The Run


It goes like this.

This pretty little thing of eighteen – dressed in a black sundress that runs to her knees, laced with a sunflower print – runs through the forest in the middle of the night, the long grass lashing at her legs, the wind hitting the sweat on her forehead, the tree branches with its gnarled fingers whipping her legs.

There’s a hole torn in her dress, where her stomach is, where he grabbed at her when she tried to run from his kiss.

He was after her – had asked her to come around the side of the house, away from the party, to talk. James, her oldest friend, the one who sat with her on the swing-set at summer camp and listened to her talk about her boyfriend woes back in the seventh grade.

Now they were eighteen and at a friend of a friend’s party twenty minutes out of town in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. Away from the house was where he had tried to kiss her forcefully, his lips wet, and the kiss eager.

Emily had slapped him away, had seen the shock in his eyes as he reeled backwards, but then she had something else in those eyes. Madness, a look possessed. Shock morphed into delight, a devilish grin. He grabbed, tearing that hole in her dress, and she ran.

When she pauses to catch her breath, her lungs working overtime, he catches her, throwing her to the ground. She doesn’t have the time to react; she’s down on her aching back, dizzy, breathless, lost on where she is.

His full weight is upon her, his dirty hands lifting her dress, exposing her black lacy boylegs – bought just this afternoon – to the forest. She can feel the cool wind.

She opens her mouth to scream but only a strangled whimper comes loose and she thinks through all this – how pathetic am I?

As she kicks her legs and wriggles beneath him, he’s peeling her panties down with a speed she didn’t know he possessed. He dodges her bare dirty legs, throws the lacy clump aside.

She sounds like a wounded animal as she tries to speak, tries to reason, tries to swat his hands away from peeling the straps of her dress off her slender pale shoulders but it’s all for naught. The energy, her lungs, is rebooting herself from underneath him.

As the dress peels back and her bare tits are let loose, she tries to reason that he’s drunk, that this isn’t the sweet tender James, but she can’t smell any alcohol, only sweat. She licks her lips, tastes the saltiness from the run, the bitterness of dirt.

He throws away her dress with a grunt; it falls in a tangle across the shrub. She lies there, completely naked, on her back, blinking back tears, fighting confusion and madness as she watches James peel off his jeans, exposing his hard cock coated in precum that glistens in the moonlight.

With a steady hand, he grips her thigh – then she feels his stomach press against her, feels his cock stretch her apart and go deeper. She feels a wave of sickness crash over, a spiral of manic energy sweeping across her body like goosebumps.

She chokes out his name but pain erupts through her body, his mouth is on her flesh, clenching her nipple in his mouth.

He’s speaking through his clenched teeth, a mad man speaking in alliteration under his breath.

She’s there but not there, out of mind, out of sight. Watching this happening, finding her glistening pale body, secreted somehow, marked by the forest, belonging to the forest, as he fucks her.

Their bodies find their rhythm. Her body finds the rhythm. They’re suddenly moving, swaying, as one entity. She’s not herself, or maybe she is and she never realised this, that she was, that she could enjoy, that she could belong.

His teeth sink into her neck paralysing her, locking her body into place. She feels her legs stiffen, hears herself as he slips out of her thrusting against her thigh, humping thin air.

She grunts in frustration.

With a growl, she flips him over so that he’s off her, on her back. He watches her, and for a moment she sees a bewilderment in those eyes, can see him, the real him, the sweetest James. His eyes are glassy.

She’s sitting on him now, her legs on either side of him, his cock against her stomach.

Not breaking eye contact, she grabs his cock by the head and forces it down between her. It slides back in with ease.

She can feel him fill her again and something screams inside her, a burning intensity to not stop, because nothing could stop her, nothing at all. This confuses her, makes her feel ill. She wonders if she will vomit, all over him, embarrassing her and the forest. Nothing comes.

She can feel this drive within her, it worms its way across her veins, it possesses her arm, her hand, to pinch her nipples tightly and pull them out. Her desire to feel his cock all the way inside her before ripping it out along her slit is insatiable. SHE is insatiable. An insatiable fucking slut of a girl.

There’s something around her, around them, in the forest. She can’t see it, can’t explain it, but something is there, something is watching the two of them, something is feeding off the two of them, chanting to them in the same maddened vein James was earlier.

The world around her is spinning and she’s caught up in it, up in this delirious and dizzying nightmare of pleasure she can’t wake from.

He pushes her off and she fall backwards, emitting something between a sulk and a moan. In a blur of movement, he whips her around so that she’s on all fours and grips her hips.

He eases into her ass.

It’s unlike anything she’s experienced.

She’s trapped in a dimension of pleasure and pain.

An anal doll.

They scream as one and the forest screams with them.

Primal Creatures: Looking At The Primal Dynamic



One thing that comes up often in a conversation with a reader who is new to the world (and to my blog) is What does it mean to be primal?

It’s a good question because the explanation is so much more than offering up a definition of the word.


What IS a Primal?

 Have you ever had a sudden urge to act on impulse, whether that be to run out in the rain, to howl at the moon, masturbate in a risky place, undress in places deemed inappropriate?

Having these raw, unprocessed, unfiltered thoughts and feelings, no matter what they are, can be classified as being primal.

It’s more than unfiltered thought though, it’s a mindset: to take on urges and impulses directly without the fear or shame or masks we wear in society.

To that end, to become primal is to strip yourself of all the barriers you might have built up over the years in place of dealing with society, and to just simply be. As you are. As nature intended you to be. An animal.

In an effort to help describe the sensation, I am going to write now from a purely personal place and keep in mind, everything I experience in subjective.

I have been primal for as long as I can remember. My earliest memory of such an encounter is when I was a teenager, probably 14 or so, and I was running around the bush here (As I grew up in the country side outside of town) completely naked. Why? I have no idea. But in this cases, I would just run, fuelled by this gut feeling, by feeling sensual and alive and animalistic.

I think later in my teen years, after a lengthy storm ravaged the countryside, I ran far beyond the reaches of my home, far from the view of my family, stripped completely naked and laid down in the mud and rubbed my cock and body against the ground to breaking point. I came over the earth, muddy and breathless.

I also masturbated in the toilets at a KFC one time because I was carried away and felt that the situation was incredibly hot. Maybe that carries into the concept of Exhibitionism but that I did it in the first place reminds me of the concept of being primal.

In a relationship, primal takes on a different turn. I recognise the scent of my kitten. Whether it is her arousal or just the scent of her perfume or her body, it relaxes me. It eases my anxiety, it soothes it. As animals, smell is a huge thing to us – it is, after all, what draws us together.



 Have you ever felt something so powerful, so rich, that it kickstarts your heart and ramps up the andrenaline within you? It’s a feeling I can best describe as: energetic, intoxicating, you can’t sit still and you certainly can’t fight it. Maybe you’re out of control.

What you are feeling is a massive turn on and is thrilling and yet, you are afraid of it, because you can feel the immense power. You are happy to drown in it because everything around you, your body, your mind, feels on fire. This is what it means to feel animalistic, to feel primal.

If you are feeling this, if you have experienced something similar to my experiences above, you might be more in tune with your primal being than you realise.



 Pet play, which is a form of roleplay in which the submissive acts as a pet or creature, goes hand in hand with the primal dynamic.

Pet play can see the submissive own the animal within her, while she perform such duties in the role like eating out of her special bowl, adhere to the restrictions of the leash and even vocalise as her creature, which can be sexy.

In other scenes, the dynamic can see the Dominant take on the form of the Predator while the submissive takes on the form of prey. In this scene, whatever the elements agreed upon, it is not unusual to feel possessed, to feel the hunt and for the submissive, it is not uncommon to feel fear for being the prey. Sometimes these situations can go over the boundaries of what is safe and consensual, sometimes that is enjoyed – just be cautious of one’s wellbeing at all times.



Though the power is all consuming, intoxicating and electrifying, there is nothing to fear. You are experiencing something not everyone can, or will admit to.

These feelings, however dark or animal they may seem, are natural and to feel them in the first place, to identify and own them, is a testament to the strength of the individual! Because we fear what we don’t understand and we fear what is purely, unapologetically animalistic.



Think of a moment in your lifetime where you might have felt primal. Write it down, come to terms with it. What were the circumstances? Where were you? How did it make you feel? And on a side note, feel free to share it via comments or through email. One or the other.

The Animal In Me: Looking At What It Means To Be ‘Primal’


When I first discovered the extent of my Dominance, the first thing that was evident to me was that I was a primal being. I wanted to rip off my clothes, howl at the moon and go running through the woods. In fact, I did just that. I howled with pets at the moon, I ran through the forest at night.

It took me ages to get to this point but now I recognise it as a part of who I am. That primal part of me, the animal side, the side that writes to you now nude from the bedroom (partially due to heat, partially due to the sensual breeze skimming across my skin) is in my mind. Whether I developed it on my own or whether it was always there, I will leave to the philosophers.

But what is a primal? Why do I refer to my lady as a kitten?

To me, ‘primal’ means to shed your skin and be who you are without second guessing your desires or yourself. To liberate yourself and act on your desires, within reason. I mean, we have morals and we have rules but to me, they are on a separate tier to what might be eating away at yourself. Let me explain.

It’s when we act how we truly feel so much so that we feel liberated, sexually or no, that means we are being true to our primal selves. Those impulses you feel, that you might shrug off because of years of upbringing from parents or society – you need to pay attention to your inner most thoughts and don’t push them away.

If you approach them, You would be closer to your animalistic self.

One night just recently I had the strangest urge to be primal. It was going on one in the morning and I was watching — whatever on Netflix – but I felt the urge to strip off, wander outside and sit with my dogs. It was very freeing, and unique. I can’t really describe what it feels like or why I feel so passionately about it.

But it goes beyond all that, it seeps into my private and sexual life. It has helped me be forthright and has helped my confidence. And to help my kitten’s confidence. She use exceptional with her training and tasks. And sex feels all the more fulfilling and satisfying when I let out a low growl and not feel judged or strange, like I have felt in the past.

It has helped with my growth. And I am glad to have been able to take that plunge despite the fear.

So do me a favour, listen to your hearts and minds and do the daring thing that you have been fearful to do, whatever that is, no matter how scary that is. I promise you’ll be safe.

‘B’ is for Bestiality


When I was in my early twenties, I befriended a woman – I forget from where…an app off Facebook, I think? – but something just clicked and we became friends. Over time, I learnt she fancied me. That she had the same lightning strike sex drive. You know the one. Where you can’t quite get enough. Where it’s a frenzy. This was around the time that I was struggling in a relationship because I had a frenzy sex drive and my then-partner didn’t have much of one — and because I was Dominant. So to hear this from someone else was a breath of fresh air, really.

Anyway, one night over a jovial conversation, she says to me. “Okay, so I’ve never told anyone this before”

And I go, “What? What’s wrong?”

And she says “I just wanted to get off my chest to you that I’m into Bestiality…”

And I’m stunned. I’m, what, 22-23? This is the first person in my life to say such a thing – and you know what, she has been the last. I mean, before the words left her mouth, I may as well think of the act as a myth, talked about in hushed tones in the seediest of circles. But no, this perfectly normal, lovely – and she was lovely – girl is telling me about this over the internet.

But anyway, what was I supposed to do? I’m not about to vomit. I don’t cut all ties. I certainly don’t condone bestiality for a number of reasons but I’m not going to ignore it because I feel, for those that have urges, they shouldn’t feel distanced from me or anyone else. And because, I’m curious about the appeal within the mind of others.

So we talk about it. And she goes on to describe her fantasy to me, involving a horse. And you know what’s interesting here is not the bestiality itself, but the idea that this sensitive woman is having these primal urges. Natured or nurtured, she can’t help them – and that is what I find fascinating on a purely psychological level. So we talked about how. We talked about why. We talked about society. And we talked about the community into said desire.

I was even introduced into a Bestiality-Fantasy Roleplaying site where I could talk with the community and hear stories. It was quite intriguing just reading how others interact and what they find appealing, because I don’t find it appealing at all. It’s a whole other world to me and I enjoyed seeing and meeting the people in it.

A lot of this can manifest into not actually fucking an animal, but with pet play. Butt plugs come with tails now. My kitten and I hope to introduce a cage for her in the near future. Roleplaying just doesn’t stick to the internet, we all know, with the assortment of apparel and toys, your fantasy comes alive. You get to live that out, however you want.

Anyway, Her and I eventually drifted apart, as friends do. We caught up here or there but whatever thing that fuelled the conversations wasn’t there, it was simply part of a time and a place. We did reconnect on Facebook and then on Fetlife a while back but one day she didn’t pop up in the news feed anymore and I took that as a hint to leave things be.

I guess, for me, it was about uncovering new people, new experiences and learning to accept those, even if you can’t agree with it. I don’t ever want to dissuade anyone or make anyone feel they are a freak for their interests. I do draw the line at body harm, corpses and other outlandish stuff though. But I’m not about to piss on your sense of being and belittle you.

And now because I feel like I am rambling – I feel I should say ‘Class dismissed’.