Just Write

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TD&D

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.

Memoirs Of A Dominant

Next week I will be turning thirty.
And looking back on the last ten years of my life is a strange and beautiful thing.

I’ve had the gift of life given to me but also of laughter and love and yeah, even Dominance. 

When I was twenty, I didn’t know what I do now. 

You could say I was Dominant, but I was coarse and unrefined. 

I could dominate – and I did – but it wasn’t with any sort of awareness of the bigger picture. I was playing chess one square at a time rather than the whole board.

Unknowingly, I had formed D/s relationships but neither me nor the lady I was with knew that. All I knew was that I had gone from being a loner to suddenly an attractive man – well, in the eyes of others anyway. At 20 I was insecure with myself in a way that I’m not now. 

My twenties were spent outside of anything BDSM related. There were flickers of it: The degradation that came out in my teens also came out in the bedroom. But I didn’t know terms, dynamics, things I wanted. I was coarse and unrefined and in a strictly vanilla relationship. 

It was around the time of my mid-twenties when something inside me awoke. Suddenly I wanted to learn. 

I was afraid to learn – there were times in the middle of the night where I woke from a dream to an ache I had ignored due to some of that catholic guilt I was raised with coming out – but I still had that desire. 

My long-term girlfriend at the time was not interested in the slightest. Not even after me trying to introduce to her some things I wanted to try. We simply were not compatible, though we hung onto each other long anyway.
Her dismissal led me to blogs and sites and that’s where I discovered Fetlife. That’s where I discovered apps like Whisper.

Suddenly I was finding that education I was so scared about. I deleted and signed up to Fetlife numerous times before I created the profile that exists today. 

Through whisper, I met a bubbly young lady. She was eighteen. I was 26 at the time. 
Blonde hair, blue eyes, piercings over her face and nipples. 
I did not have an affair with her, if that’s what you’re thinking. As I write this now, I can see that this was the origin of my Daddy side. 

You see, she came from a broken home. She was constantly in a state of distress. And over the weeks, we would talk and I would help in any way I can – because…well, because she felt like a little sister to me. 

The universe is a strange thing. It brings people together, it pulls people apart. And I guess, in that time, the universe gave me someone to talk to who was just as much seeking answers as I was. 

We would talk about our interests, mainly though, we would talk shit. And it was pleasant. 

I don’t know where she is now, but looking back, I think that was instrumental in forging my Daddy side. My caring side. My nurture side. 

EVENTUALLY my long term relationship with my girlfriend fell apart. We stopped being friends, we hung out in different rooms after work. We simply weren’t compatible. 

At the time, I wanted to fight. I felt that was what I wanted to do – fight for her. But when she showed no interest in fighting back, I decided to drop my compulsion to fix things or solve things and just…let her go. 

In the months after, I sought to explore myself. I moved in with my parents for a while, Iogged back into Fetlife. I took nude selfies despite my lingering guilt post-relationship. I wrote songs too. Really on-the-nose songs, with titles like ‘Penultimate’ and ‘Signposts’. It was my way to heal.

Through Fetlife – through people, really – I learnt what I was once too scared to learn. I spoke to women I befriended. Some I was drawn to on a really primal level. They helped point out what I was feeling. 

I had plenty of fascinating conversations about minds and life just staying in the intimate space of my childhood bedroom. In a lot of ways I was doing a loop, folding over back into my childhood town. Adulthood is weird.

But I learned I was a primal. I learned I was a Daddy. I had a six hour edging session – and I’m not exaggerating to prove something, I spent the majority of that day in bed pushing my limits. I was done crying, I was going to edge damnit. 

So you see, life is strange. Why we don’t accept our minds and our sexuality is stranger. I could lament and wonder why it wasn’t sooner that I had this life affirming epiphany, but you can’t go back. Only forward. 

If you have any questions regarding this post, always feel free to write me at my email. I’m more than happy to help you with your own journey.  

Sensory Overload

All it takes is for her to duck into the lounge room where I’m resting, completely nude, in all her mesmerising glory, to grab a head band for her bath —
And my mind is transported away.
She is chained to the bedroom, completely naked, her arms and legs spread apart.

There’s a bag over her head. Something new. Me being sadistic by toying sensory deprivation. She won’t be able to see. She won’t be able to quell any concern with a kiss. How long should I leave her with the bag on? Perhaps when the air runs low, when her mind is dazed, I could bring her to the brink of her orgasm — and as my mouth rests over her cunt, my tongue teasing her clit with small licks, I can remove the bag.

And as her senses rush back to her, her body seizes with all the power of an orgasm. 
The dizziness of the air rushing back to her melds with her pleasure. Maybe it’ll catapult her senses sky high. Maybe she might be elated. Soaring high into a space that’s beyond the norm but not beyond my reach.
I could bring her back with a gentle hug, soft words – and the reminder that I am in charge of her. And all that she is. 
And then I’m back in the lounge, a grin forms across my lips. I know just what to do. 

When In Mexico

image

The waves rise and fall. Rise and fall.
There comes a rumble in the distance – a coming storm. But you wouldn’t know it with this beautiful sunset, with the light rippling along the waves.
It’s such a beautiful afternoon, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at the beach. There’s no one here.
That’s when I see you, rising from the crashing waves. Your skin is sun drenched and beading with waters.
I’m captivated by you as you swing your jet black hair out of your eyes.
I’m captivated by the way you walk to your towel with that hypnotic sway.

I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful than you, more…well, earthly. A Mexican goddess. There’s something that screams out from you, but I can’t find out what.

It travels through the air, this scream, and ripples into me. Suddenly one hand is keeping you down while the other is untying your bikini top.
Your top comes undone and your tits spill out. It’s just how I pictured you – dark brown Areola’s and small chubby darkened nipples. Whether they’re hard due to coldness or arousal, I don’t know. And I can’t think, because they’re in my mouth. They taste salty but I know that’s the ocean.

The best thing though is how you move. How you squirm. How you curse in Mexican. My god, darling, you are making me hard.

The spitting only works to make me harder but I am enjoying sucking the salt from your tits. It’s kind of sexy to hear how guttural you can get while I choke you and suck on your nipples.

And how do you maintain your cunt? Oh the best question! Are you shaved? Are you trimmed? Are you all natural? I kind of admire that. It’s beautiful in its own way. You’re a woman after all, earthly.

Would you think I’m mad, to think so deeply about your cunt? I suppose you would. I suppose you’d call it perverted. But I must see. Oh I simply must.

Your short shorts slip off smoothly and my, what a revelation. A lovely landing strip if I ever saw one. Nice and thick. Oh I simply must taste you.

This is when you start to convulse from my mouth on your nipple and my goodness, what an animal you are. Your throaty cries are intense!
Also, who knew a nipple orgasm could be so much fun? Certainly not you. Now hold still, I must taste you.

You squirm of course, I thought you might. But my mouth waters. I cannot stop. I know: I’ll twist your nipple. You’ll cry and it’ll shock you into place. I like order, please don’t disrupt it. Hold still, you little bitch.

That’s when I lower my mouth to your cunt. And here’s how it is: my tongue sucks in your clit. Your juices flow with a mix of your essence and sea water. It’s a divine mix. An intoxicating aroma and taste. Something I simply must have more of.
I —

“Excuse me, have you got a smoke?”

You’re here, clothed and looking eagerly at me. Suddenly the images of your cunt and darkened nipples fade. How long was I daydreaming? How long have you been staring at me for an answer?
My eyes fall to your breasts, heaving, covered in little water droplets. I look away, hope you don’t notice.
I don’t know what to say.

Spitting During Sex

It is what is. Or is it?

Now I sound like a Dr. Seuss book. So let’s get to it: spitting during sex is something I have always enjoyed during my roughest moments. When I’m edgy, when I am feral, I want to spit on my pet.

But there’s something else that’s always gnawed at me too. I was raised by the strictest of parents, I can tell you. I couldn’t ask “What?” in my home and that’s something that is within my relationship with my pet, oddly enough. It’s something I’ve…smacked out of her. If you catch my drift.

So spitting is a vulgar act to me. When I see it done in public, it infuriates me. It’s disgusting. But if I’m hovering above my submissive, eager to fuck with her mind, then it’s something entirely different. It’s fucking sexy.

But there’s always the strictest of gentlemen in the back of my mind – this shy 18th century fellow who couldn’t possibly do that shit. And sometimes my devil ties him up and runs amok and that’s delicious. One might even say devilish.

I tried spitting for the first time the other day. It just sort of happened. I let myself go.

As I was choking her, and her cute little gasps and moans aroused me, I spat on her tits. It was a thing that actually brought us together. Neither of us were expecting it and it came and just opened up another part of our minds and expanded our relationship. We’re devils that have more in common than we previously thought. And the best thing is: we are still learning all this about ourselves.

It heightened the sexual tension too, I tell you. It’s one thing to spit on her, it’s another to see her shiver in ecstasy as my spit hits her nipple. Good Lord in heaven, is that something else.

So, ladies and gents, Masters and slaves, Dom’s, Dommes, Daddy’s, Mummy’s and their children, the next time you’re in the bedroom or the park or somewhere else – try spitting. See how you go.

Even try it if you’re going solo. You would be amazed how it feels by yourself.

That’s me for the week! Enjoy your weekend, fuck your brains out!

Storms Do Something To Me

04_Sydney Australia, summer lightening storm.

 

I was lying awake in bed in the middle of the night when I heard it: the distant rumble of thunder. As soon as I heard it, tingles traveled down my body. My cock stiffened.
For the sake of my mind at that hour, I ignored it. Closed my eyes, rolled over to hug the wall, as I tend to do in my sleep.

Another rumble of thunder. My cock, still stiffened, grew further – becoming that dull ache as it formed a tent beneath my blankets. I wanted to roll my submissive over, gently part her legs and wake her up with a kiss between the legs. I wanted to stir her further by trailing kisses on her thighs and up her stomach to the tips of her breast. And when she was fully conscious and accepted my advances, I would take her. Perhaps gently at first then the fiercer the storm gets, the harder my thrusts will become. The lightning will dance around us, the wind will howl and drown out her moans, my loud grunts..

I think of all this but yet I do nothing. Maybe it’s the gentleman in me but I am still as anything. Still and yet, my cock aches for that release. Each rumble of thunder makes me clench those muscles that feel so delicious when I come.

Storms do something to me. They ignite the fire within me. They make me want to fuck. Not make love, fuck. More animalistic, slightly rougher. I don’t know what it is but every time, without fail, I feel the surge within me during a storm. And I want to fuck.

I would gladly take my submissive out into the backyard and undress her slowly, letting that anticipation build. The storm would rage around us as I would direct her out from under the covers, where the hard rain would hit her flesh and sting her nipples. There I would take her, hard and passionate and with every ounce of strength that nature would bring to me. We would be connected with the Earth, raw and muddy. Connected with ourselves.

Storms do something to me. I am not sure what but I am not sure I want to know.