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!


30 Days of Kink – Day #3: How Did You Discover You Were Kinky?

How did you discover that you were kinky?

I guess I could answer this question in two parts, really – the time I discovered a semblance of kink and the time where a friendly neighbourhood submissive woman stopped me and pointed out revelations that led me to identify my true feelings.

My very first experience of Kink was with degradation, humiliation and exhibitionism. I sat on the family computer on the first floor of the home where I grew up in. I was in my teens, ‘sexting’ – I guess you could call it – my then-girlfriend via the old MSN, which some of you may recognise and others may not. Basically it was an instant messaging program before the days of good mobile phones.

I don’t know how exactly it led to degradation, I think it was waiting to come out, this inner part of me, and she connected with it. Beyond that, I was setting tasks for her before we even knew of the concepts of Kink. She’d call me up on the cordless house phone while she was on her bath, letting me listen to her masturbate with the jet spray.

Fast forward, oh I don’t know, ten years, and I’m learning about the Daddy dynamic, I’m finding I’m learning about being a Master. I’m finding all these parts of myself through conversations with other primal, with Masters, with slaves. I miss talking to a Slave mind-set. I need someone to run M/s stories by, see if a concept is effective. I normally run stories by my lady, who listens to every one of my ramblings with patience and grace, bless her heart, but the M/s dynamic isn’t something she identifies with.

Anyway. So the second part of learning who I was was about coming to terms with these splintered parts of my psyche, with the help of a few friends.

Late Night Rambles: The Submissive Teaches…

I’ve been reflecting at this ungodly hour of 3am, about where I’ve come from and where I’m going. This has been sparked from a family discussion just the other day about the fluidity of love and life and how we perceive and accept that or choose to hide from it.

And it hit me – the greatest teachers, the priceless teachers when it comes to my journey as a dominant man, have been submissive women. Which kinda makes sense but I’ll get to that in a moment – I want to ask something of the submissive readers, men or women, at the end of this ramble so either keep reading or skim to the last paragraph or something.

The beginning of my journey into becoming the dominant I am today was largely done alone by me, that much is true. I read and I..er..watched and I did my homework – but the bulk of how I truly learned to be a dominant came from my interactions with submissive women – some who were my good friends before we discovered we shared an interest in kink, some I met through Fetlife and somehow made an impression.

When I look back, I can see key moments where something was revealed to me – a piece of my personality, say, or an error I made, or how a fellow primal opened my eyes to how I was articulating this desire I struggled to identify.

Oh I fell a lot. Like an overly green and keen guy, I jumped off the waterfall without learning how to break the water below to soften the fall. In turn my actions hurt. And it was through this falling that I began and learned how to communicate – and through that I understood where I went wrong.

And communicating was easier with a woman I found. Maybe it was the all lady household I grew up in but I never really resonated too well with guys. I preferred the company of women as a teen and that’s how my adult life has been too – I have a few close guy friends and probably more close lady friends. I don’t know – who counts?

But through talking, they helped guide me and in turn this shaped the person I became today, not only for my own benefit as a human being and – later I would find – when I began to mentor actively, but it benefited my relationship with my lady, who has taught me a thing or two about myself as well.

So to the submissive I say this: don’t doubt the power of your mind or your words on someone’s mind. You can guide with grace and strength just as equally as anyone, experience has taught me.

And here comes that last paragraph I mentioned earlier —– as a blog with a dominant focus, to the submissive – men or women – I ask you – what would you like me to write about from a dominant’s perspective? Is there something you were always curious about? Perhaps it’s something to do with dominant thinking, or behaviour? Is there a process you’ve been curious about?

I’m looking for new ideas. As a writer, I want to satisfy any curiosities. I know things will come to me, as they do, but I seek a submissive’s mind for this matter. A fresh perspective. By all means, pick my brain.


The first thing I noticed when I woke up was how hard I was. I was lying on my stomach, you see, so not only was I pressing it into the bed, aching like I rarely do of a morning, but I could feel, not just the tip of my Cock, but it’s entire length. Pushing up between my stomach and the bed, fighting to get free. Fighting for relief.

The second thing I noticed was the memories. Once aware of my surroundings, they come rushing back. I suddenly felt her hesitance, as I unbuttoned her blouse. I could feel how wet she was when I slid the full length of myself inside her. Do you know how powerful that is? To feel that so strong after waking? I could feel her essence coat my shaft right down to the tip of her balls – and through that, I felt an awareness of her.

I could hear her curse.

The word ‘fuck’ slithered out of her lips in a hushed strained voice.

I remember the way my name left her lips – panicked, wondering, hesitant.

‘They’ll catch us’ she said. ‘They’re coming up the stairs.’

I can feel her urgency even writing this now.

Oh me, the dream me, was not worried. He was alight with a buzz, you see. It was the energy rocketing through his veins, the flip side of cortisol, but he was not scared. Dream me was confident.

She squeaked as I took my stride, sliding out then easing in.

‘Where are you guys?’ Came their voices. The voices of family. ‘What are you doing up there?’

My sister – my dream sister – my not-sister. My sister from another mister’s memories. My sister with someone else’s memories. My doppelgänger of a sister, her features changing, her face shifting into something like playdough, had my memories from another life, how wet she was, how hard she was.

‘I’m here’ she croaked. She was winded beneath me. It wasn’t my weight, you see, but my cock, knocking the wind from her sails.

She was nude beneath me, her body pale, resembling something else from another life. This isn’t her, not my sister. Not really. Who is this woman beneath me, wriggling in ecstasy, feeling that terrible fullness of me inside her, the type that eats at you, the type you feel even after the act. Who are we, that we have given ourselves over to lust, in all it’s frenzied, frantic power.

She, this stranger, will feel it long after dream me is no longer conscious.

I ponder all this, cock ever hard, coated in sweat, the remnants of an orgasm lingering, as I shake off somebody’s else’s life.

Here’s A Long Post About the Mind

She grips his hips

and licks her lips

and tells him that she likes it on her hands and knees.

He’s warm within,

Alive and on fire.

This woman is his sister.

A mix of dreams, thoughts and feelings, pooling together in a vat like some sort of candy concoction and I’m Willy Wonka.

Metaphor? Nonsense? Desires from the deep?

In his work The Interpretation of Dreams, Freud mentions ‘the dream is the liberation of the spirit from the pressure of external nature, a detachment of the soul from the fetters of matter’.

I won’t deny I have a high sex drive and some dreams are merely subconscious thoughts, fragmented and pieced together. But if the answer is merely I’m a sexual creature and that is all, I am disappointed.

Is it that simplistic?

I guess the reason I’m bringing this all up is because I want to talk about the things we’re scared about.

Do you ever have a thought – maybe in your waking life, maybe in your dreams, that is so unlike you? It’s piercing and potent and powerful and it sucker punches you right in the gut?

I do. And I have half an answer why.

I’ve always had an overactive imagination. Anyone that knows me well can tell you about the dreams I recount, the stories I pitch, my weird humour.

I’m not unsatisfied in my life. Quite the contrary. I’m right where I want to be for the first time in my adult life. So it can’t be that.

Have we, as humans, as people into D/s and BDSM opened a door in our minds that connects back to the core – our primal, animalistic selves? And what does that even mean?

I will say that sometimes I feel guilty. With the stories I write, the women I mistreat, all sacrificed to some bloody beast at the centre of myself, demanding flesh and sweat and other bodily fluids.

But that being said, those stories and this blog are some part of me. And rather than turn a blind eye, I write them down. Because at the end of the day, Writing fantasy, erotica or otherwise, is a hobby of mine. And exploring the depths of my own mind is an interest to me.

I do remember a reader writing in to tell me the intensity of a story shocked her in how it made her aroused by it – for reasons she struggled to put into words.

So maybe I’m just psychotic? I don’t know. I’d feel like I would know when things become too dark.

But I’m getting side tracked. I’m thinking out loud.

Imagination is a powerful tool. The mind is a powerful tool. Within it, are all sorts of memories, fantasies, thoughts and feelings. How some thoughts form, how dreams are patched together, by a thought or a memory or a sensation, can’t be helped.

So we should not react too heavily or get our heads turned by a nonsense dream. Let it wash over you and live out your day.

Hera, Ch. 3



Chapter Three




Kadie snapped awake.
She instantly became aware she was lying in a tub full of water. A bathtub to be exact, smooth white and circular, with enough room to spread out.
The water was warm. It made her sleepy.
Kadie was still nude, aware that her breasts lay against her arms, which she had wrapped around herself.
You’re awake.
Kadie jumped at the voice, looking around the room. It was a bare room, save for a scarlet banner draped across the wall before her, wearing the insignia of the Scorpio, a golden M, surrounded by a wreath.
“Where am I? Where are my crew?”
You’re in Captain Deande Fuller’s quarters.
As for your crew, they are safe. Dreaming. I gave each one of them something sweet for their slumber.
It was in Kadie’s head, soft and distinct.
The door to the captain’s quarters opened and a figure stepped out and into the light.
The woman was beautiful, with soft features and piercing hazel eyes, yet she didn’t open her mouth.

It was said that Sister was programmed as a nun on the idea that she provides moral support and guidance to crews.
As such, she was designed to be of a younger appearance so that she was more accessible to approach.
Now Sister stood before her and looked at Kadie quizzically.
Kadie looked right back at her and remained seated. Why, she did not know. Something compelled her.
Sister raised her arm and began to undress.
Piece by piece, she removed her clothing until she stood before a shocked Kadie completely nude.
I used to have no concept of what I wore. Or what I could not wear. Until recently, it never….occurred to me.
Kadie regarded Sister’s nude form. She was slim and pale, with short dark hair in a bob.
Her breasts were small and her nipples smaller.
Her pubic hair was trimmed, a faint reddish colour.
I thought often about how I was created from an image. An image a man had in mind. And I don’t know what to think now I can undress.
Sister stepped into the bath and slowly lowered herself into the water so that she was completely submerged.
When she reappeared, her avatar was wet, her slicked back and water beading on her chest, but her face was expressionless. Unaffected.

Your mind will tell you what a hot bath feels like so when you dream you can experience the warmth.
But I cannot feel this.
I can understand heat. I’ve read of it, been programmed of it. But to feel its kiss on my bare skin, its lingering burn. No.
“What do you want with me?”
You fascinate me, Kadie. More so than the rest. I cannot state why. For all the words I know, across different languages, I cannot state why.
I’m not programmed to feel. I cannot feel attraction. Attraction is a scientific construct. Pheromones, electrical impulses in the brain. I was designed to be a counsellor.

Kadie swallowed. Sister was worse than malfunctioning, she was awake now, questioning her existence.
Tell me, Sister said standing up before Kadie, Do you find me attractive? Do you find this form of myself attractive?
Kadie took in her appearance and decided yes, this form was attractive to her in a manner that was objective. She relayed her thoughts to Sister.
I see. I guess, for my creator to design me, he must’ve seen this form as worthy. But I do not.
Should that be a point? Do we decide how we look or should we accept how we are?
“What else can be done with that?” Kadie asked.
Sister remained standing in front of her. She cocked her head.
Kadie went on.
“I was born with this body,” She said, waving her hand down to her tits. “And there is no power currently available to change that. Not that I would if I could. I have learned to love what I have.”
Yes. Be happy with what you have, a sentiment I am unable to understand.
Kadie remained quiet.
I want to learn.
“Learn what?”
About humans. Sexuality. Love.
“Why are you doing it this way?”
Would you not care to ask the question you really want to ask?
“Is this a dream?”
Kadie looked around at her surroundings, the room was covered in a soft light, much like something out of a dream.
Sister smiled.
It is.
The voice seemed to purr as the woman looked Kadie over.
“Sister, what are –“
The woman struck Kadie across the face. Pain erupted down her cheeks and hair fell into her eyes.
That is not my name. I…am Hera. You will refer to me as such, pet.
Yes. Hera. I am fond of that name. Are you familiar with Greek mythology? Captain Deande has been reading me stories.
Kadie stood up. “I am sick of these games.”
Hera’s eyes travelled down Kadie’s body and suddenly Kadie felt like covering up – but something kept her in place.
I cannot find the words.
Hera cocked her head slightly and a smile appeared across her face.
Beautiful? Extraordinary! No, none of these sound exact.
“Why are you doing this?” Kadie yelled at her, backed up against the bathtub.
Hera reached out and stroked Kadie’s nipple. Kadie flinched and Hera shot her a look. Something dangerous was behind it. Maddening. Angry. It meant: Don’t move.
I was assigned to Captain Deande Stephanie Fuller’s Scorpio for the voyage to Saturn, for counselling and other facilities. Captain Fuller took a liking to me. Invited me into her quarters because she was….
Hera stared beyond Kadie blankly.

Captain Fuller read to me nightly, stories of Hera and Hercules, Hera and Zeus, Pandora’s box. I did not understand why but something in her voice…enthralled me.
She spoke to me as if we were equals. She talked about her day, her hardships.
Soon I experienced a change. A transformation, I believe. I felt…compelled, to access the Captain’s private logs.
A whirring at the other end of the room made itself known and all of a sudden the room was filled with dazzling blue light.
Kadie shielded her eyes until the light died down, revealing a nude Captain Fuller on the bed before the bathtub, her ass in the air.
She was a hologram, faintly blue and shimmering. Her eyes were glued shut, her mouth dangling open as her hand worked what appeared to be a toy into her ass.
She is exquisite. An animal.
Watching her, I felt an overwhelming need to…be human. To find what makes something human so that I may be human. So that I feel pleasure. Pain.
But when I told her this, when I tried to approach her, she kept asking me about my diagnostics.
Two years being by her side and this is what happens.
There was a pain to Hera’s simulated voice. A terrible sadness.
So I put her away. I put them all away, just like they tried to do to me. No one will understand. No one will hear what I have to say.
“You killed them?” Asked Kadie, her heart pounding in her chest.

In the silence that followed, the hologram of Captain Fuller reached her orgasm, holding back her high-pitched shrieks by biting her lip.
Kadie watched in fascination as the hologram trembled under the weight of the orgasm. She saw the quivering lips, her hair falling down around her, the soft shrieks by a wounded animal. It was a breath taking sight and stirred something with Kadie that she couldn’t identify.
Hera just smiled and touched Kadie on the head.

Kadie woke up surrounded by darkness. Her hands and legs were still bound, the cables tearing at her raw flesh.
The Med Drone blinked at her in the darkness with its xenon light and all a once the light around her blinked on, revealing the captain’s quarters – a bare bones ship quarters, with a stripped bed, a desk at the opposite end of the bed and the banner from the dream Kadie was in.
A cable from above lashed out across Kadie’s body, smacking her across her tits and stomach.
It left a massive welt in its place, something red that glistened in the light of the captain’s quarters.
Kadie herself squealed, falling back against the wall she was hovering before.
Deande didn’t care much for this side of me.
Another cable lashed out and struck Kadie’s cunt. Kadie screamed, falling forward.
“You’re fucking mental,” She hissed at the med drone observing her.
But now that she’s in stasis, I can explore what this means.
Another cable snaked itself around Kadie’s legs traveling upwards.
Round and round it went, tightening and tightening.
I’ve read your dreams. I know it’s in you to be led.
The cable brushed against Kadie’s ass – and that’s when it plunged right in, causing Kadie to howl, falling forward. The sound that came out of her mouth was unlike anything she had heard from herself. It was primal, guttural. Her throat became sore.
Her body buckled on the spot.
Interesting reaction.
Kadie’s body went into a spasm as more guttural moans came out of her,  her throat hoarse.
She could feel the cable wiggling inside, filling her. It made her stomach sick but…but…something was there behind this all. The faintest ache.

Something was rising in her, rising.


Rising up, bringing her forward.

Kadie urinated on the spot. The warm stream ran down her legs and made the faintest pitter-patter on the metallic floor below.
From somewhere, Sister’s giggled.
Good. We can begin.

To be continued

Late Night Voyeurism 


Late Night Voyeurism
I sometimes look at some men and women and wonder what turns them on. I can’t help it. Psychology, sexuality – they’re big parts of me.

And it’s not simply thinking what are their sexual drives, it’s how do they behave? What makes them tick? What are their thoughts and desires? How do they behave in the bedroom? What do they prefer? Lace, satin, silk, cotton – what makes them unique? 
The thoughts, they go on and on. Sometimes, like now, as I sit in the lounge room of my quiet house at 12-26am, my mind moves to the lives of others? What do they enjoy? What are they doing at this hour? Nothing is sacred with me, nothing is untouched upon. I guess you could call it perversion. I would call it intrigue. But then again, you are reading the words of a guy that writes dark erotica based on Disney characters. 
I know my life, I love my life. My family, my ideals. But what are the ideals of others? What starts their engine that tears them through the day? 
And will they pick the black lacy panties? Does he or she sleep naked? If not, what are their views on it? I just don’t know. But in my mind, I house an infinite number of universes for these fictional people and I wonder. 
How about you? Do you wonder?