Her Bath

He hears the splash of water from their en-suite bathroom and turns to see her standing in the low-lit doorway. Her nude body, slender and slightly tanned is lit by the very candles she lit for her own bath – the bath he ordered her to run and soak in.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hand marking the page of the book he’s reading to her while she bathes. Only now that book drops to the floor. He doesn’t do it to punctuate the moment with a gag, it’s just something that happens upon seeing her.

“Seeing her.”

He feels like he is seeing her now for the very first time. It’s in the way the candles light the edges of her nude body, the way her wet hair lay in curls across her shoulders, the way he can just make out beads of water across her neatly-trimmed pussy.

And it’s in the way she stands – confident, still, her eyes not flicking back and forth between his as they do at times but watching him closely. Intently.

He gets the feeling something has suddenly started between them. A battle of wills, a clash of their minds. It is true this occurs between them, this is what has drawn him to her as a friend and lover and Dominant.

And yet…something feels different. Super-charged. Riding the wave high on caffeine.

He feels the rhythm of his heart in his chest and he feels his cock harden.

There it is! The slightest twitch in her eyebrow. The slightest smirk flickers on her face and is gone. She’s playing with him as he would with her.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Her voice is soft but it comes with an edge that he recognises.

He won’t bite though.

“Get on the bed.”

He’s thankful his arousal doesn’t cause his voice to stammer.

She moves past him and he sees that thing she does – the shrug without lifting her shoulders but it’s all there on her face. One might call him crazy for thinking that but he knows and she knows what she’s doing.

She slinks on to the bed, her slightly sun-kissed ass facing me in the darkness. Were it not for the purple night light resting on her bedside drawers, He could see the little things – the freckle on her left ass cheek. Or her trimmed pussy between her legs.

She lowers herself down so that she rests on her stomach and buries her head in her pillow.

As He grabs his own towel, hanging from the door of their cupboard to his left, He gets the strangest sense that she’s grinning to herself as her face is buried. He almost wants to ask but stops himself before the words form on his tongue. He knows she would like that.

Slipping out of his pants and freeing his aching cock, he gently crawls onto the bed behind her, careful of where her legs rest naturally.

He comes to kneel behind her, her ass directly below the throbbing head of his cock.

“We need to towel you off properly.” He says as he runs the cream coloured floral-printed towel over her right ass cheek, carefully dabbing at her still-wet skin.

“You didn’t answer me when I asked you if something was on my face.”

Her voice is muffled as she speaks into the pillow but he can hear the accompanying smile behind her words all the same.

“I don’t answer to you.” He says, moving the towel to her left ass cheek.

Carefully he runs the towel down her left leg, taking his time to work down to her feet, drawing out the moment.

When he reaches her ankles, he moves into her right leg, sliding the towel back up, carefully drying off the sides of her leg, to her ass.

She does not stir.

He raises the towel to the base of her spine and lowers himself to her, his hard cock skimming the curves of her ass. The feeling of her beneath him, his shaft pressing into her fresh, cool skin, makes him want to take her from behind, makes him want to hear her moan those soft cries and whimpers.

But he has her body to dry off.

“Arms up.” He says gently as he slides the towel to the base of her neck, content that he has dried her back.

She stretches her hands out either side of her neck and her body seems to lift and waken a moment as the stretch takes over her. He see her back raise, feels her ass nestle back into him. He wants to guide his cock into her right there – wants to fuck her till she’s winded — but he’s not done playing with her yet.

With his right hand, he presses down on her back, pressing her away from him, her ass away from his cock. He grinds into her on his own terms.

Which is exactly what he does as he runs the towel gently under her armpits, wrapping her arm in the towel and sliding it along upwards to her hands so that he dries every inch.

He repeats this with her right arm.

Then tells her to roll over.

She does – and the two of them come face to face for the first time in what feels like an age.

He throws the towel to the empty side of the bed and rests his hands on either side of her. His eyes travel down to her small tits – dotted with freckles. Her little pink nipples are hard and stiff. He wants to lower his mouth to them and suck them. He feels that hunger more so as he feels the heat from their bodies.

God how he wants her more then anything.

Instead, he looks her in the eye, not being able to help the smirk that spreads across his lips.

She looks back at him, her face unreadable and her eyes ever still.

“What now?” She asks him.

If I Could Say A Few Words…

Last week I was lucky enough to be part of Domsubliving’s article on advice from Dominants out there in the blog world – and it got me thinking about other things I would like to tell newcomers or just to people out there coming to terms with their place in the lifestyle.

I want to elaborate on what I wrote and say that you should go easy on yourself. It’s okay to make mistakes so long as you take the experience of it and learn from it so you can apply it to the future.

It’s okay to wear your heart and kinks on your sleeve – it is okay to be YOU. I struggled with this particularly because I thought I was insane for thinking darkly. I’d sit in a darkened car park awaiting a pizza to be cooked and my mind would cook up the image of a woman face down in the concrete, nipples hard and scraping into the grit.

What I’m saying is – it’s okay to think and feel darkly, so long as you understand the lines between right and wrong across fantasy and reality – and this extends to the concepts of D/s.

It takes time to find what works for you as a dominant or submissive and it takes time to break through what we were taught as children to fully realise who we are as a dominant or a submissive. I know this because I was raised Catholic and I still struggle to be domineering and forceful because I’m so apologetic.

And this apologetic side can spread to other aspects of our lives. I unfortunately see this in some readers – some of them come my way and apologise for being annoying when they’re nothing of the sort. It’s why I like to put up a reminder that anyone of any background can chat with me, that I welcome it. That still stands, if you’re reading this and have wanted to chat with me but have put it off out of fear. I promise you are not too much.

But you see, I can’t just promise that – you have to do that for yourself. You have to learn to accept these aspects of yourself and recognise the lines between your Dominant / submissive self.

It’s something that can be with you all your life, learning to be secure and yourself. It takes time finding that balance and coming to be at peace with that balance – but it can be done.

The Possessed and The Possessive

Her body is lathered in a thin layer of sweat that catches the light and shines brightly.

Her chest is lifting up off the bed, straining against the rope with every fluttering breath she takes.

He looks at her beautiful pink cunt, smooth and spread open, drenched in anticipation, and he whips her again, just to watch her thighs go to close. Something they can never savour. Her legs are stretched apart. Bound. Her release is monitored by him – and he relishes that fact.

There’s no gag around her mouth tonight, no slither of drool beading down her neck slowly. She huffs and puffs and growls and spits and seethes and drools in between letting out utter obscenities under her breath.

Foul words come out in halves – a …uck here, a …the shit..? There. She’s making little sense.

Watching her body flinch under the leather whip, controlling the whip that comes down upon her stretched out little cunt, her stretched out little cunt spread open by his ropes just for his pleasure, she’s nothing like the woman outside their haven, out there in the world.

He doesn’t recognise this woman spitting out guttural curses, writhing around as much as the ropes allow. Who is this animal? This demon? This creature? What locked up part of her mind did this feral entity come from? The way she speaks, when she’s not breathless, that low register, that barely human growl. He recalls the sensation of a scratchy throat just by listening to her.

The things she says. The things she wants.

It’s infectious. He can feel it creeping over him, slinking down her legs, off her clenched toes and seeping down towards him. He can feel the self he projects to the world fading away. He can feel his skin bristle and crack, peel away. He is tearing free. He doesn’t know who this new person is. They will find out soon enough.

Her transformation sparks his own. They’re changing together.

That’s Life, Right?

I want to apologise.

To the people, who, are very much still in my life, but who I was totally different to before six years ago.

Six years ago I was a man in denial. I was in a marriage I was unhappy in but convincing myself that ‘love’ was something that you tended to in a garden. I convinced myself to stay.

I convinced myself I wasn’t a dominant, that I wasn’t kinky or primal, that I was weird and insane for wanting these dark desires.

I was immature. Even at 26. I was an idiot, emotional, moody. I would discover that I had an undiagnosed anxiety disorder. Looking back, as I write this, I see the seeds of irrational anxiety in my youth. How I couldn’t look at someone for a week when I was 14 because all I could dream up in my mind’s eye was this skeleton underneath…a skull moving as they spoke. Empty eye-sockets where the eyes were.

BDSM and the dynamic behind D/s hasn’t just been sexually fulfilling, it has been somber and reflective because it has helped me as an adult – to converse and to assess and to behave in a way I never have. It’s helped me heal and grow and transform.

Oh I still make mistakes. I still have moments of moodiness. I’m terribly sensitive. I can be hotheaded – a trait I’ve picked up from my father’s side.

But I understand now. I see where I went wrong before. I see what I should’ve done differently. And that’s life right? We make mistakes and we learn from them. Looking back on life and dwelling isn’t the way.

And yet.

I want to apologise to the people in my life. And I’m scared I never will and I’m scared TO apologise. What if they frown and think What the fuck? What if they’ve forgotten? What if it’s a case of too-little-too-late? What if you can never go back? What if it’s a case of me, right now, being emotional ALL OVER AGAIN because life is cyclical and things happen again and again. What if I make it worse?

I overthink myself into oblivion. I’ll say to this my lady later – “I overthink, don’t I?” And she’ll give me that smile, it’s kinda sad, kinda not knowing what to say. The smile that’s sympathetic – and she’ll say, “Yeah…you do.” Because she knows too. She’s seen me obsess myself into a spiral, looking for the perfect answer.

Which brings me back to the beginning. In a mood to apologise but not really wanting to. Fortune’s fool right here though.

On Inexperience, Writing & Self-Exploration

I’ve been pondering about a question that came my way…gosh, a few months ago now I think? Time has been weird lately – but it was about whether someone who is new to BDSM could write about it, fictional or otherwise, successfully? Or have it be correct in any way?

I’ve been thinking about experience a lot – when it comes to BDSM. I’ve been in a bit of a teacher / mentor mood, I guess, because someone new to the lifestyle wrote in to me and expressed frustrations about being ghosted by a potential Dom due to a lack of experience.

I can’t say I agree with that reasoning but I certainly understand how one could come to think like that. But I digress.

I think that when it comes to writing about BDSM, it’s important to trust in where your mind wants to go, do you understand? Because when you put pen to paper, you ignite your mind. You form a sentence. Then another one. Then you create a paragraph.

Or you don’t. Instead, your heart’s a mess and so is your writing. But it’s down, it’s on the screen or the page and you’ve trapped it. Whatever is in your head is there, frozen in time. A symbol of YOU.

What I’m saying is – writing is cathartic. And through exploring it, you’ll find pieces of your self, through which you night learn some truths about your tastes.

And if you want to write about a specific moral scenario – a rape fantasy, say – do what feels right to you. It’s only a fantasy. But if that’s not enough, write your thoughts on it in a seperate file or page. Explore how you feel about whatever it is you are confronting. Hell, ask the community. Ask me, my door is open.

Regardless of inexperience. Or shyness.

Writing…whether you want to and you’re either a dominant or a submissive or both, it’s about discipline. It’s about sitting down and confronting structure. Not just of words but of your mind. So find a time in the day to write 300 words. Do it again the next day. Leave each break on a moment you are excited to come back to. In a week, you’ll have a decent chunk of the story or your thoughts out.

As for that pesky experience thing, that’s another realm of variables. What if you are knowledgable enough about BDSM but aren’t in a circumstance to explore physically to gain more of an understanding of your wants and needs?

The best answer I have for that is one that might not be to your interests. When I was alone – a lonely dominant, I guess you could say, I peered into the depths of my sexuality. I explored and became comfortable with nudity. I explored my pain threshold, my comfort with verbal degradation. I found new ways to heighten masturbation. Little things that excited and stimulated my mind.

Everybody is different though and to that, one must find what works for them. But still, I think there are things you can do to gain experience.

Please don’t let shyness deter you. Or your writing. Or your self-exploration. Or from reaching out to a friend, the community, a Dom or sub or even me. There’s no easy way to say this but you’re going to have to jump into that pool if you want to write or to reach out. And just like coming up for air after that plunge, it all feels a little bit better after you jump.

Seriously though. You’ve got this.

We Betray What We Know To Be True

We betray what we know to be true.

Who we are. What we desire. What we want to say.

Films. Television. Literature. Teachings and Teachers. Parents and parenting. For years people have been discussing and studying and teaching what is right and what is wrong. How to behave and how to not behave.

It divides us from them. For, if we take away that line that seperates us from them, where does it end? What does that say about us?

Leave it to the Dream Weaver to tell us. If we’re lucky we’ll forget by the morning – how it felt to be pressed against her from behind, peeling down her g-string and seeing that wet piece of fabric peel down the curves of her ass, her scent lingering in the air. Scalding blood pumping in your ears, heart pounding in your chest.

How it feels for her to slip into submission, to shape the words on her tongue that announces to the dream world that she is, in fact, a free spirit. Free of a lacklustre life, an emotionally stagnant marriage. How badly the desire is to form the words that hang loosely on her tongue – Yes Sir or Yes Ma’am – without feeling that mind-shredding, body-trembling guilt.

Some like to justify this betrayal. “This is a sacrifice and that’s what being an adult is all about.” They like to dig deep into the piece of the sandbox that has been left for them because that’s easier. That’s normal. That’s right.

It is normal to fear what we don’t understand. To stay, because it is comfortable. But that hole within you? Gnawing at you, waking you up in the night with a hard cock pushed into the bed or a wet cunt soaking your thighs, either one leaving you breathless? That’ll grow bigger.

And bigger.

And BIGGER.

Until you can’t think of anything else, until the maddening desire to touch or seethe or spit or growl overwhelms you, suffocates you, envelops you, until you are utterly feral, possessed by your basic instincts.

And you’re back at the beginning, staring into the mirror while the wild, untamed animal within you stares back.

Who are you then? Who do you want to be? What do you want to say?

We betray what we know to be true – because the alternative is terrifying.

One Of Those Days

Hello!

I’m still alive.

Readers – long time or lurkers – I’m having one of those days, and I’m in one of those moods, where the fantasy of the ages is pulling some poor unfortunate soul down to her knees by her hair and fucking her mouth relentlessly till I’m spent or she chokes – on cock or cum, I care not.

I can almost hear the squeaking walls of the shower, her muffled moans as she gets her mouthful. I can feel slithers of saliva on my shaft, a desperate ache in my balls. I know I have a load to give her and I want it to dribble out her lips. Maybe she’ll greedily snatch a drop with her darting tongue, maybe she’ll let it run to her tits. She’s done that before. She likes to let it pool across her nipples.

I can picture our red faces, the unstoppable panting, the strands of hair stuck to foreheads in sweat. Both of us completely and utterly spent, our bodies aching, our souls purged, our inner dark beasts satiated for the time being. They’re hibernating now, going into a deep slumber.

BDSM Social Media and Our Own Anxieties

I was scrolling along Fetlife the other day and a thought occurred to me of how awkward it can be for newcomers to make friends or meet someone or even work up the courage.

I mean, that shit is hard enough without the BDSM interests and desire to converse with others in the lifestyle, not to mention the interests in wanting to put yourself out there but finding yourself frozen.

Fetlife can be a great way to get to know others and to get involved in the community but it certainly can be awkward at first, especially if you’re like me and can be incredibly anxious in social situations and so forth. Or just straight up shy.

A good thing to remember is to go at your own pace. You can push yourself in tiny increments but only if you feel comfortable talking in the group settings or going to munches or other such events.

If you feel overwhelmed with it all, do not feel bad or silly or like you can’t ever be kinky. Some have those thoughts – I know I did – but it’s important to recall that we all grow in our own ways at different times.

If you’re ever unsure about what you want or what is proper etiquette when it comes to being spoken to or speaking to someone – there are communities out there that can be helpful. Reddit has a good community for this, with its own BDSM sub-reddit for advice. There are still some small communities across Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr – even post-infinity snap.

Working on or identifying what is making you feel anxious or inferior or weird can help you feel a bit more confident. Tell yourself that what you are thinking and feeling is okay and has certainly been thought of before, by those around you and long before you too. Make a habit of it.

Me? I did it with nude selfies. I felt unattractive (still do at times) and I fought it – and my guilt at liking kink – by putting up nude selfies and experimenting with risky photos of myself. It helped boost my confidence.

Take it from a guy that grew up in a severe, sexually repressed and conservative catholic household and now has the time of his life with rape fantasies. You’re going to feel guilty, weird and insane but don’t let those feelings own you. They will fluctuate and pass. See it as you’re exploring a fantasy within safe parameters.

Keeping a journal can be a productive way of keeping track of your thoughts – or of trapping them to the page where you can digest them and reflect upon them. Writing your thoughts down can lead to truth and clarity. Sometimes it’s good to just write a fantasy, even if you can’t write well, just give it a go and see where you end up. All of this made me feel a bit more peaceful and a bit less chaotic and maybe it’ll help you too.

Maybe Fetlife or other social aspects of the BDSM community isn’t for you and that’s fine. I don’t go to munches or events because it’s not really my thing. People are wired differently.

But if social anxiety or doubt or insecurity is gnawing at you and you want to drop into these things, just remember you can take baby steps to challenge yourself and no one will judge you for it. You are the captain of your own soul.

BDSM In The Time Of Coronavirus

Hello there, ladies and gents! How are you in your part of the world? How are you feeling personally? If you’re in a D/s relationship, how are the two of you? Or more?

For some people, self isolation and quarantine is not much of a challenge at all. My twitter can attest to the kinky fuckery that continues in some of your households.

I, myself, am an introvert and worked from home anyway so it’s not much of a difference, except for the fact of what’s going on the outside running through my head.

But now that my lady is working from home, our dynamic, while there, has shifted in little ways. Little ways but different all the same. For starters, there’s the fact that she’s extroverted and enjoys being sociable and working from home is weird for her on so many levels.

For me, as a dominant, it’s challenging because I’m suddenly apply thinking in ways I normally wouldn’t. I’m not talking setting scenes in different parts of the house – that’s always been in my depraved mind – but in ways to help soothe her soul, her restlessness.

It helps to be cheeky. It helps to take some of that wild spirit within you and sprinkle it throughout the week, you know? A cheeky caress here, a sly reminder there. Remind each other of what exists between you but don’t overwhelm, especially if your work from home becomes overwhelming itself.

But what then? Let’s see. Could you shake up the established rule even more? Try something you’ve never tried sexually, if such a thing exists? What sort of tasks can you create? If you’re a dominant and you want to set a writing task, what topic of choice could you make it? Where can you dance and explore when things are limited to your own home.

It becomes a Theater of the mind – and not just for couples but for those who are single or not yet where they want to be as either a dominant or submissive.

In any case, writing can help centre the mind – be it fantasies, aspirations or musings. Writing can help shed light, can help fill your moments with colour. It can help soothe the soul.

If writing is not your jam, there are other things to consider. What are some things you want to explore? Or work on within yourself? Even setting daily goals – be it a mantra to recite or to finally get around to that thing you keep putting off can make yourself feel good.

It’s going to be hard and it will require some discipline for either yourself or your partner to think of ways to satisfy these sides of yourself but it can be done, even in the comfort of your home – pleasure room or no.

Every Last Thought

He catches her dozing, the book upside down against her tits. Smut again. In that moment, he wanted to punish her – for all the dirty thoughts she had been thinking and keeping to herself.

He crept into the bedroom and began to undress. Freeing his thick, hard cock from his pants felt like heaven. He wanted to play but he kept focused on the mission forming in his mind.

Just as she began to stir, he threw himself on her, tossing the book aside carefully so as not to damage it. He filled her to the brim with his cock and held himself there, looking into her eyes.

“Here’s what we are going to do.” He said as she whimpered underneath him, her eyes bleary with sleep. “I’m going to edge you until you tell me every. Last. Thought. That’s been in your mind as you’ve been reading your smut. Nod if you understand.”

She nodded, licking her lips wet between another adorable fucking whimper.

By the time He was done with her, she was a mess of a person – anguished sobs wracked her body as she felt it all – relief, denial, at the shame of confessing every filthy thought and perverse fantasy. He held her though, arms safe and secure despite endlessly fucking and teasing himself and herself to the brink.

Sleep came for them then.