Do Not Be Afraid Of Who You Are

I’ve been in the lifestyle for a number of years – 12, technically. And yet, a number of those were me wandering in the dark scared of my own desire. Fearful of who I was. 
I’m much better now, with an open dialogue between the various aspects of my personality. But I still struggle. Whenever I am about to post, I am scared initially. Scared that one day, one thought will go too far. One story will be too rough. Or weird. 
I mean, I’ve written about sea creatures and vampires and sex cults and you guys are still here. But I still worry. 

And so today, I want to talk about fear.
For some, it starts at the beginning of your journey. You have a thought so effective that it scares you because of how you perceive it – that it’s weird or demented or troubling. 
Maybe it’s not just a thought, maybe it’s a mindset. A rape fantasy. A bondage fantasy. Maybe you’re a masochist and you’re trying to understand why you like sadistic concepts. 
Running from that thought won’t work. I tried. I ended back at square one face to face with the thought. And I’d feel guilty.
The trick, I think, is to begin to rewire your outlook. Day by day, steal a moment to yourself and think about what scares you. Remind yourself you’re not alone. That it’s okay to be the way you are.
For me, it was a long and slow process. I signed up to Fetlife. I challenged myself with nude photos. I dived into the local conversation. And day by day, I’d take a moment to read about it, in books, online. 
I think because I always kept the door open to learn, that eventually it became second nature to me. I felt okay being this weird mix of Daddy / Master / Primal.
Even though that’s my story and everyone is different, I feel like the keeping the door open notion is useful. Don’t run from it, keep one foot in the door and one foot in your comfort zone until you are ready to take a wander through entirely.
What we feel, who we are, is natural. It’s what makes us beautiful. Whether you’re interested in bestiality, like an old friend of mine once was, or whether you’re laying in bed married but out of sorts with your spouse. 
The first step is admitting these thoughts are okay. Are your own. The next step is up to you. You might fall or stumble but you’re stronger then you realise. You’ll be okay.
If you need help taking that initial step, if you want to run by a desire just to hear someone else let you know it’s perfectly fine, if you are confused, whatever the reason, you’re not alone. My email – my door – is always open.
Don’t be afraid to step through. 

Playing With Fire: A Daddy Dom Ramble

I’ve had a few drafts of what I want to say. I can’t figure out how to be precise with my words here. So expect some free form stream of consciousness.
I watched this show where a teenage girl was hovering her hand over an open flame, admittedly been through a lot, not to mention being a teenager in the first place. And my mind jumped to so many different tangents with the image. Experimenting with pain, sexual

Identity. Guidance. 
It kicked off this whole train of thought that is current doing the round. Which led me to writing it down here. 
I’m a Daddy. This much is true, whether it’s sexual or instinctive. Or darker. 

And I’m of two minds – one half trying to comfort this teenage girl while the other half helping her to experiment. Because experimentation, under watch, can be rewarding. So maybe my hand on hers, feeling the slight burn. No going back. Showing her that there is this whole side of things that you can practice as a form of therapy, if controlled in a healthy environment. 
And I’m not too sure why. 

I often wrestle with my animalistic impulses. I’ll shy away from the absurd because a handful of people understand and the rest don’t. 
I think the reason why this show has sparked feeling with me is partly because I was that experimental teen, dealing with pain – unhealthily at first. So when I see a teenager, male or female, struggling, I become that surrogate Daddy. Whether they like it or not. Because I can’t help it. And because my heart is too deep, or so they tell me. 
When I was first fully exploring my Dominant side, I met a teenage girl through Whisper going through a really rough time. I was 26 at the time. And she was flirtatious and sent nudes randomly. And I understood why. Or partly understood. 

I didn’t act. I didn’t want to. She was certainly attractive. Legal, if you’re mind is going there. But I could feel she was trying to justify something, her worth, herself, anything. And so I talked to her, told her politely as I could that the nude photo wasn’t necessary. 
And I don’t know why or how I came to it, but I saw her as a little sister. And whenever she texted me to vent, I would listen. Whenever she called, I would listen. 
And eventually, she stopped calling. We stopped talking, I didn’t bother her. I get it into my head I’m annoying – and a part of me felt guilty about the fact that I was even talking to her, because age. 
And age is weird. When my kitten was 16-17, I was 21. And I wouldn’t dream of dating her then….but now, it’s okay. Our minds are weird. Human, I guess. 
So when I see a teen or hear of a teen struggling, I see myself. I’m instantly transported to my days of discovery. And I guess that sparks on a transformation into a Daddy.
And I’m writing this all out because I feel like it needs to be said. I feel like there’s this sort of creep factor or age barrier that comes with the Daddy Dominant that misconstrues meaning. And I feel, a lot of the time, there’s a younger audience to my blog that needs to talk about something to a random who doesn’t know their friends or family. Who needs to hear they’re okay to experiment. 
Just like sometimes I need someone to tell me: it’s okay to feel like this. It’s an instinctual thing. You’re not a fucking creep. Even though, through writing this, I kinda feel like I am, you know?
So: the image of this girl testing the flame. It made me think of myself, it made me want to guide her, tell her things are okay. It made me want to walk the path with he while she opens the doors to discovery and sexual identity. 
This may be an 18+ blog, with mature themes, but I’d never turn anyone under 18 away. Because that person was once me. 

That Feeling: A Stream of Consciousness poem 

I wrote the following half awake-half asleep, lost in a daze.

That feeling 

When you take her by surprise 
And she lets out a low gasp 
As you ease into her

Taking your time 

Drawing it out
That feeling of
Filling her entirely with your cock

Skin against skin 

To the brim 

Nothing but her cries 
Nothing can come close to

Her soaking cunt

The source of her dirty mind 

Scorching hot and soaking wet
Have you held your cock there 

To the brim 

Controlling her

Leaning over her 

She’s your puppet 

At your mercy 


Low growling 

To have that control 

To seize her humanity 

All that she is 

And pin it beneath you 

Open her up

Examine the animal call
There are no words for that feeling 

None at all 

On My Writing Style

After a week or two of releasing some erotica I had written on the blog for the first time, a lovely submissive woman wrote in to me about one of my stories ‘Payback’, a particularly aggressive bit of rape fantasy. 
She expressed that although she’s open to the idea of rape fantasy, my piece, with its coarseness, challenged her. Made her uncomfortable.
I’ve been reading a lot about the stylings of erotica. The sensual flow it can have, the artful elegance it can lend to any moment of passion. 
I don’t know if I’m that good of a writer, to be frank. Furthermore, I’m not sure I would want to be writing in that style. 
I certainly like that elegant, classical style but I think I enjoy writing from the mind of something rough, so when it comes to language, I use very coarse descriptions, because I’m usually in a first person perspective. 
Not always. There has been a series I’m doing recently that focuses on the little moments, like the piece I wrote called ‘Zoe’, which I really loved. Because it was atmospheric and I could focus on the details of Zoe herself or the environment. 
Why do I write so roughly – or viciously? 
I’m interested in really dark subject matter. 
Each story I write has a bit of me in there that’s clawing to get out.

And I find rather then bottling it, I can tap into it and let out the pressure. Explore it in a safe context.

To that end, I’m interested in the darker mindset of people. The impulses they hide from view. Or bury. I want to scratch the surface and see what’s underneath. So I fantasise about it. And write it down.
And if I can challenge someone’s thoughts, great. If I’ve ever challenged you, I want to hear about it. Write to me, tell me why. If I’ve bored you, I want to hear about it. Write to me, tell me why. How else will I grow as a writer, a master of words? 
And beyond rough language and darkness, I’m a big fan of gothic fantasy. So I like to incorporate some gothic qualities into the writing, whether it’s vampires, cults or sea creatures. 
Lastly, I’m open to writing prompts. That sounds like something that would be fun. And challenging. Something that could flex the writing muscle!


Note: This is a piece I like to call part of my ‘portrait’ series, in which I focus on setting, character and emotion. Here I focus on 19 year old Zoe and I wrote her world in one sitting just now, completely absorbed by its beauty. By far, this is one of my favourite pieces because I think it’s personal in many respects. I really hope you enjoy it.

Nineteen year old Zoe slammed her bedroom door shut in a huff. It was enough force to move her hair in a quick sway.

For a moment, she stood there, gobsmacked at the sudden turn of events. 

Downstairs she could hear her parents arguing, her mum defending Zoe’s honor while her dad arguing against her mum for not defending his. 

Suddenly Zoe felt like a stupid little girl. She looked down at her faded yellow batman t shirt and grunted in frustration. 

None of it made sense anymore, not her batman shirt or her her yellow shorties she had on or her silly pixie hair cut, with sandy colour and messiness. 

She felt stupid, like a little girl lost in a supermarket and wondering what to do. 

Zoe slid down to her floor and let out a sigh, just as she heard the screeching of a chair down below. Daddy had stormed off. 

Her mum had called out to him but he was already out the door. 

This was all her fault. She started this. 

She knew better than to question her daddy on religion but something came over her when he raised the issue of sexuality. 

A celebrity came out, it made the news He said.

It shouldn’t have, he said. There’s no place for that sort of thing in the news, it’s not right. It’s not natural. 

Zoe, who was stirring her peas in her gravy, suddenly thought of Sharon Bridges’ 17th just a few months ago. 

It was an image she thought of often when she was alone, not just because it was fun and she had laughed harder than she ever had, but because of one incident in particular. 

As the party wound down and most, if not all people, were passing out or leaving for greener pastures at other parties, Zoe was looking for the bathroom. She’d ask Sharon herself, but she had disappeared, as had her other friends, into the void that was drunkenness. Not Zoe, she was pacing herself. Although by this point in time, she was well on her way to becoming tipsy. 

Zoe had found Sharon eventually, she opened one door, which turned out to be the wrong door evidently. 
Sharon was on top of a faceless girl, her head buried in this girl’s cunt while the girl below her ate her out vigorously. 

In the corner was another girl, Unknown to Zoe and watching intently, her hand down her panties. 

The three of them were drunk and lost in a primal daze of lust, the only instinct being the basic animal desire to fuck and to come.

When they heard the door click and open, they didn’t freeze or become startle, rather they gazed at who it was with a vague curiosity.

When they saw it was Zoe, they giggled innocently, their faces wet with spit and arousal.

But Zoe was startled. She closed the door before any of them could speak a word, and on wobbly legs she wandered to her tent she had set up for the evening out the back and went to crash there for the night.

In the morning, Sharon and her friends hadn’t raised it and Zoe didn’t want to go there, so she had her breakfast, complimentary orange juice and burnt toast from Sharon, and left for home.

The image of the girls, however, never left her. 

It lingered with her that whole afternoon, had woken her up that night with her sweet shaven lips pulsating as it dripped. 

She had masturbated to it more than once in the following months, but still couldn’t make any sense of why. Was she bi? A lesbian? She didn’t know, couldn’t tell. Maybe the image was just appealing on a purely objective level? But did that still make her bi? 

So when her dad raised the female celebrity coming out, she openly questioned him. 
When he said, looking her square in the eyes and saying that this was the divine creator’s word, she raised the issue of love, how it was universal. Somewhere along her impassioned speech, she had raised her voice. 

Her dad kept saying the usual – it wasn’t right, it’s not natural, we weren’t designed for that. And when her dad told her she was being silly, she took personal offence.

It was all downhill from there on, as Zoe’s dad kept shutting her down. Kept reiterating that one point: it’s not natural. 

Zoe left for her room in a huff and in her room in a huff is where she now sat, thinking how silly she had been, silly to be arguing with her dad, silly to start something. Sharon Bridges was in her mind again, her mouth devouring that faceless girl’s cunt.

With a groan, she tore off her singlet top and threw it to the ground.
Outside, thunder rumbled and Oscar, their French bulldog, complained at the thunder. 

Something possessed Zoe then, she took the singlet in her hands and tried to tear it.

It didn’t make any sense to her, she felt silly wearing it, she felt silly tearing it. 

There she was, a girl still at home, still wearing kids things, trying to tear her singlet while her small breasts smacked against her chest and each other. She hated her breasts and her nipples. The sudden stream of rage entering her mind drove her to tear harder. 

The singlet tore down the middle and she left it at that, tossing her aside. 

More thunder echoed around her as she kicked off her shorties, tossing them across the room.

They went skidding underneath her wardrobe in the corner. 

Zoe was completely nude now, her chest heaving along, her eyes darting around the room. She wasn’t right, she wasn’t natural, she was a silly little girl. A silly little girl going no where. A silly little girl working at an office answering the phones trying to play grown up. What an idiot. 

She heard her daddy start the family car, saw the lights glide across her windows as he left up the track, disappearing into the thunder.

No one knew where he went when he got into a rage, but mum had told her one time that he told her in a rare moment that he visits a small pub out the back roads somewhere. 

Zoe was still, kneeling in her room, listening to the car disappear, the thunder booming, Oscar barking. 
Her skin felt the summer heat, it was warming up her arm as she knelt. 

She rose in one swift movement and moved across her room, opening the door opposite her that led out onto the verandah outside. 

Zoe stood in the doorway and listened for the rain. It came in small pitter-patter’s first, then more heavily.
On the tin roof above her the rain played a gentle concerto, swift and at ease. 

Zoe moved to the railing of the verandah and ran her hand song the rough wood. She stood there a moment watching her hand slide along the panel, wondering what everything meant – her tastes, the past few months, where she was going in life, is she a lesbian? 

It was true that she hadn’t been able to get Sharon Bridges out of her mind. But the reasons why this was so was unknown to her, much as she tried to make sense of it all.
For if she were interested in women, what would that mean? She’d have to reset her whole perception on her life, on what family meant to her, marriage too. She didn’t even know if she wanted to get married but the option, as a straight person, was there. 

As the rain belted down and somewhere amongst the noise the cicadas sang, nineteen year old Zoe stood naked on her Verandah with her arms outstretched to touch the rain. 
Pretty soon she would hop the ledge and go run in the rain behind the house. Pretty soon, her mum would knock on her door and get no answer. Pretty soon, Zoe would enjoy the rain stinging every part of her body and see that as cleansing herself in some way – for what she didn’t know.

But for now, Zoe stood naked watching the droplets of rain smack on her open palm.

Introduction to BDSM


So you’ve decided to explore the world of BDSM and somehow you’ve ended up here in the dark corners of the Internet! Welcome! Pull up a chair. We’ve got some things to discuss.

By choosing to explore this, you’ve taken a step into the realm of BDSM, a place where Dominants and submissive’s and switch’s dwell. But where do you begin? Where to even start thinking? 
BDSM stands for 
Discipline / Dominance

Submission / Sadism


The fundamentals of which involve the interaction between a Dominant and submissive. These interactions can be entirely physical (Bondage, spanking, choking) or entirely psychological (Degradation, humiliation, scene play). The type of interaction will depend on whether kink aligns or whether exploration of kink comes into play. This is purely subjective. 
Within the Dominant and submissive are different dynamics. The Daddy / little girl, the Master / slave are an example of this. These are variations of the core idea of a submissive and Dominant that can shape a relationship. 
So are you a submissive or a Dominant? If you are here reading this, chances are you have an idea of which you fall into. Maybe you have a bit of both personalities rolled up into that beautiful mind of yours! 
In any case, I have some textbook reading for you to research, you’ll find them below!

There’s a misconception that people into BDSM are freaky. Maybe you’ve heard it from family in passing, maybe you’re worried you are a freak. The truth of the matter is that you and people like you are intelligent, in tune with something deeply intimate and erotic.

BDSM is about Trust first and foremost.

The submissive gives it to the Dominant and the Dominant cares for, nurtures and protects the submissive. In turn, the submissive trusts that the Dominant will respect their boundaries, which is where a ‘safe word’ comes into play. 

You may also think of BDSM and think something along the lines of a dungeon and while there are places / rooms like that, the only dungeon you really need is that dirty mind of yours. BDSM is largely psychological – you plan out with your partner, talk through your kinks, limits, methods, exploration. When you are in the middle of playing, there’s a deep level of intimacy connecting minds. This is called NEGOTIATING and it’s very important when establishing etiquette, rules and scenes.
Being such a sensitive topic, a fault can easily arise in a relationship if things are communicated clearly. 

Pretty much. While a Dominant’s role is to guide, care, nurture, protect the submissive, the submissive states the boundaries, limits and other such elements that they are not comfortable with.
There’s also the matter of the submissive choosing the Dominant as someone worthy to take her as a pet / slave / submissive. This should be remembered by all submissive’s. You hold the power. You are important. 

This unfortunately must be covered. Because the topic is sensitive and things might go unspoken, there’s always the risk of a Dominant abusing their power without the submissive realising, just like the submissive might get away with too much because they might see that Dominant as easily persuaded. 
I think this can be negated by establishing limits, ideals and so forth and by communicating errors / other such ideas that you feel affects you.

As I say to my partner, if she has a problem with how a certain things are handled, she can raise it without fear of punishment. If she didn’t understand something, either I didn’t explain well or went back on an established rule or whatever the case may be. 

SSC (Safe. Sane. Consensual)

This one is super important, and one I’ll probably write a separate article on for good measure.

Just because a Dominant may be a Dominant does not grant them ability to walk over anyone, be it a submissive or another Dominant. And the same goes for the submissive. Respect each other and these three concepts.


Whatever the scene is, run it by each other for good measure. Check it again and any problems that may hurt physically or psychologically. Double check it. Check the environments, the setting, the materials used. Make sure everything is safe. Make sure medical conditions, again – physical or mental, don’t become hurt in the process. 


You don’t get to manipulate anyone. Everything is agreed upon. Don’t go beyond the rules because you think ‘You can’. Nope. Not on. Always discuss what you want to do, always discuss exploration. Because the Dom gives to the submissive – and vice versa, doesn’t mean one or the other has the right to exploit. There are morals at play. That and we are human. Be mindful at all times.


All activities should be fully approved by all parties engages within the activity. There must be no room for doubt. Every thing is under simulation unless discussed in a contract or otherwise. Don’t break limits or respects or promises. BE careful. 

In Conclusion…
Are you with me still? I sure hope so. It can be daunting learning all this but turning away from it will never set you free. One day at a time, one day step at a time. With time comes understanding, with understanding comes peace. 
The world of BDSM is a deeply sensual and beautiful place. That you are here reading this should be a time for exploration, celebration and merriment. I hope to hear from you!
1. SM101 by Jay Wiseman

2. Screw The Roses, Send Me The Thorns by Phillip Miller & Molly Devon

3. The Loving Dominant by John and Libby Warren

4. Conquer me by Kacie Cunningham

Should BDSM be taught in Sex Ed. in High Schools?

My kitten brought this article to my attention:
If someone were to ask me if BDSM should be taught in Sex Ed in High School, I would answer yes. Absolutely yes.
Here’s why: Because there’s a good chance students are struggling with feeling isolated or alienated because they don’t understand. 
Because it will guide students between right and wrong ways of Dominance and submission.
Because it can teach students about connection and safety.
I’m not saying to go in depth, with prac and such. Lord no! But health and safety is priority and as such, an exercise in BDSM could very well be what the student requires. It could be something cleansing in the area for mental health. 
Now it’s easy for me to say that. I don’t have children. I don’t plan on it. I can’t possibly know what it’s like to be a parent. Maybe the idea of a teacher teaching that is strange. But sex ed is already sort of strange and there should or would be a study plan drawn up so its kept educational and not harmful or uncomfortable. 
I’ve been in a position where I’ve had the opportunity to respond to questions from teenagers who have read my blog. It’s satisfying in that it helps me with the sense of sadness that I feel for those out there that need help but are afraid to come and seek help. To those people, I would say to come forward. To me or to anyone you feel you can trust. Because there is no shame. That is absolute, for anything. Anything. 
Off my high horse now, navigating teenage life and all its turmoil is tough. Navigating those feelings, like you’re a freak, like what you want is wrong, is terrifying. I will tell you as an adult, doing all sorts of kink still hits my system of a tonne of bricks. Like I need to feel guilty for being an animal. Primal. Who I fucking am.
So to me, a unit in sex ed. would help combat these feelings. It could help with stress, mental health, isolation, insecurity, the whole she bang of self hatred. 
It’ll probably never happen because people might rally against and use all sorts of ill informed malarkey about it. But the thing those people need to take away from this is that it could combat mental health. 
Until then, I’m like some BDSM vigilante in the night*. Helping those in need. Appearing in open windows and fuelling your dreams with the darkness that comes from my mind. Making you wonder if the thing that challenges you, frightens you, might very well turn you on.
Until then, I’m happy to do my best to help those who want it, need it. It’s why I started this blog. It’s why I started my Kik.
*= I’m joking, in case you think I’m being self important.