The Wilderness Beckons

Just a few things before we get started – I don’t know if it’s needed but I know it got under my skin so – this piece features anxiety and that terrible mind-altering panic that comes with a panic attack. This may or may not be triggering. I don’t know how good of a writer I am in instilling that into a reader. But I know it gave me knots in my stomach.

Oh and this is long so get comfortable. I hope you enjoy.

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The restaurant was alive all around her – a hundred voices buzzing all at once. People gestured animatedly, some laughed uproariously.

Delilah couldn’t shut the noise out. It was going to consume her, this place. She was sinking into the chair and she’d continue to sink until she was absorbed into it, becoming just another piece of the environment.

“Are you okay?”

James’ voice shattered her thoughts into a thousand tiny pieces. They fell away from her grasp and scattered on their dinner table as she looked up at his kind face.

He was looking at her from across the dinner table, a look of concern in his deep, brown eyes.

Delilah’s eyes fell to his crinkled black dress shirt, to the crooked collar. She wanted – oh so badly – to reach across the space between them and fix that. It was bugging her.

She could have, by all means. But something held her still.

Was it the people around her, out at dinner themselves? She thought.

Is it because it’s our nine year anniversary and I’d only make even more of a fool of myself?

No, she thought, feeling her eyes lose focus on the crooked collar before her, it must be the rain outside. It had to be a change in the weather or a full moon or something screwing with her mind more so than usual.

Like a light flicking on, Delilah’s mind was drawn to the uncomfortable warmth in her armpits. She could feel herself starting to sweat. Did she apply enough deodorant?

Her body started to flush with a disgusting warmth that slithered from her spine down to her ass. She wanted to tear off this simple black floral dress and just get naked.

That was a feeling that hit her every now and then. A want, a need, to get whatever she was wearing off of her skin, like everything was itching at her, like nothing would settle her mind until she was completely naked. Sometimes it frustrated her so much she’d scream, other times it came with a sickening sensation that washed over her like warm water. With it, came a surreal understanding – a moment of clarity, perhaps – that what she was experiencing was erotic.

“Lilah? Lovely?”

Delilah looked at James. Lovely, normal James. Friendly James. Sweet James. Safe James.

“Let’s just go home and order something in. It’ll be just the two of us.”

James wasn’t just looking at her, he was reading her face. He knew her fidgeting habits, they had been together long enough for him to know, what he calls, her ‘tells’. Like she was a living poker game or something.

His face curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. They were on her, never wavering. Like he held her in his own steel trap.

Delilah wanted to run and keep running, till her panting and heaving and body sweat made her incapable of thought.

She opened her mouth to speak, her lips feeling cracked and dry, but all that came out was a quivering breath.

James, eyes never darting, smile never lighting them, gave a single nod.

“We’ll go. Okay?”

Delilah felt resistance grip her body and mind in a convulsion. James caught this too.

“It’s alright, really. Please, baby. I’m not mad. Okay? I promise this to you.”

His tone was perfect, his delivery sincere. Delilah had no reason to doubt him but doubt, of course, ran as an undercurrent underneath each word, sizzling with each sound the word itself made.

Think of something else, Delilah told herself.

I am a cat, slinking away in the night.

Something else.

I rest my head on a neat pile of foliage.

Something else!

This is the place I call home.

“Let me pay the check and we’ll go, yeah? I won’t wait.”

Before she could get out one word, if she even could – her mouth was hanging open – James rose to his feet and left their table to hunt down the bill.

Delilah’s palms were resting on either thigh, nails dug deep into the fabric of her dress. She could smell the remainder of their food mixed with her perfume. It made her want to be sick.

Her mind fell onto the audible track of her heart beating in her chest and in her ears.

Be quiet, she wanted to hiss. No words came.

What is wrong? With me, with this?

No words came.

The restaurant was going to open its jaws and swallow her whole any minute now – just bare its teeth and consume her, dress and shoes and pretty little panties and fucking everything. She would be gone. Totally.

Run, a voice hissed at her. Her own voice, calm and cool.

Delilah felt acid churn in her stomach, a terrible burning sensation gnawing at her insides.

Run! The voice hissed at her – louder this time.

Delilah shot up out of her chair, her crumpled dress falling back down around her pale legs.

Stumbling on legs like a newborn calf, she moved out from their table and down the gauntlet that had populated tables on either side.

Voices were all around her, overlapping one another. Laughing people, animated faces. Hundreds of conversations filling her mind.

Delilah couldn’t breathe. She stumbled towards the exit in a stupor, waiters and waitresses eyeing her as if she was ill or a ticking time bomb seconds away from erupting and disrupting.

Their eyes on her only drove her forward more so, the sick feeling in her gut rising.

As she reached for the doors to the restaurant, she began to retch. Her lips, sore from being dry too long, held in a sputtering cough.

Was the door to the restaurant push or pull? She didn’t know, she didn’t think. She shakily reached out and pulled the door. Pull was right.

Stepping into the evening was like stepping into a walk-in freezer.

Boy howdy, the chill was a snake winding up around her leg and underneath her dress. She could feel it’s icy touch run over her breasts through her thin, lacy bra and stab at her nipples.

Outside, the city was alive and very much awake still. People flooded the walkway before her, some eyeing her just as the workers behind her did, some pushing past her.

Delilah didn’t notice this. Feeling lightheaded, she crossed the road, her mind on the park across the street from her. Her eyes fixated on the tangled bushes that would shield her from..from all of this.

A yellow taxi came to a screeching halt before her. The driver stuck his head out the window to yell obscenities. This only shot more adrenaline into Delilah’s system. Pinpricks of heat flushed down her head, as if she was standing up suddenly.

Delilah’s legs knew what to do though. They moved quickly – one foot in front of the other, heels click-clacking on the asphalt. Delilah mimicked their rhythm vocally, as if humming to herself, as she crosses the road and pressed her way through treebranches and into the park ahead of her. The rhythm soothed her, distracted her.

When she felt the light from the road disappear behind her, darkness enveloping her, her legs kicked into a run.

A wooden pathway twisted and turned before her and off into the distance but Delilah didn’t care to be led – she just ran.

Was it normal for her heart to beat this fast for her age? Was this going to be her end, having a heart attack on the park grounds?

Delilah let the thought swirl around her and engorge her. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, sweet, sweet air gushing down into her lungs.

She felt her left heel fall off…then the right. She let it go. The ground, the dirt crunching beneath her feet felt right. It felt light, lighter than she had been in months.

Tears dribbled down her eyes, blurring the dark park and bush ahead of her while wetting the corners of her mouth. She could taste it – the light salt taste of herself. She could lose herself in it, the blurred parkway around her her.

Something grabbed ahold of her bare foot and Delilah’s vision lunges forward. She was flying through the air, soaring over a pile of leaves and sticks.

Suddenly pain exploded in her chest, as if she fell on solid concrete. A heaviness that rattled the teeth in her mouth.

Delilah was on her stomach on the ground, leaves in her hair, tears in her eyes. She let out a cough that had been building since she left the restaurant. Her chest heaved, her breasts aching with faint pain. A dry cough came out once – twice, clawing her throat and bringing more tears to her eyes.

She was going to be sick. She just knew this, some sort of sense her mind was firing off to her. Her whole body prepared itself as she began to retch, her stomach muscles convulsing.

She emptied her dinner out on the park grounds in a series of guttural cries.

Breathless, teary-eyed, somehow feeling fucking amazing from the endorphins flooding her system, Delilah knelt there on the floor, her dinner underneath her, sizzling into the leaves in the ground, kinda like the blood from the creature in ALIEN.

When she felt she was done vomiting, when she felt she was done catching her breath, she climbed to her feet, dead leaves sticking to her red and crinkled knees.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to let loose a scream that she could feel lodged in her throat like phlegm.

The only thing that kept her quiet was the idea of being caught – either by someone walking along the outskirts of the park or within.

Fear crept over now, replacing the primal urge to run and be naked. Here she was, standing on trembling legs, in near darkness. The only source of light seemed to be the moon in the night sky.

Delilah felt the cold once more then. It came in waves traveling over her skin. Wind kissed the back of her neck and tickled a strand of her hair.

Somewhere ahead of her, a twig crackled. Leaves rustled. The forest began to move – trees shaking as if they were the limbs of the forest coming to life.

Delilah felt more wind skim across the back of her legs. She spread her legs another inch apart to let it through and felt it rush through the gap between her thighs and leave her.

Her heart was working overtime again, her mind aware of its pumping in her chest and in her ears again.

I’m going to be attacked, she thought. I am going to be attacked or raped or both and it’s going to be my fault because James was back there and James was safe and why did I ever leave the restaurant. I do not like this place, not now, not at all.

From the shadows, a shape emerged – and Delilah willed her legs to move. Nothing.

Delilah couldn’t look away. Her eyes, her mind, was frozen on the shape before her.

She thought of a rapist, of a killer, of a figure with the body of a man and the head of an owl.

The shape itself seemed to ripple, as if reality was distorting around it, bending it to its will – and now Delilah would be next in line to be forced, wouldn’t she?

She caught sight of a leg stepping into the light…then another leg. Leg dotted with hair.

A man, Delilah thought and understood. A naked man. A junkie? A homeless man?

Shame flushed her cheeks for jumping to that conclusion.

Piercing green eyes materialised from the darkness. Dazzling emeralds fading into existence. Stars being born.

The rest of this man’s face emerged from the darkness, staring blankly at her, his medium length dark hair – or shadowed hair – seemingly slick back with something. Sweat?

The man stepped further into the light, his toned arms catching the kiss of the moon. He was naked, Delilah realised. Utterly naked.

She wanted to avert her eyes but couldn’t. Something was holding her in place, keeping her vision on his eyes.

Even out of the corner of her eyes, as he took one step further, Delilah could see his cock, masked lightly by a thin cover of pubic hair.

A breath caught in her throat as the naked man stood before her. He did not speak, he did not smile. He only stood watching her, his glowing eyes never leaving her.

Delilah felt her knees buckle – and tried to right herself – but she collapsed to her knees, inches away from her own vomit.

She knew this, she was thinking this, but her eyes never left the man before. The handsome man, the gorgeous man. Was that a dimple on his right cheek?

Delilah felt lost in a daze, like waking from a dream. Her eyelids felt heavy when she blinked through the tears forming in her eyes.

Before she realised what she was doing, her hands were lifting simultaneously to the straps of her dress. They peeled the thin tangle down her lightly-tanned shoulders.

Suddenly, she knew, deep in her mind and heart, that she wanted to get naked for this man. She wanted to him to see her naked. She wanted him to gaze upon her small breasts, upon the freckle above her belly button, upon her belly button herself.

Why she wasn’t naked already, waiting for him, she didn’t know. How silly she had been, not to be proper.

Delilah stuffed the dress down around her waist, hoping – secretly hoping – this man would like the fluffy detailing of her white lacy bra that hugged her cool skin. She thought it was fun and girly and maybe He would appreciate it more then James did when she was getting dressed for their date. Maybe He knew what to do about her, unlike James.

Delilah peeled off the dress further, wriggling out of it.

She blinked tears away as her hands didn’t miss a beat, they reached behind her to deftly unclasp her bra. Her small breasts felt the bra become unhooked and savoured the freedom, savoured the night air. Her little pink nipples hardened at the touch of it.

Delilah only wanted to please this man. She knew she could do this by offering herself as a tribute. Her body, her mind, her soul. Deep in her heart she knew this to be true.

As her bra fell away, as she tossed it aside, not minding where it fell, she could hear blood pumping away in her ears. The deafening, sickening noise created for her some kind of thick, pulsating beat to which she could continue to undress to.

She shifted from where she was, peeling her dress away from her legs and letting it fall to a clump by her feet.

Now she was just in her underwear – black, lacy underwear, with a little pink bow front and centre. Delilah couldn’t shake the girly feeling that washed over her mind, slathering her body with slick sweat. She couldn’t shake this feeling that before Him she was a child – or worse, an infant.

Panic started to zigzag across her body in thousands of tiny pinpricks of heat. What if she wasn’t good enough for Him? What if He rejected her offering. What if He rejected HER?

The man knelt beside her, her eyes darting between hers, unreadable. His lips parted, he spoke something, his voice deep, the words in a language Delilah’s mind couldn’t process.

Her eyes fell. She wasn’t doing that on her own accord, she just followed the line of sight as they dropped down to his thick, hard cock.

A strange hunger filled her suddenly. She wanted to crawl on her knees towards his cock and guide it into her mouth. That felt, to her, like the right thing to do.

Just letting the idea play out in her mind, like a short film only for her, made her chest swell with pride. Would He enjoy her mouth? Would she be a good girl?

It all happened so fast.

The man shot out toward her – lightening fast, Delilah thought, before her vision went tumbling upside down. She felt the drop in her gut, like she was plummeting down a hill in a roller coaster.

The forest before her suddenly became still. Delilah could see the skinny trees stretch out into the darkness before her. That darkness seemed to swallow everything in front of her. Delilah was on all fours at the edge of the world, leaves and dirt crunching underneath her hands and knees.

Heart rabbiting in her chest, blood thunderous in her ears, Delilah struggled against the Man’s grip but he had her held tightly. She could feel his fingers digging into her sides, her mind painting the picture of reddened fingertips and her flesh turning white at the grip.

Delilah’s nostrils filled with the earthy scent of dying leaves and dirt. The scent of —

Her senses exploded, blood rushing to her head, swaying her vision. She could feel it, burrowing deep into her cunt – His cock. She wasn’t prepared for it, her body wasn’t prepared for it. Her cunt wasn’t ready for it.

Her chest seized tight, knocking air from her lungs. It came out of her in a wheeze.

“J..James…” Delilah managed to struggle out, her mind reeling and racing and running wildly with thoughts. Thoughts that didn’t come fully formed. Something was happening to her mind.

It came to her attention, then and there, her cunt muscles were clenched as His cock was buried within her. It only came to her because when she felt his cock slip out of her, she felt her muscles retract.

A moan escaped her lips as she felt a tickle there between her legs, something she hadn’t felt in a while. Something she now wanted more of – desperately.

Delilah heard Him grunt behind her as she felt the thrust, as she felt his balls smack against the inside of her thigh.

Feeling him fill her again filled her with a giddiness she couldn’t describe. Her mind reeling, vision swaying again, she fell forward, small breasts hitting the rough texture of dying leaves.

They crunched underneath her, pricking her flesh.

It all happened so fast, being flipped over and penetrated like this. And yet…pride was swelling in the back of her mind. Pride tinged with satisfaction – at being chosen.

Her life seemed all the more distant with each thrust the man took.

Delilah welcomed all of it. The force behind her, the earth underneath her, scratching her skin raw. Her knees, buckling under the weight of Him.

Oh she was pinned to the Earth and unable to escape but she wasn’t a victim. No, she was an offering. She felt that more than ever now, pride swirling with the ravenous hunger that had been building in the pit of her gut. She was a fitting offering. Possibly even the best ever. Was that too much to ask of Him?

Delilah felt her body grind into the dirt, creating a little crevice, a little groove. She felt flecks of dirt stick to her skin, rub at her skin.

A part of her wanted to crawl up to her knees and rest up against the Man. In her mind, she could see it just as she could see the ground before her now – she would climb to her knees, His cock slipping out of her cunt, smacking against his legs as she came to grind her ass back into him, teasing her in a way she never could before she had run into the park. Into this other world.

Delilah let the moment wash over her. She could feel his cock stretch her lips apart, she embraced this fullness feeling that made her giddy and made her feel sick at the same time.

Behind her, He grunted with each thrust, muttering under his breath in between panting.

Delilah lost herself in the rhythm of the act, each thrust for her becoming a welcomed embrace and a welcomed retreat. It was intoxicating, addicting. She wanted it, she wanted HIM. Again. And again.

“Harder” She tried to say – but all that came out of her was a squeak.

Delilah tried to speak again. She opened her mouth, her little tongue ready with the words, but instead a growl came out of her.

She felt her throat burn with the low noise, she felt her jaw clench as the end of it came rippling out of her lips.

Frustrated, she balled her fists into the earth and shakily rose herself up on them, in a way that felt like she was doing push-ups. Her arms ached as they took the weight.

Her intent was in lifting her ass back into Him. She wanted to grind against him, to feel His cock nestled between her ass cheeks.

Her whole body started to shake as she rose higher, arching her back and lifting her ass.

An explosion went off in her temples, tears formed instantly in her mind. She had been hit. No – smacked.

Her body was back down against the dirt, her breasts squished underneath her.

As Delilah blinked through the tears, her mind unraveled the thread of the mystery. Her ass was stinging where the man had smacked her. She could feel the bite on her left ass cheek, radiating pain. Pain that felt strangely good.

A memory came to the forefront of her mind, as if rattled loose by the smack.

Delilah was lying naked on her stomach on the bed she shared with James, her head buried into the bed quilt. Her ass was lifted into the air, feeling the cool kiss of the winter night.

Smack me, she had asked James – and he had obliged, only gently. Too gently for her own tastes.

Harder, she had asked, and James tried, but a sinking feeling began to manifest in Delilah. She knew his heart wasn’t it. She just knew.

That was a few months ago now.

Delilah’s mind returned to the present. She was panting, body sinking into the ground, ass stinging even with the cool night air clutching at her skin.

She opened her mouth, to respond to Him, but before the words could leave her lips, pain burst across her right ass cheek, rippling across her body. His open hand.

Then came shuffling and crunching – dirt and leaves and grass rustling. Then crackling. As if a camp fire was nearby. But if a campfire was —

Another eruption of pain, clawing at her ass, this time in the centre, and tougher. Harder. Not a hand this time, Delilah thought, her mind still processing the pain, but something else. A stick?

The something else came across her bare skin again, sending pain pulsating up across her thighs.

Delilah felt the pain, red hot and searing, and knew her skin was scratched open and bleeding. She just knew this to be true.

And yet…that feeling of pride was still with her, still in her, still aching like her soaked cunt. She understood to take this without a word, without a complaint. She would show him that she was worthy, that, yes, she was wrong to lift her ass to Him. Things could’ve come to her in due time.

That’s when she felt the crack of the stick against her cunt.

Delilah let out a howl – not just at the pain of it against her wet lips — she was extremely sensitive. That was an explosion of pain and pleasure in itself.

Before her howl had finished, Delilah was smacked again, this time a jagged piece of branch clawed across her clit. This caused the end of her howl to come out in a strangled whimper.

She could feel it there, the presence of the branch, even when it wasn’t there at all. She could feel its sting along her exposed slight.

And yet, exhilaration throbbed through her body, leaving her a quivering mess on the ground. She had always wanted this, to be spanked, hard and fast and raw. She had always wanted to be at the mercy of James but he confessed to her that he didn’t know how, that he couldn’t find that space.

All of this come flooding back to her as her cunt and ass throbbed with pain and pleasure simultaneously.

“Please.” Delilah managed to choke out. “Please. I will behave. I —“

She felt him enter her tortured cunt then. The rest of her sentence came out in a strained wheeze.

It fell upon her without warning, clawing at her cunt, seizing her leg muscles, blood rushing to her head, her senses in disarray, her vision a blur. Her orgasm came gushing over her in waves, forcing a grunt, deep and alien, out of clenched mouth.

Her face collapsed into the dirt. A dust cloud swept upwards into the air. Delilah let herself rest in the dirt. She was frozen. She couldn’t move. Even when she felt the cock rip itself from her sensitive little cunt, she couldn’t move. Her body went into a spasm but she didn’t move.

She lay there dazed, breathless. Her mind unable to string together a thought.

It was only when she heard the sound of something behind her exposed self crashing into the grass behind her, followed by silence, that she crawled up into a squat on shaky arms and legs. She lost her balance and fell backwards onto her ass. Pain once more shooting up her body in flaring hot tendrils.

Swerving around in a spin, Delilah looked and —- the man was gone. He was gone. Her lover, her punisher was gone.

Her mind was stuttering, trying to form a cohesive thought. Who was-

Why was —

Why did He —

What was so wrong with –

“Come back..” She whispered to the darkness around her. “I’m sorry I….please come back…”

Delilah hugged her knees. Brown, dead leaves stuck to her legs.

She felt her inflamed ass and longed for another smack to focus on. Anything instead of this encroaching darkness.

Her dress and underwear were where she left them. They were covered in dirt and leaves, just like her naked self.

Stunned and dumbstruck, reeling from the orgasm, from the absence of pain and of Him, Delilah began to slowly get dressed again.

***

James was sitting back in his seat when he saw Delilah emerge from the park.

He stumbled to his feet, the forks and knives on the table before him clattering.

All this time he thought she was in the bathroom. Calming down from a panic or what, he just did not know. Calling her resulted in going straight to voicemail. And who could he ask to check in on her? His only option was to sit and wait.

To hell with looking silly to those dining around him, his mind was only on Delilah and whether she was okay.

James was out the restaurant doors in just one breath. He was crossing the road in another breath, his eyes darting from her dirtied knees and bare feet to her distant eyes, caked with tears.

“Jesus, Lilah, what happened?”

When he reached her, he went to put his arms around her. She shrank away from his touch, her eyes looking down, her lips trembling.

James understood. He knew she didn’t like to be touched at the height of a panic.

Questions and answers would come later. Now she needed rest or a safe place or a bath or Netflix or something.

James put his arm around her slowly, gently. Delilah didn’t shrink away this time, her eyes were frozen on the ground.

Together, they made their way back to James’ car in silence.

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.

In Which I Ramble About Primal Spirituality

I can’t blame people for thinking that being primal and feeling primal is all about pet play and all that entails. After all, in the beginning, when I didn’t know better, that’s where my mind jumped to.

But readers….goodness, it is so much more than that.

Ever since identifying as a primal here on this blog, I’ve had people ask me what it means exactly, and I’ve had many a philosophical discussions, some that move towards the analytical. To seek to understand.

I had an encounter today – think native Americans and howling – that triggered this feeling within me. A fondness for running wild, the wind on my skin, heart racing in my chest, howling until my throat was raw.

Being primal for me isn’t just a sexual fetish that I happen to enjoy, it’s almost a way of life, a wild feeling deep within me that wants to roam. It isn’t restlessness, not anymore (though I did feel that with my ex wife), but it’s more that I feel like being out in the wild, in communion with nature and other wild free ones such as myself. It’s a feeling where I want to go sit around a fire, worry about nothing and enjoy the evening and all of its splendour. It’s wanting to live, not exist, in this environment.

I struggle to explain the feeling, I know. I’ve talked in circles with people who ask and I feel bad about it because they ask me in the first place. It’s just this deep feeling that comes about. Of being in a tribe or a pack, of being one amongst a few other wild ones. It’s this and a whole bunch of other things. A need to howl till my throat is raw, to beat my chest and hoot.

Sometimes it even comes to identifying as an animal. A wolf or a bear perhaps. Because, see, you start to feel like there’s characteristics there within you. Traits like the animal. And maybe there are.

I used to think I was crazy for thinking this. It sounded delusional, to liken yourself to a wild animal, to feel animalistic sometimes. But then I discovered it was common in primal people. It’s so common that there exists packs of close friends, people that run together and hang together. I wasn’t alone.

And, at the end of a day, it goes deeper than just being primal. Because kink and BDSM can be spiritual for each and everyone of us. And sometimes we don’t know why we are drawn so deeply to it, we just FEEL it. Like an epiphany swelling in our chest. It’s there and raw and unfiltered and you shouldn’t shy from it, you should let it wash over you.

So if I had to end this day, and this piece, for you, dear readers of my blog, to which I’m eternally grateful for, then I want to end this moment with a little note: You are not crazy. You never were. This is just another piece of the puzzle. Take care of yourself. I’m always a message away if you feel like you are going stir crazy.

The Interview

Dear Lord, I can still see her in my mind, sprawled out on the chocolate leather couch of my home theatre. I can still picture her eyes, the lightest green I’ve ever seen, looking at me in a way that feels vaguely fox-like.

Freckles are splashed across her fair skin sporadically. Her hair – the faintest colour of orange – falls across her arms, drapes across her small breasts.

Her breasts…like Snow White, only her nipples are ruby coloured, hardening for me as they are.

And Dear Lord, I can still see her pubic hair. Do you know how torturing it is, this gift you’ve given? I can see her slit when I close my eyes, down to a single red hair.

I can see her pubic hair, like a slash of fire across her slit. When she shifts her legs, for a second I can see her arousal glisten underneath the soft lights.

I remember asking me something, leaning back on the couch, because I remember thinking that the scene reminds me of The Graduate, but I couldn’t tell you what words she spoke, only that her voice sounded silky smooth, with a playful edge.

Why did she come to my home? Why does she interview me in my home theatre, notepad once across her lap before she started to undress.

Why was so she patient, as the unseen man behind the curtain drew me away from the home Theater – to see to my meddling cat, to address a question to my meddling guests. Don’t they see that I have questions to answer to this lady myself?

I think what perplexes the most, as I ease my cock into this woman, is how much I wanted her.

God, has anything ever felt any better than when I ease into her tight, wet snatch? Has anything ever felt better on my ears, to hear her moan in time to my thrusts?

God…Satan…Angels…Devils…don’t watch me consume this woman, don’t watch me sink into her skin as we become one with one another.

Who am I kidding? I can’t look away. Not from the watchful lightest green eyes of this woman.

Why does she want me so bad? Why me? What do those green eyes see?

As much as my cock is driven by the feeling of her each time I split her lips apart and slide in, I’m driven by the sight of her – sinking into the couch, twisting her head to the left to let out a moan, her hair across her shoulders in tangles.

Who is this cruel mistress? Who are you and why are you here? I want to ask her, but I’m transfixed by her with each move, unable to tear myself from her in the confines of the home theatre.

The interview will continue another time.

On My Mental Health & Nudity

Getting naked and being naked was a part of my journey into becoming more at ease with my sexuality. It was another piece of the puzzle in learning how to hold on to that confidence for myself. It was about learning to rewire my thoughts so I can learn to overcome my insecurity.

I can’t really put my finger on why that it is. Maybe it was because I spent my childhood on acres of bush land and developed a primal way to living. Maybe it was because I was raised in a conservative catholic household and nudity carried with it a sense of exhilaration, of something I shouldn’t be doing but am getting away with – something I still feel and know that others still feel in their own exhibitionist explorations.

Nudity was more than that though. It allowed me to confront my own sexuality and my own thoughts on kink and BDSM. It felt like a scalding shower, like I was stripping away the bullshit and there was nothing left but my vulnerable mind, raw and reeling.

I know being comfortable with my nudity was a turning point for me. I took nude selfies on Fetlife, challenging my perceptions. It helped that randoms found these photos and responded to him positively – but I feel that the real hurdle was just putting them online, of taking that dangerous leap into the unknown. Because the unknown is terrifying when we stare back into it, until we start to inch forward day by day – or even take that plunge.

Nudity allowed me to be in touch with all sorts of animalistic thoughts, some born from the exhilaration buzzing through me, some bubbling to the surface. By stripping away my clothes, I felt this weird sense of being in communion with the world around me. I felt positively charged. I felt good about exploring my racing thoughts as I was naked because I learned to sit with them. Day by day, I sat with them for a few minutes in a hour. Then I did that again the next day.

I resisted it in the beginning, feeling guilty and gross and nauseated. I felt that I wanted to hide away. But in the end, long story short and after much resistance and baby steps, I pieced together how I felt, thereby confronting my own insecurities.

When a new dominant or submissive writes in to me and asks about the ways in which they can confront their own feelings, I often recommend a period of reflection in the nude. As a mentor, I’ve recommended what has worked for me. And sometimes it helps or feels worthwhile for the individual, sometimes it doesn’t work at all. Everyone is different.

For me, growing at ease with myself and learning how to own this insecurity within myself meant coming to terms with the shape of my body. There’s a lot of things connected to nudity for me – my animalism, my dominance, my comfort. It was all knitted together from childhood, left for me to examine years later.

These days, I still feel silly or shy, but these moments are fleeting. I know my mind now and diffusing negative thoughts has become a little easier.

Pent Up

Being at my folks for Christmas is a beautiful thing I’ll cherish forever, but being isolated in rural countryside is tapping into my animalistic spirit. I want to run, I need to run. It’s clawing at me. And I can’t help but claw at my kitten, only for her to behave, out of respect for my family and our thin walls around the bedroom we are staying in.

I’m looking forward to getting back to my own house and claiming my lady so hard to make up for all the lost time. I need to mark my territory, shoot my load all over till I’m spent. I can’t stand looking into her eyes, which flicker with submission, and being unable to take her.

Those big, beautiful blue eyes as she looks up at me. I know she feels it. I can sense that in her. I hope I make her as soaked at times as she makes me achingly hard.

The thing is, something stops me – from masturbating in the shower, from taking her. Is she daring me? Is she teasing me? Does she secretly want me to take control? I feel I know her tones by now but sometimes the animal in me wonders.

God, if it wasn’t so crowded, I would tear off my clothes and go running through the acres of land my parents have, panting, sweating, clawing, seething, growling. I want to peel those clothes off till I see your bare, pale ass, till I see the animal hidden underneath – the animal no one else knows. I want to lay you down on the grass and inhale your scent till the presence of me before your sensitive pussy lips can’t handle it anymore and starts to soak, starts to drip. I want to break through sense and reason and reality and take us beyond this world and into something and somewhere else. Ascension? An alternate reality? Take me, O take me fucking there, please gods and goddesses of the wild. I pledge to you my heart and mind and cock and body. I want to slide right into her without warning, to hear her gasp and squeak. To fill her like she hasn’t been filled before.

But. That will come. Time to wear my mask and be in plain sight hiding.

Being Naked In The Wintertime

Being naked in the winter time has been absolutely thrilling to me this year. Yes, there have been moments where it’s been a freezing 6 degrees Celsius but this year, I feel like I have been experimenting with letting that cold linger on my body.

I sleep naked in the winter. I have an all powerful blanket – and even my lady to snuggle – but the moments where I first fall or roll or collapse into bed and the cold just cancels out all thought – the sheets are like ice, the air skins across my feet, lifting across my ass and to my cock…it’s….incredible.

Anything I was thinking of before I hopped into bed – responding to email, dinner tomorrow, my cat yowling at closed doors – it’s all gone. I – a Dominant – is completely dominated by the weather. I’m frozen in place – pun maybe intended – my body unable to reboot as my primal side emerges. I suddenly want to roll around and snark and drool and Fuck myself into bed until I come hard all over my own stomach – or just grind into the bed until I fall asleep.

On other days, I find myself naked even with the chill around me. Come 2am, I have sat on my lounge utterly naked and have meditated on the cold, feeling it all around me. Feeling….wild and unabashed and charged with energy.

There’s a peacefulness to being naked during winter. Not only are you striped bare, the cold is confronting. You leave aside your world and are left to focus, perhaps more than ever, on your senses. How your heart flutters, how you are breathing, how the cold reaches in to the very core of you and holds you there to confront the stillness.

We’re so busy, us humans. We’re always thinking of cooking dinner, working hard, remembering birthdays, attending to meetings, making sure to stay in contact with friends and family. We never allow time to just exist in the moment and feel. We rarely stop, put the phone down and sit still a moment.

Perhaps you can do this too. Find a moment in your day, set aside, say 15 minutes. Find your favourite spot to just unwind – your bedroom, your couch, somewhere outdoors hidden from the neighbours.

Put down the phone. Undress. Listen to your world, your heart and your breathing. What do you find in your stillness?

If you decided to try this, do let me know how you found it either by comment section or email. If you can’t unwind and become frustrated, don’t let it get to you – it takes a while to adjust to sitting still. It will take practice.

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.

On My Religion, Sexuality and Love

If you’re a long time reader, chances are you’ve read me touch on my catholic upbringing as a child and into my teens and how that affected my sexuality. Talking or writing about it at length, though, is something I haven’t done here – and for no real reason, I just haven’t felt it was an interesting topic to anyone but me.

I want to address that. However I will ask you to bear with me, it might get messy.

My father and mother were devout Catholics and raised me as such. I did the whole nine yards – reconciliation, monthly confessions, communion, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday’s, Stations of the cross, Sunday Mass – the whole shebang.

We were a conservative Catholic household and lived a conservative Catholic life. Even the sheer sight of me shirtless around the house would cause outcry. Playful or not, I cannot say, but I just wanted to raise this point.

When I was 12, I started to catch on about sex. My dad, when confronted with the notion, told me flatly ‘Yeah, we did!’. As an adult, my mum would tell me it was my dad’s job to address it as she did to my sisters. As an adult, my dad would tell me he never did enough for me. I wonder if he remembers that conversation.

As a 12 year old though, I was weird sexually. I’m taking masturbation in the weirdest places, I’m talking being excited that I’d have the house myself so I can be naked, I’m talking the primal masturbating in the mud in a frenzy – weird.

Thing was, I was making sense of myself. I found the pulse within myself that reacted against my catholic teachings to be naked, to be primal, to fight back against the feelings of shame – which I very well have now writing this, even though I understand how implausible those feelings are.

This reactionary behaviour paved the way for me to explore myself sexually as a teenager, which led to writing erotica and eventually to the wide world of BDSM and kink.

Looking back as I write this, sex – for me – is a battle between two minds. There’s the part of me who is relaxed and in control and vibrant and flourishing and then —- there’s the insecure part of me, questioning – constantly questioning, telling me that what I want, what I’ve always wanted, won’t be accepted. Somehow I know this to be a product of what I was taught, teaching me that to be naked, to want degradation, humiliation, is all wrong. Disgusting.

These days I have good control over the other part of my brain, though it does exist during my most intimate moments. However, during my twenties, that wasn’t the case.

I can distinctly remember feeling the rush of being in the moment, sexually and as a dominant, and then coming down from that high terrifies, not knowing what that meant, guilty because of my actions – my need to command, to dress, to be sadistic.

I thought I was in the wrong for years, with every kinky discovery bringing with it a wave of shame and a terrifying feeling that, after so long of living my life, I would have to reboot EVERYTHING I knew. This feeling, this scary realisation, led me to suppress it, at this point strengthened by the fact that I was in a relationship with a woman I loved but had zero interest in kink, D/s or BDSM.

Hell, I don’t even know now, years later, if my depression and anxiety is merely hereditary or a manifestation of my upbringing as a conservative Catholic. I can only guess and say it’s hereditary plus the upbringing PLUS my social experiences as a teenager. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was shy. I was quiet. I still am.

What helped me, what still does – is trying to remember that my own development is important, that my happiness is important and that people like you, my dear readers, or kitten will accept me and my kinks and that it doesn’t mean I’m insane or sick or mentally ill.

These days, I’m not a practicing religious person – but I am spiritual. I live by a set of rules – to be kind to people, to love openly and accept everyone. I pray for my loves and my life and my animals but I consider my relationship between myself and God something entirely different to what’s prescribed in the bible. If that makes me agnostic or something, so be it, but I’d like to think that love is all you need and that if God exists, He – or she – would want me to be happy to my fullest extent. Outside of that, I try to be as kinky as I want 24/7. True to myself, in other words.

So was religion / being religious the catalyst for my feelings during sex? My anxiety? My development as a man? I’m not sure. I cannot say. I’m only a writer, half naked, musing to himself on a cool Monday morning.

12 Days of Kinkmas: Day #10: ——— —

lonely-slave-girl-dark-cell-bondage

Nothing mattered but her.
Her soft moans, her delicious whimpers, her frantic breathless voice begging for him to fuck her sweet self, the words that came out of her mouth.
Their bodies were one, lathered in sweat, united in ecstasy, a symphony of sight and sound. The purest form of pleasure, pain and anything else in between.
He had never felt so high than he did now, slipping out of her drenched little cunt before tearing back into her again, not even bothering to ease gently.
The rhythm was an addiction, feeling his cock ease into her, pushing past her smooth lips, feeling him becoming absorbed in her. Lather, rinse and repeat.
No word, in any language, could describe just how it felt to fuck this woman – not make love to, not gently – fuck.
This was life. This was death. This was madness.
When his cock slipped from her, she grunted, frustrated playfully, whimpering for him to put it back in, hurry please. He did. He found her again. The rhythm came and he was not far behind. He

 Held onto her hips as they met each other, her back into him and he into her. Her cries were different now, genuine. Sad. Mixed with pleasure.
A terrible uneasiness slithered over his body, casting an icy chill over the sweat lathered across him.
Where was he, who is this bent over him? He went to pull away and something cool and solid pulled at him. Chains.
He was naked, mid-intercourse with a woman, a –
He looked at her; the blonde woman was now turning around from where she had knelt before him, glazed with sweat. Her eyes were furious, yet questioning.
His chest tightened, a scream was gestating in the pit of his stomach. He looked around and saw only darkness.
His senses were kicking in. There was hay at his feet, pinching at his knees. The floor was cement – cold, hard exposed cement.
He could hear movement around him, other gasps, other moans, and feminine, masculine, other sexes.
He opened his mouth to scream, it was rising in his throat.

“Don’t” The woman before him spoke in hushed tones. “They’ll hear and they’ll punish..”
“Where….”
Speaking felt strange. His throat was sore; Freddy Krueger was at work down there. Dehydrated maybe? He blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness.
“Are you? Who knows? Not me. Not them…”
“What the fuck is going on….” His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours or days.
“You don’t know….” The woman said. Realisation was in her voice.
“’Course. That’s why you took me so willingly…you were still drugged…”
“Drugged?”
“What do you remember?”
He racked his brain. What did he remember? He was….someone….where was he? Home? At work? Shopping? How did he get here?
“It’ll come back to you.” The woman spoke. “My name’s Alex. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Days? Weeks? I can’t tell. Anyway. You better get on it with it.”
“What?”
“You better finish…you know….You’ve got to come within me.”
“Why the fuck for?”
His body was beginning to tremble. Anxiety swept over him, bringing with it the wave of panic.
“Because that’s what they want you to do. To get us pregnant.”
“I can’t!”
“You must, else you’ll end up like the rest – dead. And someone else will replace you. There’s always someone else.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“I’ve seen people refuse, I’ve seen them leave this room and never come back. Look around you, the others…they’re ignoring us. Why do you think that is?”
“I….”
“Look, I don’t want to die. You’ve got to come. Otherwise, we’ll both be punished..”
Footsteps. Fading in from somewhere. Shuffling on the floor. Getting closer.
“You’ve got to do it” The woman hissed.
“This is absurd –“

Door hinges squeaked, light flooded the room.
He blinked at the light, shielding his face, as footsteps broke the deathly silence – and then –

Nothing at all.
The man blinked until his eyes adjusted, he looked down the barren room, spotting two other couples – no, three – all nude, all huddled together against the grey concrete walls, all looking back in the direction of the light.
“I’ve been told you didn’t want to proceed.”
A male voice from the light.
Tightness gripped the man’s chest. He kept his head low – how did they know?
He cast a look at the woman named Alex, her eyes wide and terrified.
“I can’t. You can’t ask me to rape this girl. She’s what…? Barely 17?”
The man at the far end of the room huddled against the wall. He looked like a dad – thin grey moustache, shaved head that could’ve been bald. The woman in question did indeed look barely 17, it was in her face. Her body, though, was different, her breasts were large and her pubic hair was trimmed well.
The figure strode past the man, his cologne choking the air. He was dressed all in black, a hood concealing his hair, a mask concealing his face. His voice deep. Changed. Altered by something. His boots seemed to have a presence all on their own as he walked, clomping down on the floor.
“You are wasting our time then.”
“Look, please – you’ve got to let me, I mean her, go.  I will do what you ask but this is no place for a girl.”
The masked man sighed. “Fair.”
The Dad sighed in a relief the man felt in his chest. “Thank you, that’s all I ask. We won’t tell anyone, I won’t –“
Sound exploded through the room.
A woman screamed.
Muffled voices and – ringing, emerging above it all. Ringing so loud it throbbed in the pit of the man’s ear.
“Get him out of here, dump him with the rest. Consider him a lost cause.”
Sobbing came low quietly as two other figures dragged the corpse of the dad out of view and into the saturated light.
To the figure left behind him, the masked man said – “Find another for the girl. Quickly.”
The figure left, leaving the masked man, seemingly in charge, alone in the room.
Silence.
“You.”
The chill swept over his body. He felt like he needed to vomit.
“You’re new. Aren’t you?”
The masked man didn’t wait for a response.
“Let that waste of a life be an example to you. We are all part of…one great cause.”
Even digitised and altered, the voice seemed to relish saying we are all part of one great cause, as if it aroused him.
The altered man cocked his head at Alex, who sat with her back against the wall, looking down at the floor.
The altered man then turned and left – the light retreating from the room until they were covered in the darkness once more.

The man listened for the footsteps…waiting to hear them fade….and then turned to Alex.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
A voice hissed at him from the darkness. “There is no escape, don’t you get that now?”
“Ssshut up” Another voice hissed.
To the man’s right, there was movement, low moaning. A man groaned in the throes of his climax. He peered back to Alex, feeling her eyes on him.
“Hey” She said softly. “It’s okay. You’re….you’re nice, you know? I can sense that. It’ll be okay…”
Her body scuffed the concrete, her arm reaching out gingerly in the darkness to find his.
“Make it quick. Hope for the best.”
Light flooded the room. Door hinges screamed. Two masked figures stepped inside as the man blinked the light into his eyes and accepted its warmth.
He looked to see one figure stride over to his right, where the man was still coming down from his climax.
The figured shoved this man aside into the wall – paused – then knelt down and studied the whimpering lady.
The woman, freckles across her body, fair red hair, sat against the concrete wall, her head buried in her arms.
“This one’s got spunk dripping outta ‘er.” The figure spoke, voice altered.
“Good.” The other said from the doorway. “Means he’s working well aye.”
The first figure laughed, which came out as a distorted garble. “Let’s go.”
He turned to leave, following after the one in the doorway.
The room fell back into darkness.
To the man’s right, the woman was breathing shakily. The man went to speak, when he felt Alex’s hand on his wrist again. “Leave it.”
A beat.
The man looked to the right then back to where Alex was before him, bent aon all fours in front of him, her cunt glistening in the darkness.
That was when he had an idea.
“I’m done! Hello? Hey, I’m done over here. Finished!”
Footsteps.
“Definitely done. All of it.”

The light flooded in the room. A sole figure stepped through and looked across the room at the men and women inside.
“Who speaks?” Came the garbled voice.
The man raised his trembling hand. He was working on pure adrenaline.
“I do. I’ve, uh…I’ve done it. What now.”
The figure approached, toting his rifle.
“Now you wait. And do it again.”
“Really? Is that how impregnation works? I’m…”
The figure stepped closer.
“I’m not sure…you know?”
Just a little bit further.
“Just do it again.”
The figure was over him now, gun in his face.
“Okay.”

A beat. The figure looked down at him, his breathing coming out in short altered bursts. He turned to leave.
The man grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him down. He hit the concrete with a hard THUNK and let out a garbled groan. The men and women panicked but the man was dragging the figure towards him by the leg.
When the figure raised the rifle, Alex yanked it free, clumsily ripping it from the hands of this man.
The figure was now reaching for the walkie-talkie attached to his belt, the walkie-talkie that the man hadn’t noticed yet. The man swirled the chain linking his hands together around the neck of the figure and pulled.
The figure, heavily built, leaned back into the man, kicking his legs out. Somewhere a woman was sobbing quietly.
The man didn’t know what he was doing, he hadn’t killed anyone before, he didn’t think, he had never strangled anyone, so he gripped the chain around the neck tightly, pulling, pulling with all of his might.
Alex freed the walkie-talkie from his belt and tossed it aside.
The figure was now reaching back to the man, his hands swatting at anything to get a grip of, to pinch, to pull, to get some ground.
The two men were grunting now, straining.
How hard did he have to pull the chain against his neck? How hard did he have to choke him before –
Alex raised the rifle. The butt of it came down on his head. Once. Twice. Three times.
Alex was grunting. Crying. On the verge of screaming.
The figure had fallen limp, sprawled out on the floor. Dead weight.
This time it was the man who put his hand gently to Alex, telling her it was okay, it would be all right, even if he weren’t sure, not entirely.
She quivered, sniffled, and shakily said, “Okay.”

A beat.

Quietly and quickly, Alex and the man searched him down for a key, finding nothing but cigarettes in only his left pocket.
“Fuck.” Alex spat.
The man searched across the floor, squinting in the darkness where the light from the doorway couldn’t reach. Nothing.
Alex was already on it.
“Put your arms on the floor.”
“What?”
“Just do it. And be still about it.”
The man did so, not yet realising he was holding his breath.
“Whatever you’re doing, do it fast.”
He could hear footsteps in the distance.
TWHACK.
His hand flew loose, the chains dangling from his wrists.
“What the fu-?”
TWHACK.
His right arm flew free of the wall chains.
“You shot me?”
“Quick. Do me.”
Alex stuffed the rifle to his chest.
“I don’t know how to shoot.”
“Hold your breath. Watch your eye. Realise your aim. Aim with your heart.”
“What?”
“Do it.” Alex hissed quietly.
The man aimed, shakily; now realising he was holding his breathe. He exhaled, his hands sweaty, trickling down his wrists.
Thwack. Thwack.
Alex grabbed the rifle, rose to her feet. The man watched in awe as she went from man to woman, freeing them of their chains with the silenced rifle. One by one the men and women rose to their feet, shakily, gingerly.

When all of them were freed, Alex seemed to take command.
“Who were you?” The man asked breathlessly.
“I….don’t know.” Alex replied matter-of-factly.
She handed the rifle to the man, who didn’t know how to hold it.
When he took it, she peered down the hallway, her eyes scanning, and her pupils large.
“Looks to be empty. But….
She turned to the small group of people. “We’ve got to go. Stay low and follow me…”
They moved low as one – one after the other, through a dilapidated hallway, the wallpaper peeling, water damage in the corners. Everything smelt of mould.
Up ahead – double doors to the left. Alex tried the rusty doorknob, the door squeaked as loud as the door to their prison.
Beyond the double doors was a stairwell only leading up. They were on the bottom floor.
“Okay, let’s go.”
The group travelled up three flights of stairs, following the faded painting on the walls till they reached words saying GROUND LEVEL.

Bursting through the double doors, Alex came face to face with infinite darkness.
Beyond that, the man peered, eyes once again settling into the dark – “Snow?”
The landscape before them, ‘neath a black sky, was a floor of snow leading out towards a tree line and into the night.
“Okay. What we need to do is –“
A flash blinded the man’s eyes. A spotlight? A searchlight?
An alarm, deafening their senses, blaring shrilly into the night, warbling low, warbling high, screeching, bloodcurdling.

“We’ve got to…keep….our”
The alarm silenced Alex’s voice.
Men and women began to panic and scream.
The man looked to his right to see a woman stumbling on her feet as if losing her balance, she turned around to face him, a bullet hole where her left eye should be.
The man felt panic seize his chest as the woman fell face forward into the snow, melting the surrounding blanket of ice with her blood.
He didn’t hear the gunshot, nor did he hear the next one that took the man next to him off his feet. Alex was dragging him away; their backs low to the brick wall behind them.
The man resisted, seeing lights flash through the tree line before them, seeing the bricks spray dust clouds ahead of him, seeing bodies in the snow, piled on top of one another.
“What the fuck?”
“We’ve got to…round this….” Alex was screaming over the alarm.

Up ahead was the corner of the building. They rounded it in a heartbeat, the man half expecting to be blown away by gunfire.
The cold was everywhere now, all over his body, gripping his chest, seizing his bare cock.
“….car…..”
“A car?”
He couldn’t hear Alex.
“It’s…we’ve got…”
She was dragging him along, like a ragdoll, his back scraping against the brick wall behind.
They made it into open space – the infinite darkness ahead of them and all around them. Beneath their feet, numb and falling asleep evermore, the man saw white lines marking the ground. He took a breath and peered before him – a car park.
A light switched on behind him, engulfing him in its presence, and he looked behind to see –
A sign – glass cracked, light flickering in and out of existence, reading – N CANCY.
The doors of the hotel, boarded up and crossed with a black X. It’s windows equally barred by rotted wooden planks, as is fighting off an impending attack. Cracks were splintering across its structure, forking out in every which way. Whoever stayed here, owned this place, had not been here in quite some time.
The whole place, lit by the searchlight and covered by the surrounded darkness, looked like something out of a hellish dream.

“Hey, let’s go!”
Miraculously, they made it to the car. Miraculously Alex found the keys, smacking an overhead visor and knocking the keys loose. Miraculously, she got it started under duress.
The man looked behind him, taking one last look at the remnants of the area before turning back to look at Alex, her face covered in grime.
They drove into the night, the alarm beckoning them to come back.

 

 

 

N I G H T M A R E     I N N