Manifestation

Do you understand the power of the human mind?Do you understand the strength of that power?

We hallucinate. Our minds play tricks on us. 
When we’re tired, sometimes we conjure up manifestations that aren’t there. Conversations that never happen.
When we wake from our dream, sticky with sweat in the comforting light of day, we are safe from our minds. But at night? At night, you should take heed. Imagination is a magical, unwieldy power. 

So. You can look in my direction, safe with the knowledge you are secure from your lawn opposite the street. You can put your feet up on the couch or lay them across your partner while your babe sleeps. 
You can convince yourself you’re happy with your life, day in day out. Feed yourself, take care of yourself, feed the babe, take care of the babe.

But.

In the dead of the night. When it’s quiet. When not even the crickets will sing for you, find your anchor. Find your safe spot, your warm comfort. Find what light within you that you can.
Because if you think. If you think of me.
I will materialise before you.
Out of the dark, out of the shadows cast by the moonlight that filters in through your window, my form will appear.
And before you can turn on the light, the safe comfort, I will grab you by the ankle and drag you back within my reach. Back into the darkness. 

The more you indulge this thought path, the stronger I grow. 
The stronger I grow, the more I become self-aware. 
When that occurs, where does your original thought, your fantasy, end and my thoughts begin.  

A runaway mind would lead you to having your clothes torn completely off. 
Could you guess that your singlet top and shorties could be peeled off, curled off, torn off, across the room so easily?
Had you wondered how you might scream to your snoring partner who fell asleep on the couch downstairs? Did you wonder how you could even get out a scream? We both know you can’t raise your voice. You were never good at it. 

When you’re on your stomach, completely nude, your hair down and out across your back and past your shoulders, will this be my fantasy? Or yours?
Would my gaze, resting upon your pale bare ass, be your desire? Or mine?
Would your wet cunt, filling the bedroom with its delightful aroma, be offered to me for tribute? 

And when I pull you up to your knees and back into me….when I take your ass….is this a delicious act reserved for me, for us, in this moment? Or a product of a scrapped fantasy, something your boyfriend shows no interest in?

If you think, just for one second, you open the doorway between worlds. 

If you open the doorway between worlds, you run the risk of inviting me into your bedroom.

That power is yours. 

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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.

Intoxicated

I’m sprawled out on my bed.
Completely naked.
My left hand glides down to my nipple and pinches. Hard.
Harder.
It digs the nail in. Hard.
Harder.
My hand twists the nipple.
The pain is refreshing. Surprisingly arousing.
My hand continues to trail down my body.
Fingertips claw down my stomach.
Faint red lines leave their mark.
My hand reaches down to my testicles.
The fingers curl, softly stroking them.
I muffle my moans into my pillow, they cannot hear me.
I grip the head of my throbbing cock.
Each throb pulsates through my body.
You there.
Yes you…reading this.
Woman.
Where ever you lay.
Run your hand down your body.
trail your way down
down
down…
……
take a finger
stroke yourself.
Forget the world..
forget the problems

play with me…

—————–

I tried to be short, sweet and straight to point. To the point where you wanted more. Did it work? Did it fail? Let me know.