Day 8 – Is spanking or corporal punishment part of your Dominance? Why or why not? How do you feel about spanking and/or corporal punishment as tools used to invoke and maintain submission from your partner/s?
It is a piece of my dominance, I think, yes. Why? Hm. I am drawn to the masochistic mind, I am drawn to the slave pet or the sassy brat that thinks they are above my dominance. And I am drawn to interacting with the mind that is on the receiving end of that and exploring what comes out in those moments together.
How do I feel about it as a tool invoking submission? Honestly, I think it can be wonderful to implement into a dynamic – because I’m always fascinated by the creatures we become / transform into in the height of lust and love and pleasure and pain.
But I think, like anything in kink, it needs to be something that is negotiated upon and carefully administered, with aftercare always on the table for each other.
Sometimes, these acts can knock loose an old memory when we least expect it and so aspects like the safe word, hitting pause on the scene or moment and just a big ol’ hug (or not, sometimes sensory overload is a thing) and Ice cream is key.
See what happens when you are a brat. Brats get iced coffee spilled over their tits. Good girls get to drink their coffee and relax…
What to expect: Forced orgasms | Bondage | More bratty shenanigans | one very tortured clit
They’ve been here before, he thinks.
Her: bound to the bed of their spare room, arms and legs laced with cotton rope.
Her favorite purple vibe strapped into a little nook between her legs and positioned at her clit.
The bratface started to melt away when she realised where he was leading her.
Hannah’s chest moves a little quicker now. Her breathing is jagged like his — good.
She can be as eager as he has been enforcing her place in the dynamic.
It started with her ignoring his dress code for a coffee run and wearing no panties because she felt like it.
Well…there’s a price to be paid for being a brat.
He knows she’ll want to fuck the toy once it’s on. He knows she will want to scoop up her tits into her hand and pinch her nipples.
He smiles because that won’t happen.
He double checks the vibe is locked in and sturdy. That it’s aimed right at her clit, that it’s enough of a tease to her slit that she’ll go mental. Then he clicks it on.
Her reaction is instant. She squirms on the spot, let’s out a strangled cry that heaves up her throat and comes sputtering out through her lips. Her new haircut falls across her forehead in sweat-licked strands.
And her hips desperately grind into the toy, trying to ride it, suck it in, take ownership of the moment.
But she’s the one who is owned.
It doesn’t take long for her orgasm to hit.
Her moans start out as whimpers that build to mutterings and shrieks.
It’s a cliche to think – music to his ears – but it’s true.
‘Record breaking time, eh? Good girl.’
A thought hits him. Makes him beam.
‘Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.’
‘S-Sir..?’
He turns back to his squirming pet on the bed. She has to concentrate to get out the words.
‘Don’t you want to come on my tits?’
‘You’ll be doing plenty of coming for the both of us.’
He leaves to the sounds of her whining and returns with his seasonal Valentine’s Day iced coffee – the sole reason they went for a coffee run at all.
‘See what happens when you are a brat. Brats get iced coffee spilled over their tits. Good girls get to drink their coffee and relax.’
He sips his iced coffee.
Super sweet even before the strawberry syrup hits.
Hannah whines, her eyes struggling to stay on his as the vibe assaults her tortured lips relentlessly. What are they trying to communicate? The need to fuck? To apologise?
Poor, writhing brat.
‘Mm-Mm. You’ve got your own. You might be wearing it but, uh, it’s there right?’
He moves around the bed to her tits.
Fuck, the urge to touch himself is fierce.
All in good time though.
He bends down to her chest, enough to hear her breathing hard and fast in his ear, and draws his tongue across her nipple.
Hannah grunts in his ear. He catches the tail end of her frenzied mumbles as another orgasm sizzles across her body.
‘Yep. Your coffee’s still there. You’ll probably need to wash that off.’
But Hannah’s not listening. She’s panting hard. Moans sounds like sobs. They come tearing out of her in fierce bursts one after the other that climb higher and higher notes.
But she can’t relax.
‘Puh….puhhh…’
Her breath sputters away in his ears. Like an old car struggling up a hill.
‘Please…’
She fails.
Licks her lips.
Tried again.
‘Please f-f-fuuuuuuuckk….’
Kevin steps away, back to at the end of the bed, where her cunt glistens and quivers under the endless assault.
He can’t help himself.
The relief that his cock feels slipping free from his joggers is fucking amazing.
More than this, that need — that need to slide right into her almost takes control and pulls him forward. He rights himself. Settles for slowly pulling his uncut thick shaft.
This seems to frustrate Hannah. She growls, seethes. Spits out some sort of jibber that he can’t decipher. Now her whines to fuck sound like genuine pleas.
Genuine pleas at the threshold of sanity.
‘Don’t fight it.’ He finds himself saying to her. A thought that comes loose off his tongue as soon as he thinks it.
He takes another sip.
Ducks out to see if the floor in the hallway is sticky.
It’s not. Hannah’s done a good job cleaning the spillage. Clever girl.
When he comes back, Hannah is in the midst of writhing under the toy’s buzz.
Her body tenses.
Thighs go to close, her ass tries to lift off the bed.
A crescendo of wailing cries come sputtering out of her.
Rapid-fire grunts.
At the tail end of her string of animalistic noises, she squirts across the end of the bed.
Her thighs tremble. Her wails are never ending, warbling from high to low – ecstasy to relief. Another load pumps out of her — once. Twice.
Right there and then, Kevin realises it. This is the most beautiful fucking thing he has ever seen in his entire life.
Hannah’s panting now. The scent of her fills room. It’s intoxicating. Sweet. Kevin catches himself inhaling deep.
‘There you go.’ He’s saying to her. ‘There you are.’
He reached down to cease the assault. Gets marked across his arm by another delicious stream from her pussy.
‘Catch your breath.’
She gulps down the air like it’s her first breath in years.
When she’s had a moment, he walks to her chest and meets her gaze. She’s flushed red and sweaty and her eyes have the look of someone coming out of a deep sleep.
‘Now. Who do you belong to?’
‘You, Sir.’ It’s quiet but it’s there. His satiated whore.
‘Will you behave for the rest of the day?’
‘For the rest of the day.’
‘Hm. We’ll see again tomorrow won’t we? But for now….you’re not going anywhere just yet. It’s my turn with you.’
‘Did you ever find yourself with a gnawing sense of Déjà Vu?’
Mari / Katie / The Woman asked as she closed the door behind him.
Logan (Anthony?) had walked with her out the airport and across the busy highway.
Had felt relaxed about following her.
He was there but he wasn’t. And as Ana / Kate / The Stranger pulled the DO NOT DISTURB sign across the door knob to the freshly rented hotel room, Logan couldn’t recall the moments in between the time from the Highway to their / her room.
Had they spoken at all?
Logan turned to face her, mind searching, reeling for the answer to her question.
Déjà Vu? That was happening right now. He was two different minds —
The woman known as Mariana but also known as Katie was in the middle of peeling off her singlet top. She tossed it aside and standing topless, her eyes found his.
She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. Freckles ran down across her breasts in a sporadic trail, circling around her bellybutton.
‘I know it’s a different body but still nothing?’
The woman laughed as she kicked off her jeans. ‘Well, you always were stubborn.’
Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He tried to wrench his eyes away – some notion of decency, niceness stabbed at his thoughts – but her eyes pulled him back.
To the shape of her body.
To the little things.
The freckles.
Her slither of pubic hair along her slit.
A thin flesh-white scar along the right side of her bare arm.
She was more than the word ‘beautiful.’ but no other words came to his mind to describe her. She was beyond them all.
His heart hammered away in his chest. Nerves or caffeine or both.
The moment had the air of a dream about it. The light filtering through the small gap in the blinds was warm and sharp and feeling overexposed.
And as Katie lowered herself to her knees she did so with that slow dream-movement.
Logan drew in a shaky breath as Katie crawled to him hypnotically, eyes never leaving his.
What comes next?
He was fixed to the spot as she came before him. Could only watch as she shifted into a kneeling position, palms fading upward.
Green eyes melted away to grey.
Her fiery hair faded to jet black.
A rhythm pulsed in his ears. THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.
His racing heart?
No.
His hand.
In their backyard out under the moon he stood before her kneeling self, gripping his cock and jerking off over her tits, which she held between her hands, pinching and pulling with that wicked smirk painting her lips.
Logan blinked and the hotel room peeled back into his existence around him.
Another memory, vivid and clear.
So clear he could’ve reached out and touched her. Mariana.
But now Katie was the one kneeling before him. Back completely straight, red creeping into her cheeks.
‘What would you like to do with me?’
The words echoed in his mind.
Spoken by another voice in another time.
His legs moved on their own, as if some unseen force was pulling him along and out of there. Panic seized his chest, flushed through his veins.
‘Anthony.’
He was spinning, twirling around, his vision a whirlwind of colours.
Pinned against a wall.
Again.
Green eyes, grey eyes, colours shifting between time and space. Katie / Mariana. Two women existing at the same time.
‘Anthony, it’s okay. You’re okay.’
Katie held his face in her hands.
Cool hands.
Her eyes searched his, darting back and forth.
‘I don’t know this is possible but I’m here now.’
A question swirled in his dizzying mind.
How many times?
‘Let go of me.’
He shoved Mariana off.
He didn’t mean to use such force.
He just had to get away from her.
He was at the door when something latched back into his shoulders and spun him around.
Logan was no stranger to the dance now — he spun with the movement, caught Katie by the throat and pinned her into the cupboard behind her.
‘I said let go of me.’ He hissed.
His heart shuddered.
Something warm slithered over him.
Something was rumbling.
It was him. Growling at her. Low and guttural from deep in his throat.
His senses kicked in as he blinked through the vision of Katie’s face overlapping Mariana’s.
He had his throat clutched around her neck and squeezing tight — when she swallowed it was a buzz against his palm.
Their eyes burrowed deep into each other, hers shocked and wide and a lighter green.
It wasn’t right.
Nothing about this felt right.
He —
Couldn’t stop himself from kissing her.
He needed to.
He hungered to.
Or he’d go mad.
The soft sound of her whimpering moan through his lips only made him want her more.
Somehow he managed to let go of that beautiful neck.
Katie merged with Mariana.
Those eyes.
He last saw them a lifetime ago.
‘Mari….It’s you…’
What was that weight…
…that crushing weight…
…on his chest….
How?
‘I don’t know.’ Mariana said, holding his hands in hers.
Anthony realised he had spoken the thought out loud.
Mariana’s eyes searched his.
‘I found myself standing naked in my apartment complex the last full moon. I didn’t know…I didn’t know what it meant until I saw you. Then I needed to be sure.’
Anthony couldn’t resist cupping her breast and squeezing gently. ‘It feels like…’
‘The longest dream. I know, Sir.’
Sir.
She was his.
In another life.
But what life was that.
And when?
Mariana’s eyes stayed on his, the corner of her lips twitching in a half-smile, her cheeks turning the darkest red.
She lowered herself slowly to her knees again. A single solitary tear rolled down her cheeks.
By his feet, she tugged down his joggers.
The relief of getting naked was intense.
Was it still his? Who was he?
Was he crying?
The ache in his cock was a pulse that zigzagged across his body as his pants came down.
Mariana greedily took his cock into her mouth, her moan a delightful buzz around his shaft.
Her tongue down across the tip of him.
Fuck.
It killed him to tear her away but he wanted her.
Mariana let out a whine as he did. It was positively animalistic.
Like a dog begging, came a wild thought, low and petulant — but she watched and waited as he tore his shirt off and tossed it to the floor.
Anthony sank down with her, bodies slipping down together. Laughter. Theirs.
Mariana panted heavily beneath him like an animal, her pupils massive.
Her hands found his and squeezed tight.
The act tickled Anthony, drove his teeth into her neck.
He had done this before.
A memory of a yesterday.
Leaving a trail of wet kisses he slid down to her tits.
Greedily sucked her stiff nipple into his mouth.
Rolled it along his teeth.
Savoured the taste of her.
He could feel his cock grind against her inner thigh.
Needed to dull that maddening ache, needed to –
She was so soaked that he slipped inside her instantly.
Mariana cried out, shattering his hearing, legs wrapping around his arse.
Her convulsions came in waves that made her grip tighter, pulling her down into him.
He gave himself over to her strength, let his body sink with her.
‘Did you…did you just…?’
Mariana nodded.
‘M….mhm.’ She said shakily.
Anthony felt overwhelmed with the need to kiss her.
He met her hungry, wet lips eagerly.
Feeling the buzz of her moan against his lips sent a surge of energy down his back.
He flipped her over on her stomach and pinned her down, his cock coming to rest between the curves of her ass.
Anthony couldn’t resist taking his sweet time to grind along her, against her, and Ana – her face buried into the rough carpet – let out a string of muffled moans.
Looking down at her exposed neck and tangled wet hair ignited something in Anthony.
Before he realised what he was doing he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled.
The hotel room reverberated her strangled cry.
‘Like this, do you?’
Ana whimpered a response. Like a kitten in the jaws of its mother, her head hung there under his fistful.
Her cunt seemed to pulsate from between her thighs.
With an open palm he struck her there.
The crack was deafening.
The sting on his palms was sharp and delicious.
Mariana let out a sound caught between pleasure and pain, between a moan and a whimper, her body squirming under the strike.
The sight of this tickled his stomach in a way that was suddenly sickeningly sweet.
The scent of her was intoxicating.
Rich.
His mouth tingled in anticipation of tasting her.
He struck her again and watched as her creamy thighs clamped shut together and her body lifted upwards, as if eager to meet his hand halfway.
‘Do you like this, hm? Are you enjoying me striking your little pussy?’
‘Y-yes, Sir. F-f-fuck, she does but please…please.’
Ana’s voice was breathy, light. ‘Please f-f-f…’
She turned her head the best she could to look back at him, her eyes glazed and begging, partially covered by her hair.
‘Please fuck me.’
Her sweet voice was a shot of a adrenaline urging him forward.
He dragged her closer to him by her legs.
Guided his cock to her pussy.
Ever so slowly inched apart her red-hot lips.
A grunt came whistling out between his teeth as he filled her.
Ana echoed his grunt, her legs quivering, her ass wiggling back into him, swallowing his cock as desperately as he wanted to fill her.
‘Fuck.’ Anthony said, his knees sinking into the carpet.
His need for her was desperate.
Greedy.
Their bodies twisted, sank into the floor.
They fell into a rhythm: Anthony filling her, Ana rising her hips to meet him halfway.
Their bodies sketched a kaleidoscopic pattern into the carpet of the room.
Anthony’s hands traveled her body, marking her porcelain skin with streaks of red.
He cupped her tits in his open palm, pinching her nipples as he did.
Mariana let out a sharp moan at his touch, muttering under her breath.
Every time he pulled back out of her, he ached to slide back in.
To feel his cock stretch apart her soaking lips and ease in.
To hear her moans.
It was addiction.
He wanted more.
He wanted her.
He wanted to chase that feeling of pumping her pretty little pussy.
Wanted to hear her wet cunt as he slid back into her.
Wanted to feel his balls slap against her.
Ana let out a throaty gasp.
Then another.
She trembled against him.
Tensed around his cock.
And he –
Fuck.
He was going to…
He pulled out.
Pleasure seized his body.
His load came out in thick, short bursts across her trembling ass.
Ana fell forward into the carpet on her stomach before him.
She rolled on her back — and was unrecognizable. Flushed and wild and primal.
Her hair, streaked with sweat, was slicked back. Her eyes were half open, glazed.
The last of Anthony’s load lashed her tits and rolled down towards her stomach.
The thought came and went, giving way to the sound of their panting bouncing off around the walls of the room.
His heart was hammering away.
His body trembled with adrenaline.
Dizziness washed over him.
Ana was hypnotising, angelic, lost in a trance of her own. Her smooth pussy, glistening and soaking between her legs, was breathtakingly gorgeous.
Anthony watched as Ani’s hands trailed down her stomach and scooped up a slither of his cum onto her fingers.
Moving slowly as if still in that dream, she circled a drop of her cum into her hard nipples.
Then she licked her fingers clean and let out the most blissful, satisfied sigh.
Anthony laid back down beside her and Ani curled up beside him, her hand on his chest, her breasts brushing against his arm.
He didn’t realise he was scratching her behind the ears until she cooed.
‘I don’t remember.’ He said.
‘Your death?’
‘Mm.’
‘Nor do I. And I don’t want to.’
Anthony / Logan was surprised to find his heart soared for the pretty little pet in his arms. A lifetime dynamic.
Somehow no relationship before this time mattered – or measured.
‘Tony..’
‘Mm?’
‘Is it selfish if I don’t care what life you’ve led before this moment.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He found himself both saying and thinking.
The idea of her in a relationship, in a marriage, playing with someone else made his stomach flip.
He realised Ani was grinding into his leg.
The eager little thing.
Ani giggled. ‘Does that mean you’re taking me back home?’
‘You’re goddamn right I am.’ Anthony growled. ‘But first. I am going to watch you come without me touching you.’
Stretched out across his legs on the couch, tangled panties down around her thighs, her bare ass feeling the cool bite of the night air, tits resting against his knees, hair pooling down around her face, she can’t fight the delicious squirm that comes cascading down across her body. The shiver leaves behind a trail of goosebumps that crosses her arms, slithers down her neck to her tits and marks her nipples.
Suddenly she’s aware of everything – the way her tits are pressed against his knee, the way the chill in the air is doing something to her nipples. How she wants to grind them into him, drag them along his knees — just to shake off the shiver she still feels slinking across her body.
That same shiver reaches her ass, skims along the inside of her thighs.
An involuntary twitch wracks her body, knocks a sound from her wet lips, a sound somewhere between a giggle and a whimper.
She wants to reach back and touch her clit, can feel the impulse, the urge, clawing at her mind, but she can’t do a single damn thing about it — her hands are stretched out ahead of her, held together by his.
It hits her then – she’s moving, she’s rocking her hips, she’s . . . humping his leg.
Like an animal, like a wild animal, he thinks as he traces the edges of her ass.
‘You’re an eager little thing, aren’t you?’ The sight of her grinding into him splits his mind into pieces. He swallows, feeling the tightness in his throat, fights the urge to flip her over onto her knees so he can slip into her pretty little pussy from behind — but he wants to torment her some more.
Her cheeks positively burn hearing his words – but she can’t stop grinding into him. She wants this, needs this. With each thrust, she draws out the slither of pleasure that agonisingly runs its course along her slit.
‘Well, I tell you what. You’re going to count every single smack aloud for me, do you hear? Every. Single. Smack.’
His voice takes on an edge that makes her heart kick into overdrive.
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!
Early in the week, I was talking to a lady about how to implement kink into her marriage with her husband, when she ran a question by me – How do you know if you’re Dominant?
I answered that question best I could in the moment, running my own experiences with identifying the feeling by her, hoping it would connect somehow. But now, days later, I’m still thinking it over. I don’t really know HOW. It all seems so organic looking back.
I have also recently had someone ask me If they’re still fully submissive if they enjoy being bratty – there’s a lot of misunderstanding about the persona and how it applies to the individual.
Unfortunately, there’s a lot of confused and alone people out there with a laundry list of questions and no one to ask. I’m more than happy to answer anything anyone has to ask, be you male, female, teenager, adult, new to the lifestyle or in the middle of a transformation or even someone with an inkling of kinkling.
Anyway, I thought I would try to the answer the question at length, hoping newcomers to BDSM might relate and it can help them in their own journey.
In the beginning, I had these feelings that I had understanding of. I didn’t know I could file my name calling under ‘Degradation and Humiliation’ nor did I understand why I was so interested in control – in exercising authority over my girlfriend. In these stages, there was no real sense of D/s and aftercare because I was immature and these feelings were immature and coarse and unrefined.
Before I continue, let me just write that there’s no absolute way for one person. Everyone is different and works differently.
I should say that my own development has come with a certain degree of blind luck. I met certain people at the right time in my life, people like me, through Fetlife or the semi-sketchy anonymous confessional app Whisper. I was a lucky bastard. I had the blessing of shaping who I was through encounters along my twenties.
Fetlife was a big player in my path, I would say. By signing up and looking around, I could see I wasn’t alone. I could even put a name to my kinks and thus have some semblance of understanding.
Google helped too, in a way, acting as a gateway to all sorts of media – books, images, blogs, people, Kink. Suddenly I knew of words like ‘Dominance’ and ‘submission’ and ‘dynamic’. Combine this with Fetlife and I had opportunities to feel the gravitational force to someone who was submissive. I’m talking, heart racing, cock hardening, breath quickening gravitational forces that helped me realise something was within me.
I know what you’re wondering. ‘Okay, but how does someone know if they’re dominant? Or even submissive?’
The best advice I can give is that it starts with an idea. Have a google of key concepts that come to mind when you think of BDSM – blindfolding, handcuffs, dirty talk. Start small. See if something strikes up your fancy.
If you want to reach deeper, have a look at concepts within a D/s relationship, such as setting tasks and rules and maintaining order. See if any of these concepts appeal to you on a base level. Try not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information – there can be a lot to learn but you can easily break it up into easily digestible parts.
Start small. Start light. A bit of spanking, a bit of issuing commands – talk to your partner about what they would like to try and see if it strikes a chord with you on any level.
The last advice I can give is to be open to yourself and to your partner. That goes for likes and dislikes and even if you’re uninterested. But always be open to trying at least. You never know what you’ll find on the road less travelled.
Why is discipline so important to me in a D/s relationship?
There’s an underlying level of sexiness there, certainly, but there’s more to that, I feel. It’s something bigger than that. Bigger then me.
Maybe it’s as simple as I read novels like Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights and the subtle subtext of Dominance and submission spoke to me, in ways I’m still processing in my adult life. Maybe it’s just that simple and not the grand cosmic experience I sense in my heart. I’ve always been a romantic. I’m a Libra, the so called daydreamer with a taste for the sensual. That’s our thing, right?
I don’t know if I can accept an answer so simple – that it’s simply something we enjoy sexually. But even that is part of the human condition right? That we may not be satisfied with simplicity, that we need a new mystery to occupy our minds. I still don’t know if I buy that, because it still feels massive in my heart.
So where does it come from, this need to dominate? And where does the sadism come from? The words ‘just give me a reason to break you’ spat out through clenched teeth that so want to break out after multiple bratty outbreaks.
Because if it’s as simple as it being a kink, an enjoyable thing to do, why is the IDEA of breaking her down, to the brink of pleasure and pain, just to find that inner slut who wants to cry out all the thoughts the other is scared do utter – why is that so complex? So fucked up in its savagery but so utterly, utterly beautiful.
I don’t know, man. I’m the type to wonder constantly, Dream always, and stare at the stars ruminating on why.
Nineteen year old Penny stands quietly in her bedroom adorned with posters of The Doors, wearing a thin grey singlet top and nothing else.
Her dark blonde hair is untied, reaching back down to the tips of her shoulder blade.
The room is low lit – her small white lamp sits on an old chest of drawers covered with gothic romances and old fairytales.
There is no sound in this room – she’s stopped her run of Love Her Madly, per the request of her mother, who is heading to bed. On top of that, she should really be studying for her psychology exam tomorrow anyway.
The temperature in the room is just right, a blend of warm with the slightest hint of a breeze.
The breeze, of course, tickles the back of her legs and skims across her inner thigh. She can feel the breeze where she has shaven herself.
From the study table to her left, a brown, ancient thing that has been in the family for decades, she grabs her metal ruler. The sharp edges scrape across the inside of her hands.
As she steps to her double bed that fits snuggly in the corner, she absent-minded slaps the metal ruler against her lightly tanned ass to the rhythm of Love Her Madly.
In a heartbeat, everything she had been thinking about – tomorrow, exams, Jim Morrison – disappears. All that remains is the feeling of the metal ruler against her ass. That cold slight sting.
Penny is standing in the middle of the room, her shadow quivering, as of coming to life on its own. Like electricity, the idea hits her and sizzles it’s way down her body in one pulsating sweep.
Smack. It happens sudden.
The cold hits — then gives way to pain.
Smack. More stinging. This time the ruler scraped at her skin.
The thick sound of the ruler on her right cheek fires off amidst the silence.
THWAP! SMACK!
Another, and another.
Chills race down from the beads of sweat on her forehead to her nipples hardening underneath her singlet.
She can feel her pussy tingle with each smack. And with each smack, the sting begins to throb.
When she’s done with her backside, she’ll work on her front.
SMACK!
Penny shifts gears, the ruler comes down in a series of strikes, one after the other, the rhythm akin to an old Slayer tune – thrash on her skin. Smacksmacksmacksmacksmack.
It begins to overwhelm her, transporting her mind to a haven she’s only seen in the patterns when she closes her eyes.
There’s nothing out there but her amongst the void – her striking her ass.
Each strike is a pulse only she can hear, a reminder to chant low and meditate. She’s losing ground, her feet slipping.
Smacksmacksmacksmack.
She can smell her own scent.
Smacksmacksmacksmack.
Penny stifles her cries,
Smacksmacksmacksmack.
There’s a knock on the door.
‘What the bleeding ‘ell are you doing, Penelope?’ Her mother asks groggily through the door.
Penny almost trips but rights herself, finding solid ground. She roses the metal ruler on her bed.
‘Just..uh…nothing’
‘Right. Well. Stop doing nothing.’
Penny listens but her mother says no more. One second more and footsteps begin to fade. Penny gets back to studying.
A guest at her friend’s house, the pretty little thing lays on her stomach underneath the warm sun.
Out of sight and out of mind, she lays on the verandah as the family naps away from the heat.
In this time, the eighteen year old has an idea. It hits her out of no where.
Reach intoyoursatchelbag andpull it out. Testit. No onewill hear. No onewill needto know.
Before the pretty little thing can come to terms with the voice, she reaches into the bag and pulls out the 7 inch black dildo she had ordered off the Internet through a local toy store. Thanks Facebook sponsor.
In silence, she pulls apart her black bikini bottoms. She can smell her own scent. This just drives her further to slide it in.
She winces at first, but soon the toy becomes slick and inches further within her.
Soon she is full. She can feel it, all the way within her now.
Then she withdraws her hand, and rests with the toy still within her.
For a while, she listens to the silence around her. No bird chirps, no cicada buzzes. Nothing.
When the toy starts to slip out of her, she reaches back to pull it in. The sensation of the act causes her to moan.
With the toy back within her, she rests her head down again. The pretty little thing starts to doze.
The world around her begins to fade.
When she feels the toy start to slip, she reaches back and feels something coarse.
Looking behind her fills her with horror. The pretty little thing sees a hand gripping her toy.
That’s when she locks eyes – her friends brother. Four years her senior. And he must’ve slipped behind the corner of the Veranda she’s resting in.
He looks at her with his dark eyes and lifts a finger to his lips – be quiet.
Slowly, he slides the toy back into her and the pretty little thing whips her head back to meet the wave of pleasure crashing over her.
It’s slow at first, his movement. He eases it in and eases it out, all the while being completely silent, the only sound coming from her. Her wet lips.
Gradually, he begins to pump at an increased rhythm. It’s fast and smooth. The pretty little thing feels her body jolt with each thrust, feels the air leave her lungs.
She doesn’t know it, she thinks she is still, but she’s actually grinding back into the toy as it slips out of her.
With her head on the ground, her hair around her eyes, she lifts a hand behind her and unties her bikini top, letting her tits fall out onto the verandah. The wood beneath her instantly makes her nipples hard as they scratch against them.
She begins to play with her left breast, pinching it, stretching it. Today the pretty little thing wants to indulge – she slaps it from the side. Again. And again. It stings in response.
Better yet, she doesn’t have to worry about the sound bouncing off walls and echoing here. It’s just her here. Her and the toy.
The pretty little thing doesn’t get to play with her tits for long though, her orgasm sneaks up on her. She cuts out the moan that was hanging on her lips. Her legs jolt, her arm seizes up. The toy is held within her, all the way. Were you to be behind the pretty little thing, you could see the black edge of it buried deep within her.
The pretty little thing writhes around on the wood for a moment, feeling hot and cold flushes. Then she is still, and where the brother went, she does not know.
If you’ve clicked on this article looking for any definite answers, you’ve arrived at the wrong place. But what led you here, right now, to this very blog? What was it about this headline that caught your eye? What led you to open this?
A simple answer would be to say that our individual development and backgrounds lead us to develop into the person we are in this very moment. But is there something more to all of this? Is there something underlying each point of our lives, arriving precisely when we need it to?
Before I move on to exhibits as examples into my mindset tonight, I should preface this by saying I’m a religious man. I was raised catholic in a conservative household – I did my communion, I attend Palm Sunday – I did the whole she-bang.
In my adult life, its complicated – I don’t attend mass, but I believe in something bigger than me. I eat meat when I’m not supposed to and I blaspheme more than I should.
I link the rituals and worshiping of some D/s practices to a religious experience, though don’t take that as meaning I believe I am a God. I’m just a guy writing a draft on his phone at 2-30am.
But I digress.
Exhibit A: Berserk, Vol. 18
In this sequence from the manga Berserk, a woman follows her fellow prostitute, in the dead of the night, to a pagan orgy. She then proceeds to punish her. The more dominant one then apologises, embracing the younger one.
It’s a twisted act and comes straight after a mind-melting sequence that’s all sorts of body horror, but therein lies the interesting aspect.
Why does it arouse me?
Okay, sure, it’s one woman spanking another. That’s the simplest explanation but it’s also the most unsatisfying one.
See, it takes a certain mind to go from horror to arousal. Those are two completely different tones. And in this sequence, even the spanking comes with a deep characterisation and a vague sense of WTF.
So what led me to Berserk, this ultra violent manga? That was it a dark fantasy and horror.
Okay, but what led me to horror? And why is it I too can shift gears from dark and disturbing to sexual arousal.
Every good horror knows how to utilise tension. There’s the build up and release and a time to catch your breath. Is this piece executing that concept or is it merely setting up a character interaction later on? I don’t know. Is it the build up of horror lead me to want a release? Or is it merely the characters in that specific setting?
Was there some kind of otherworldly force leading me to Berserk from the very beginning, events that led me to horror to fantasy to dark sexual adventures?
And why is it my individual development lead to an interest in horror? What was it that led to an interest in darker things? And did my darker things lead to my interest in kink and BDSM? I could even take this one step further —ay hello again!
And all of THAT led to this very moment, to me writing this, to me reading Berserk. To the sexual gratification.
Exhibit B: Horror Movies
Halloween and Friday the 13th popularised, if not established, this sex-and-Death aspect in slasher films.
I mean, you know about the sex-equals-Death rule. We won’t touch that. What’s the correlation between sex / nudity and creative murder sequences? And why is it sensual? I’m not talking about the murder OR the death sequences themselves. I’m talking about the lead up to it? Is it just danger? Does it fulfil some deeply primal feeling of lust? Why is one always around the other? Has it become tradition for sex to find death or is there something else?
In some cases, the movie can lead the viewer to form their own fantasy about being stalked. In this case, it is interesting to note that this can take the form of the primal / prey identification in our sexual lives.
A cynic would say – these are just slasher films featuring teens set to appeal to a teen demographic – but the idea is there. And furthermore, how many people find it arousing or are drawn to this idea that it’s appealing? Let’s watch a slasher film – there’ll be tits and death! The men have the nakedness, the women have…errr…a cute guy?
Okay. So it’s appealing to the teen male demographic? That can’t be. I am a part of horror communities where the ladies enjoy it just as much as men – my kitten included.
So where’s the link?
And furthermore, has all our lives been building to this one moment – you reading my blog, me writing this blog, you and I watching horror movies, maybe even finding the same image sensual. Why? And how many people within BDSM are horror fans? I know enjoying kink doesn’t automatically make you a horror fiend. But I do wonder if one leads to the other? And why it came to either of those leads?
For the Teens…
Occasionally a teen will write me and mention they’re scared of their own mind. Well, ladies or gentlemen – if you’re of the teenage variety and have made it this far, let me tell you – we can be attracted to darker fantastical impulses and that can be completely fine. It doesn’t mean we are going crazy, it’s not a sin or something to shy from.
As long as you practice safety first and foremost with these fantasies, you should be fine.
And if you ever think you’re in the bad, know I’m the guy aroused by fantastical pagan orgies. You’ll be fine!
Tall, Dark and Dominant 