s a weird glitch in the mind that happens.

Like I’m indecisive a lot but this was different. It’s like – in this moment I doubted myself when faced with this goddess before me.

Bonus: To you, what does the ideal penis look like? (feel free to include artwork or photos).

Huh. Well, I mean. Let me look. *runs to google*

That’s the best I can think of? I mean, I’m no expert. I wouldn’t think size is too important to me. As a man, the bust size of a woman isn’t important, it’s more how wicked her mind can be. But I’m not good with the finding-dick-pictures-on-the-net

We Are The Masters Of Our Own Fate

I was cleaning my MacBook and I stumbled across some old text messages that dated back before my relationship with my lady (Thanks, iMessage!) and one of the files was from a Fetlifer I befriended on my travels before losing contact – and something she expressed to me, which has since struck a chord again here in the future, was her pull of submission towards her ex, who, for whatever reason – maybe he was manipulating her, maybe he himself was trapped in that comforting yet vicious cycle, maybe they were working things out – felt that same animalistic pull.

Now I don’t want to seem like I’m focusing on the negative here, but something I have come to read a lot of, and occasionally sense first hand in relationships, some right before my eyes, is this dysfunctional relationship between a submissive and a dominant.

It could be a conscious thing. I have heard many stories of men, thinking they understand Dominance, abuse the power with malicious intent. I’ve heard of submissive women feeling trapped, either in their marriage to a controlling man or maybe they’re feeling different in a irreparable way, maybe it’s a man, stuck on how to express his feelings, either to his wife, or about his own sexuality, maybe he is unable to proceed with his dominance because the progress eludes him – the variables are endless.

The thing is…we are the captains of our own ship. We are the masters of our fate. Today may be a shit day but tomorrow may be better, if not a step towards being better. Something that people don’t realise, I certainly forget often, is — you’re in this for the long game. Progress takes time. You’ve got to fight like hell even when you feel you’re already there.

For submissive folk, don’t you ever feel weak. Realising you’re submissive takes great courage. Tapping into that submission takes great bravery. Exploring the aspirations of a submissive and it’s dynamic qualities takes tremendous strength.

Always remember that submission isn’t just simply obeying a dominant persona. It’s choosing a dominant persona. It’s granting access to your heart and mind. That takes guts, that takes a certain fearlessness. You should be proud of yourself.

For Dominant folk, remember that being dominant is so much more than protocol and order and sexual gratification, it’s love and trust and harnessing your mind – not just yourselves but the mind of your submissive. It’s about being tender, about being attentive and it’s about care. Here and now and in the future.

And if Dominance and submission is a one night thing, see it has tender and care and harnessing minds for that brief period. There’s still a moment that takes patience and respect into equation.

More importantly, and I speak to both dominants and submissives, don’t let someone walk over you. Don’t let someone boss you around. Don’t let your current situation, of destructive or helpless, put you down – because you can strive for a better future in which all is harmonious. And you can achieve that. It’ll take time, you may need to reboot your life, but you will survive so long as you believe in a positive future and in yourself.

You’ve got this.

The Rope

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Tangles of red rope reached across her pale flesh, cuffing around her inner thighs, resting at the edges of her lips.

The rope stretched along her stomach, forked diagonally upwards across her tits, where it would grind against her light pink and puffy nipples.

The rope scorched her, leaving behind thin broken lines seared into her flesh. Like dunes in a desert.

 

She was to remain on her stomach on the floor, her legs held up across her back and bounded by the rope.

Every inch of her was met with the coarse material. It was perverse, painful.

Even though she was only in the middle of their lounge room, she

felt exposed to the world and all its elements. Like a girl, like a lost little girl.

The knots started to itch against her, yet she became its slave, open and willing.

She dare not move, for the rope would only work against her, twisting and digging in a delightful mix of pain and pleasure.

She hated it yet loved it. For every thrill she felt from the sting, the rub of pain, she wanted to relieve her ache. She wanted to dull it, just a little. A little squeeze of her nipples, just a little. But she was bound, left to feel the lingering kiss of the rope.

 

She had learnt to be still the hard way.

Pressed against the wooden floor, she felt the cool teasing ache of its touch against her nipple. In her absence of reason, a fault of no one but her own she reflected soon after, she tried to move her body up, if only to slightly drag her hardened nipple across the floor, to satiate herself.

But upon even an inch of movement, the rope tightened. It dug a nice crevice into her breasts and began to leave its mark.

Oh, she had whimpered, had tried to flail like someone half her age, but in the end, she was bound to that spot on her stomach.

 

There she would remain, a wretched prisoner, a willing slave, till he returned home from the shops, just like he said he would.