I’m Gathering Questions for a later Q/A so Ask Me Anything!

Hullo ladies and gentlemen!

We’re at the end of February, seasons will be shifting soon and moods will be changing. I thought that now would be a good time to put it out there that I’d love to do another Q/A with my readers – new or regular.

Anything goes, really. There’s no boundaries to anything you want to ask. It can be about your own journey, it can be about me or something I’ve written, it could be about something you want me to write about, it could be questions about dating or D/s or — anything. For me, as long as you’re comfortable, the sky is the limit!

Please feel free to ask via commenting below or you are always welcome, submissive male or female, dominant female or male, slave, pet, newbie – whoever! – to write to me personally. You can reach me at my Twitter or at my email – darkanddominant@hotmail.com

I’ll be hoarding questions and answering them sometime in this last week of Feb so don’t worry about having too many. The only silly question is the one not asked!

Have a beautiful weekend!

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.

There Are No Words

At 4am this morning, I woke from a dream so incredibly detailed, with its own mythology and the like, that I scrambled for my phone and jotted down 1,372 tired words. I’ve read over it just now, having woken later in the morning, and have left it unedited and untouched, save for some spelling mistakes and sentences that didn’t make sense. What you will read is something I’ve written while not entirely awake, my hand pulled along by forces beyond this world.

I know some of you enjoy looking into the mind of the process or the writer or even ME, so I hope this intrigues you at the very least.

I can remember her taking my face in her hands, and looking at me with those deep blue eyes. My god, how deep and blue and expansive they are. How kind and thoughtful they are. Oceans. They are the sea.

I see her eyes flicker but before I can contemplate what that means, she’s leaning in to kiss me deeply.

Christ, her lips are so soft. They seem to sink right into my own lips. As if merging together.

I can feel my heart leap in my chest.

As she holds the kiss, as I hold the kiss, I suddenly see everything. I see her ass, lily white and gorgeous, I see her free of the shackles of her past life. I see her freedom. And it makes my heart pound in my chest.

When she pulls away, I feel like I know her more through that kiss. As if, through the act, a bond was created – and we fused.

She has to wipe the dark curl of hair from her eyes. Or I do.

I want to but I can’t look away from those deep, mesmerising eyes. I feel like I know her more now, know her better.

She kisses me again suddenly, deeper, harder. My stomach flips in excitement – or is that her excitement I feel, now that we are bonded. Now that my emotion is shared through the bond and hers is shared in my mind.

A sense of understanding. That’s what it is.

I can feel her soft hands on my face, cradling me, as if she wanted this for a while.

I want to tell her to be free, like I know she wants to be. There’s a side to her that I can sense. I want to scream it at her beautiful blue eyes, even as I wipe her dark curls out of her face.

Do what you want, what you must, for the freedom of your soul, for your health, but I know the truth. She senses it too now, my weirdness. My indulgence. I’m encroaching on something.

The other women around me don’t seem to mind our shared kiss. They wait patiently in silence, or do they observe? And if they observe, what do they see? Did I get it all wrong, terribly wrong? But that can’t be! She kissed me. I sense her. I sense her so strongly.

One by one hand, their hands lower me down to the cool metal table. How many women are there? Well, there’s the vampire – I know that. Blonde hair, ice blue eyes. There’s the girl in the hoody with the kind eyes. There’s the fiery redhead in the singlet with the rosy cheeks.

Somehow I know they’re actually all vampires. Except me and her. She who regards me with her deep blue eyes as big as the moon.

Does he know how lucky he is to have her?Where is he anyway?

As if on cue, he wanders into the small room, eyes ablaze. There’s fury.

In a heartbeat, before he can see, she tears her hands away from mine – somewhere along my counting of how many women there are around me, she took my hands in hers.

I didn’t even finish counting anyway. There’s more than three. They’re all gathered around me in a circle, her included.

I can feel her through the bond, I can tell she wants to undress and be naked. I can tell that’s how she likes to be. It comes in a flash in my mind, and I can see her walking along her natural habitat – a forest – completely nude, grass crunching beneath her feet.

“For a little extra you can become a vampire.” A woman at the end of the table says. She’s looking at me with tired eyes that seem to sag in their sockets. She’s dressed all in black, even with a black robe. The tattooist.

I shake my head. “No, thank you, just the tattoo. Like hers.”

I point to the woman with the kind eyes. She’s watching me closely, a smile across her ruby red lips. Out of all the women that have taken up residence in my home since my partner left, this one has spent the most time talking to me.

On her chest, above her breasts, she has a tattoo of a symbol that’s foreign to me. I couldn’t begin to describe it. I only know I want it on my chest.

And it just so happens one of the women in this wonderful, warm tribe, is an artist of the tattooing kind.

When did I get so lucky, to have this support from all these beautiful women around me? All these endlessly kind beings? I’d tip my hat if I wore one. I’m afraid the only thing I wear is my heart on my sleeve ever since she left me. Five years gone and cheated on me the past few months for some bloke with dark features, same as me. What did I have that he didn’t? Why did that draw the attention of a tribe of men and women into my home and why do they support me endlessly in this relationship breakdown?

May the party live forever.

I know she senses my thoughts because she frowns to herself. That or it’s because he’s circling her, his eyes on her as he joins her to her right, where he perches like a bird or a ghost or a bodyguard. I can’t decide which. I’m sure he didn’t think about this possibility when he, too, came into my home. I certainly didn’t expect to spark her interest. I’m not even sure she would talk to me if I didn’t talk to her first. The only thing I know about her is that she’s not a vampire like the others and that her wonderful eyes are as big as the moon.

Do I regret the kiss? I’m not sure, to be entirely honest. My heart and mind and very soul still rages at the recent betrayal of my ex. I mean, after she came clean about the affair, she still wanted to suckle on my cock while the others finger fucked her into a delirious state.

We all knew she did it to pass the time – her family was picking her up, her bags were packed – but we still did this. We all did this.

So there’s rage behind my willingness, that I’ll admit, but when she placed my face in her hands and kissed me that first time, I wasn’t just hypnotised, I was mesmerised. Because I could feel her thoughts. I could sense that she wanted to silence my pain as much she wanted to silence hers.

Does that make me a bad person?

There’s no fear in me when the women hold my legs down and apart. I trust these new friends of mine. They did offer me vampirism after all. They even wanted to charge me! But no, this was about the tattoo. The tattoo that would mark my pain and hurt forever, the tattoo that would bond me to these traveling nomads, friends for life.

Some of them, like her, had boyfriends. They were grouped in one room of the house watching tv and drinking. Eventually they would retire to their rooms and sleep, snoring softly.

The circle of women talk amongst themselves. Some of them banter. It makes me smile. They must’ve been traveling together for so long they’ve made friendships for life. Is this what this tattoo is? Am I part of the tribe?

I feel her soft hand on my arm and meet her eyes. There’s something else there now. A wound of sorts flickers behind her eyes. But who would wound the moon? Who?

Despite this, it’s a shy smile she gives me and it makes my heart race. I close my eyes and feel her warmth rising through the bond. It makes me smile too.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, dear readers! I hope it’s a wondrous year full of some beautiful memories you will treasure for a lifetime!

I still kick myself that people follow me – be it for the stories or random outlooks – especially in 2019, when I wrote less due to some anxiety spikes throughout the year and then finding a contract that keeps me writing – which I’m blessed for, I just need to manage time better. New goals this year!

Lastly, I want to say…no matter if you’re a man or a woman, a submissive or a dominant, no matter if you have zero experience in BDSM or a tonne of it, if you have a question about BDSM, want to say hello, ask about something I’ve written or want to talk philosophy of BDSM, you are always welcome to contact me personally, through my email or Twitter. Please don’t worry about being a bother, I am always happy to talk, no matter if it’s what I call ‘word vomit.’

I always tell people to ‘just write’ and not worry about structure or spelling mistakes or what have you, because I’ll read it no matter the length.

If you’re worried about me being busy and you don’t want to add to that, please try not to be. Writing to someone is far different than my work. It’s a welcomed respite. And even though I can be forgetful once in a while (Which I’m working on), I promise you I’ll always reply. I reply, not out of obligation, but because I genuinely want to. All are welcome.

Your endless support means the world to me. Thank you for following, for finding me interesting enough to follow, and hopefully I deliver for you this year.

Let’s make this a great year!

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.

Torment

A pretty little thing lay bound to the bed, chains linked across her bare body.

Her auburn hair had fallen across her furrowed brow, strands reaching down to mask her eyes.

The muscles in her neck clenched tight as her stomach reached up to meet the cool kiss of the chains around her breasts, pockets of ice biting at her nipples.

He hovered above her, a leg on each side of her, his thick and uncut cock fully hard as it frames shadows across her belly button.

His cock bobs in the air – in truth, he uses what muscles he has to hold tight. He feels the pleasure swirling from the pit of his stomach down to his shaft, reaching its own tendril to skim underneath his testicles.

Pre-come glistens the tip of his cock. He knows this, is aware of this. He uses this to his advantage, letting a strand run down his shaft and across the length of his testicles to drop across her chained stomach.

She murmurs in frustration, a strangled sound somewhere between a beg and a fierce cry. He may be aware of how Come is dripping in a sequence of dots traveling upwards to her breasts but the one thing He isn’t aware of is how badly she craves to taste him.

Her thirst is ridiculous, unquenchable. In this moment, bound and at the mercy of Him, she truly believes that if she can’t taste him, just a drop even, she will descend into madness.

In a heartbeat it terrifies her, this longing. An image comes fully formed to her, an animal writhing and growling and howling, it’s throat raw, spittle bubbling on its lips, pupils large. It’s body vibrating with desperation. Somehow she understands that she will become the animal if she doesn’t own up to her own feelings, if she cannot accept what she wants and the ferocity of how badly she wants it.

She can feel his come smack against her flesh, can lift her head just enough so that she can see his Cock bobbing in the air, a drop beading on its head, but not His face. She imagines his smile – and her thirst for him grows.