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

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.