30 Days of Kink – Day #27: I’m a Day Dreamer!

Do your non-kink interests ever find their way into your kinky activities? If so, how?

I’ve been do slack putting these up the past few days – my deepest apologies to the person following this daily.

To answer the question, my non-kink interests always find their way to kinky activities. Where you there when I wrote about Ariel submitting to Ursula as a Slave in exchange for human legs? I’m a huge Disney fan! I set a path to Disneyland and World when I visited the states.

Did you ever read HERA? It was a story for a competition I created last year or the year before. In it, a group of spacefarers investigate a dormant spaceship floating quietly in space, only for them to fall victim to a erratic AI becoming conscious and developing the mindset of a mistress.

It incorporated another favourite genre of mine – science fiction – and has ties to Greek mythology as well, both things I am an avid fan of.

When it comes to writing erotica, I like moving against the grain. I find to do so makes for a challenge to me as someone creating the world in ways it will pay off at the end of the tale – but I also like to challenge the reader. It’s always nice to get an email saying ‘I’m not normally a science fiction fan, or like anime, or I don’t like rape fantasies – but this really took my breath away” – to me that’s a job successfully done.

I can’t help it either, you know? Being inspired by the world around me, or incorporating other things I like into genre. For me, it just comes naturally that I want to experiment with ideas – and there’s freedom to here because I trust readers will definitely tell me what works and what doesn’t. It’s a good place to experiment.

The long-running VALHALLA is another example. I love Norse mythology and fantasy and put both into the story around the more kinky aspects like the M/s dynamic. I actually borrow a lot from old Norse texts, lifting Valkyrie names from the Prose Edda and putting them into the story. Kára is one Valkyrie from the Prose Edda, envisioned here as a fiery soul, like a feisty middle child with problems of her own.

I know what you’re thinking though – yes, yes – enough about what you like to write about, what about your sex life? Well does psychology count as a non kink activity? I mean it IS kinky too to a degree but it doesn’t quite fit into the spectrum.

I’m interested in how minds operate and why. I’m interested in encouraging minds to break free of whatever aspect that is blocking them from that liberation. I’m interested in chipping away at armour in someone piece by piece to see what’s underneath and how we can play with that together.

There’s something really REALLY sexy about finding an aspect in someone that they never knew existed. Maybe it’s an interest, maybe it’s heightened pleasure. To break them when they say they can’t be broken.

Then it’s something as simple as walking out the door right? I walk out the door, ready to grab a coffee for the day (praise and glory be to the coffee) and all of a sudden I’m thinking how I can push kitten against this wall and making her whimper.

I’m constantly thinking about the world and the people around me and turning them into stories I can write about.

I’m a day dreamer.

How Can You Tell If You’re Dominant Or Submissive?

Ladies and gents, I’m kinda stumped.

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.

On Self-Harm, BDSM and Mental Illness

In an earlier 30 Days of Kink post, I talked a lot how I distanced myself from playing with blood as a kink because of my mental state at the time.

A fellow reader asked me to elaborate – and I wasn’t sure how I could, or what I could even say, but I thought I would attempt to talk a bit about it, in case there are those out there, lurking and anonymous.

I can’t really tell you why I began to cut myself when I was a teenager. I’m sure internet articles will tell you the basics about it – it’s a cry for help, it processes feelings, all that. I’m not disputing that, I’m just saying I’m not sure why it happened for me. Maybe I was making sense of the world and processing through my first real break up with a girlfriend – I don’t know. I was just drawn to it, seeing how much pain I could force onto myself.

What I can tell you is a girlfriend and I, a likeminded Kinky individual, began experimenting with knife play, right down to causing bleeding. I can still see her carving asterisks into her thigh as we both got off on it.

The thing was, this wasn’t knife play in a controlled safe environment – our heads weren’t in the right frame of mind. We were both dealing with depression, mine all the more sneakier by me not even realising it. Looking back I suspect I was so adamant to avoid my family’s line of depression that I refused to believe.

So knife play wasn’t a good idea for us because we were taking what should’ve been an isolated pain or pleasure experience and somehow using it to deal with what was bubbling underneath. I mean, I can’t speak for her, I’m just guessing at this point based on experience with her then and experience as an adult now. And, you know, my own personal thoughts.

The final straw came when I stabbed a pair of scissors into my arm. I could actually hear the skin pop as it was torn open. With that, I broke down, angry and ashamed and disgusted at myself. Nothing I can write will convey how torn up I was by this action.

So I stopped and never looked back on doing it again.

Could I engage in knife play? I could – to an extent. There would have to be limitations – no blood, for starters and no actual cutting so I guess it’d be more in line with role play – and I would initially struggle to not picture the moment with the scissors, but I could.

Yet I still struggle with thoughts of suicide. Sometimes I can picture – so vividly in my mind – hanging myself in the garage – but when such times come, I try to think on hope, try to remind myself I have family, I have a life – I have a beautiful lady who I would forever shatter if I did such a thing. And I think how my suicide would make the lives of my dearly loved so empty that my heart hurts and stills my mind.

So. Two things – if you’re like me and knife play has become a fetish, stop and be clear on why you are doing it, think on how healthy it is, think of ways in which you can explore alternative methods of pain and pleasure. Be sure as to how safe and controlled you are.

If you’re anxious and depressed and suicidal, remember you’re not alone. There’s no shame in seeking help, from your local help line, from a friend or family – or if you don’t have anyone, from me. You are never alone, no matter what.

This extends to anyone reading – be you new reader or old, regular lurker or new lurker, someone who has been trying to write the ‘perfect’ email instead of a rambles or if you think you are too old or young or whatever – please – if you want to write, if you need to write, just put it down all at once. You’re writing to a guy with a floordrobe so don’t worry about a mess – i don’t judge.

Be kind to yourselves and remember how important you are to the world.

Dress Protocols in a D/s Relationship (And Why I’m Drawn To It)

The dress protocol is something that can exist in a D/s relationship and can be anything from just the basic clothing choice for the submissive to pubic hair style, type of jewellery, inclusion of hidden toys and so forth.

For couples, it can be something fun to explore together to see how and what you can customise these protocols so that they fit in a satisfying manner in your world. For single submissive’s, it may be worth looking at what idea resonates with you the most. What do you want to explore? Maybe you can explore it on your own to trial it? Maybe you can talk to the community about your interests and gather thoughts.

For me, one of the things that I first wanted to explore as a Dominant in a D/s relationship was exploring some dress protocols with a submissive. In the beginning it was a sort of boyish thrill, you know? Finding someone that shared your mind and was as equally excited to explore the same things as you.

The best thing, I discovered, was tapping into that unfiltered thought a person had and bringing that to fruition. What did she want to explore? What did she think of a landing strip? What kind of underwear did she like? I can honestly say the best part of this, for me personally, is learning together and finding that spark and seeing how the other person becomes fulfilled by it.

It’s still a thrill all these years later, though now it simmers down to a quiet feeling of proudness – a feeling that I’m taking care of this particular soul, as opposed to that manic puppy love you know? Mature is the word I’m thinking of! My feelings have become mature.

But there’s a need and a want to take control as well too – to be an owner. A proud Daddy. This came with my getting older.

Why a need for control? A big part of it is taking care of the submissive’s mind. Something I’ve heard from my kitten, my first proper D/s relationship – and have heard during my time as a Mentor since blogging, I have noticed that handing this level of control over can be a relief for the day, and so hearing this too from my kitten, it gives me – and the Dominant animal in my mind’s cage – some relief to take over in that regard.

I also love exploring that intoxicating duality – the good little business girl on the surface, the cheeky brat underneath. It’s very sexy to me, playing with these concepts but also seeing how my kitten reacts to these concepts as well. Thankfully, I’m blessed to be on the same page most of the time – in turns of kinks anyway. She still can’t bring herself to watch some of my favourite movies!

When I was younger It used to be about dressing a submissive all sexed up – corsets, low cut top, short dresses, g strings (or thongs to you Americans). And don’t get me wrong, we (that is to say kitten and I) are very much about corsets and short dresses and g strings – that’s our tastes – but with age I’ve become, well, mature. It’s about guidance and care before control or degradation.

And then there’s the beauty of it too – how lovely it can be to dress for occasion. What’s the work day like? Is she having a low day? Will these pair of black lacy boylegs make her feel a little more confident? What about when she’s going out with her girls? Feeling a bit Halloween-y today? Let’s go with pumpkins! It’s a responsibility to do right by her as well as a sexy and touching reminder for the both of you.

I haven’t even gotten to the concept of the collar yet, and what that means for me, for her, for our animals.

Sigh. When she’s wearing a short dress and my senses pick up on her bending over and I catch a glimpse of the panties I pick out, I’m content. Put a fork in me, I am done!

It’s a weird sense of calming. Like, this is the life I’ve always wanted and was always scared to have. Brings a tear to me to know I’m finally where I wanted to be, that things have fallen into place.

Am I making any sense?

Good Little Catholic Girl

Dark hair, olive eyes.

What are you doing here? My Daddy’s downstairs.

Loose white singlet, nipples poking through.

No, that’s crude. Crudecrudecrude.

A fistful of hair, air squeezed out of her.

You have to go.

Empty words through soft whimpers.

Hands on her throat, clawing, digging, squeezing. Choke.

No. Nonono.

Like a kitten frozen by her mother, she’s still.

Eye contact. Hands go limp.

A rough kiss. Tears and sweat and saliva. Saliva so sweet it beckons another kiss.

Fabric tears. Shorties slink down slender legs kissed by sun. Cheerleader legs.

She watched him by the seats, on the field, wondering, wanting, wavering.

Pink cotton panties. Little bow tie. Lips showing through.

Crudecrudecrude.

No, this isn’t right. My Daddy will hear.

Good little catholic girl. Saintly. Church every Sunday. Good. Proper. Well-behaved. Never smoked. Never drinks. Loyal to God.

A fistful of hair, dragged down degradingly, wet lips trailing his stomach.

Fabric tears. Jeans fall off, no belt, lips trailing, voice muffled, fistful of hair, down on his cock.

A pause. Resistance. She looks, eye contact, raises her mouth to speak. A single string of saliva connecting his cock to her lips.

Resistance. Force. Her mouth goes down. Hits the back of her throat. A gag. She continues. Compelled. Forced. Intrigued.

Time. An age. Her – confused, eager. Well behaved. God will love her.

He pushes her on her back, slick, aching. Throbbing. Pulsating. Wanting.

Pink cotton panties come peeling off down legs with skin like freshly peeled fruit.

Shaven. Fresh. Who’d have thought?

A blush. Burning skin. Ferocious aroma. Slink sleepily into a saintly slumber. Duty. It’s piercing when he enters her. It’s piercing when she stares at him.

dark hair, olive eyes

It’s piercing when he stares back at her. His cock reaching inside, claiming as far as it goes.

She flushed red. Sighs. Moans. Cries.

Vessel for the taking. Well behaved little catholic girl.

Jesus fucking Christ.

We Are The Masters Of Our Own Fate

I was cleaning my MacBook and I stumbled across some old text messages that dated back before my relationship with my lady (Thanks, iMessage!) and one of the files was from a Fetlifer I befriended on my travels before losing contact – and something she expressed to me, which has since struck a chord again here in the future, was her pull of submission towards her ex, who, for whatever reason – maybe he was manipulating her, maybe he himself was trapped in that comforting yet vicious cycle, maybe they were working things out – felt that same animalistic pull.

Now I don’t want to seem like I’m focusing on the negative here, but something I have come to read a lot of, and occasionally sense first hand in relationships, some right before my eyes, is this dysfunctional relationship between a submissive and a dominant.

It could be a conscious thing. I have heard many stories of men, thinking they understand Dominance, abuse the power with malicious intent. I’ve heard of submissive women feeling trapped, either in their marriage to a controlling man or maybe they’re feeling different in a irreparable way, maybe it’s a man, stuck on how to express his feelings, either to his wife, or about his own sexuality, maybe he is unable to proceed with his dominance because the progress eludes him – the variables are endless.

The thing is…we are the captains of our own ship. We are the masters of our fate. Today may be a shit day but tomorrow may be better, if not a step towards being better. Something that people don’t realise, I certainly forget often, is — you’re in this for the long game. Progress takes time. You’ve got to fight like hell even when you feel you’re already there.

For submissive folk, don’t you ever feel weak. Realising you’re submissive takes great courage. Tapping into that submission takes great bravery. Exploring the aspirations of a submissive and it’s dynamic qualities takes tremendous strength.

Always remember that submission isn’t just simply obeying a dominant persona. It’s choosing a dominant persona. It’s granting access to your heart and mind. That takes guts, that takes a certain fearlessness. You should be proud of yourself.

For Dominant folk, remember that being dominant is so much more than protocol and order and sexual gratification, it’s love and trust and harnessing your mind – not just yourselves but the mind of your submissive. It’s about being tender, about being attentive and it’s about care. Here and now and in the future.

And if Dominance and submission is a one night thing, see it has tender and care and harnessing minds for that brief period. There’s still a moment that takes patience and respect into equation.

More importantly, and I speak to both dominants and submissives, don’t let someone walk over you. Don’t let someone boss you around. Don’t let your current situation, of destructive or helpless, put you down – because you can strive for a better future in which all is harmonious. And you can achieve that. It’ll take time, you may need to reboot your life, but you will survive so long as you believe in a positive future and in yourself.

You’ve got this.

Balancing The Scales: On Anxiety and Giving Guidance

When it comes to helping people, there’s always this part of my mind that jumps to feeling guilty about it. And at the same time that I know why I feel guilty, I don’t really know why I know why I feel guilty.

I recognise it though, this feeling of imposing, of bugging, of intruding. I know it comes from a lack of self confidence. Which comes from my teenage years, of being soft spoken, of having a quiet voice and of doubting each word that comes out of your mouth.

I’ve been anxious before I knew what anxiety really was and could create. And maybe that’s always been with me, and IS with me as I stumble along in the dark.

I offer my help – to readers here, because of my own struggles in my journeys. But when I do so, I’m hit with a wave of questions, more noticeably one that asks – why is this so important to you?

I’ve wrote about this before, this Daddy-esque feeling, this overwhelming desire to console and guide where help or guidance is needed. And it doesn’t just stop at BDSM and the lifestyle, it extends to any issue. It extends to friends. To friends of friends. To strangers. To family.

I’ve written to my lady’s friends when I sense a troubled mind in their posts. And I can’t help it. You better believe I fight it. I don’t want to sound like I’m preying on a vulnerable time, I don’t want to sound or feel like a creep – yet I’m driven forward by this need to offer help.

I don’t offer it aggressively. Or repeatedly. I mean, I do here but that’s only because I sometimes want to reach out to new followers because I sometimes receive a private message in which the person states they’ve been working up the courage to write to me – and I don’t know why, because I’m the friendly neighbourhood teddy bear.

But I offer help gently. Once, and then I’m gone. The old me would’ve obsessed with stressing it’s okay to write to me but now I know best to leave it to the individual. They will if they want.

So: I don’t know why I feel like I’d be intruding. Maybe it’s just residual anxious thoughts best left to throw out with the trash. Maybe it’s more important – a defect in my mind? I’m all for a balance and if I have a need to help and guide, what’s on the other scale?

All I know is I can be driven by a need to help anyone either from this blog or otherwise. It’s my honour. And sometimes I feel bad about that.