The Mind is Always Evolving


I don’t think there will ever be a time where I’ll stop growing and evolving. Where I will reach the limit of my growth and can say ‘well, I’m definitely into all of these things and kinks, there’s nothing else’.
Though that’s sometimes frustrating, especially when someone asks ‘well, what do you identify as?’ And I have to stumble on my words to say I’m a mix of things, it’s also a thing of beauty. Because there will always be something brand new to discover. 
For example, there’s a huge part of me that identifies with the 19th century gentleman and this unspoken undercurrent of Dominance and submission. Jane Eyre, apart from being a terrific read in general, was deeply erotic for me. 
And I identify with this gentleman because a big part that I’m drawn to is regulation. Polite wording like ‘Pardon me’ instead of ‘huh?’, standing up straight – etiquette like that – it speaks to me.
And there’s so many different nuances to something like that. Chin up, beck straight, hands to the side, hands behind your back, ask for permission to go out with your girlfriends, all these different things that branch off to different concepts and regulations and ways in which the relationship can evolve or adapt.
But then aside from this strict gentleman, or the 1950’s household hybrid of that gentleman, there are the other aspects of my personality that I’ve discovered along the way, the Daddy and the Master.
The Daddy aspect has always been with me, I think, since my early twenties. And as I got older and more at ease with myself, it has been more prominent and refined. I’m sure if I co wrote a blog with my lady, she could vouch for times it comes out – say, if she’s snacking before dinner and I tell her not to, she can hear it in my voice. Or if she’s ill but staying up late. Of if I want to read to her or be by her side when she colours. 
Recently, I’ve felt a different side bubble to the surface that bears similar traits to a Master. This crosses over with the 19th century gentleman, as the concept of setting rules and regulations in a M/s environment with many different concepts also at play intrigues me. But it’s also not quite the dynamic that fits my current relationship, as my kitten and I sit somewhere between the M/s and Daddy / LG concepts. 
It’s weird to explain because the mind shifts at any given moment and borrows traits from established roles. So it’s a mix.
And as such, I think I will always be finding out new things about my mind. Maybe I’ll change. Maybe this relationship will change. The How’s and the Why’s can be pondered all night, and this thought is lengthy enough. 
Bottom line is that I’m always growing and learning and finding new ways to live and play and explore and that’s beautiful. 
How about you, stranger? Are you a mix?

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!

Valhalla, Part Two: Eira

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CHAPTER TWO

 

EIRA

 

 

Ryan was so caught up looking at the palm of his hand as it moved through the crystal blue water of the spring that he didn’t notice Eira behind him, taking off her armour.
She watched him as she rested her chest piece gently against the tree, so as not to disturb him from whatever Earth like ritual he was participating in.
Piece by piece, she untied her armour. First, her arm pieces, which she laid along the soft blue grass beneath her, then she leant against the tree to remove her leg pieces.
Armour was no longer needed, now that the two were safely in Asgard.
Mist, Battle Mistress of the Valkyries, would argue differently to Eira.
Eira could already hear her commanding voice and picture her piercing deep blue eyes that were enough to wound a Valkyrie telling her to leave it on, to take matters seriously.
Enough to say in one glance what any amount of words could.
Eira brushed off the thought, packing away her armour in her grey satchel, woven herself and deep enough for her change of clothes – and Ryan Kennedy’s new one.
She reached down, stuffing the armour away, and pulled out a folded up bundle of fabric.
This fabric would unfold to reveal a light caramel coloured garment, again woven by Eira, as taught by Svipul back in Valhalla.

That’s when she heard Ryan clear his throat, and Eira spun around to see him standing up in the spring, the water falling from his arms, face and legs.
Eira was puzzled at first; she didn’t know why he was standing there, his hands cupping between his legs.
When realisation struck her, she felt her face burning and turned her back to him to reach into her satchel.
Inside was a fresh white tunic and brown pants, something she had grabbed from Valhalla, stuffed into the satchel and laid by the spring here for her return, hoping that what fitted a previous lost soul would fit him.
With the tunic and pants, she pulled out a cloth for him to dry himself upon.

While Eira was reaching down and pulling out these items, Ryan had tried not to stare directly at her.
Eira was completely nude, had forgotten she was completely nude, for it was second nature to her, and was bending over in front of Ryan, her back to him, revealing her firm, curvaceous buttocks.
Ryan’s eyes fell upon the shapes of her curves, noticing a freckle that sat in the middle of her left cheek, before his natural instinct kicked in to look away, beyond the trees surrounding the spring.
He could already feel the warmth of the sun beating down upon his neck.

When Eira turned around, he had to grab the tunic and pants, as well as the cloth to dry himself, while holding onto his penis and looking away.
Eira caught on to the fact that his face was turned and looked to see if someone was there. Another Valkyrie perhaps, she thought, as she scanned beyond the trees. But there was nothing.
Ryan stepped out, still avoiding eye contact, making sure not to think of what his eyes fell upon.
He dried himself in silence and dressed himself in silence.
All this time, Eira watched his face carefully; curious as to why he was looking away.
She went to speak the same time he did, but when she saw he was speaking, she bowed her head and remained silent.
Ryan frowned at this gesture but chose to not question it, for he didn’t know the entirety of her customs and didn’t want to offend.
“Aren’t you bothered that you are naked in front of me?” He asked, keeping his eyes locked to hers.

Eira looked at him quizzically before looking down at her own body, still frowning.
“Is this unacceptable? Have I done wrong by you?”
“No, you haven’t” was Ryan’s immediate response.
Eira’s eyes suddenly looked hurt, afraid.
“Have I disappointed you?”
“No no! I just…No, I am not used to nakedness, is all. At least…not, casually, you know?”
Eira looked at him with the same wounded eyes, her expression unchanging.
Ryan tried to force a laugh but Eira’s face didn’t share the humour, she stood there still.
“I…I’m sorry if I offended you, It’s just something that doesn’t happen. Where I am from, I mean”
“You do not wish to have me naked for our venture to Valhalla?”
The question bewildered Ryan.
For a moment, he was speechless, unable to respond.
Here was a beautiful woman, completely nude, her silver wings tucked behind her, asking if he wished her to be nude for the remainder of their journey – however long that took.

The whole thing felt unreal, like caffeine fuelled sexual dream.
“Eira” He spoke carefully. “This is all…really kind of you…but I can’t…I mean, I don’t. I mean..”
He sighed, frustrated. “I’m not in the business of taking someone, unless they really want to, you know?”
Eira nodded. “Oh, but I do! As the All-Father’s slave, it is my duty to offer myself to you for any-“
“This is what you meant when you mentioned being a slave earlier?”
Eira nodded, and there was a gleam in her eye that made Ryan slightly uncomfortable. She seemed eager. Proud to serve.
“Oh yes! Every Valkyrie is a slave to our All-Father Odin. As Valkyrie’s, it is our solemn duty to fulfil any need of the souls that we bring to Asgard and then to Valhalla.”

“Would you settle for just being a guide to Valhalla? I don’t…I mean, I would like it if we don’t do any of this slave…business”
You idiot, Ryan thought to himself. You can’t English right.
The hurt didn’t end up leaving Eira’s face, deep down she wondered if something was wrong with her or her appearance.
On the other hand, this was the first time a soul had asked for no sexual interaction of any kind.
The change had Eira confused but also intrigued.
What kind of person was this, she wondered.

 

The two stood there in silence as they finished getting dressed.
Eira turned to face Ryan and smiled politely, outstretching her right hand.
“Come. We have a bonfire to attend.”
Eira began walking and Ryan followed, being conscious to look away from Eira’s garments, which had an open slit either side of her arms that revealed the curves of her breasts.
“Bonfire?” He asked, stumbling after her.
“Oh yes! The Valkyries like to hold a bonfire for the newly arrived souls! It’s a celebration of new life!”
“Shouldn’t that be in Valhalla, like a feast?”
Eira found this amusing.
It was customary for the Valkyries to hold a welcoming bonfire for the souls, followed by The Great Feast in the Great Hall of Valhalla.
As the two made their way through the blue long grass, the sun of Asgard setting, she wondered what kind of traditions Humans had back on Earth.

Shortly after the sun had set, the two arrived in an open field, free of the long grass scratching at their bodies.
Ahead of them was an enormous fire, trailing high into the sky.
Around the fire, people were gathered, talking, laughing, all animatedly.
Other bodies were nearby, entwined in a moment of passion, gasping for air, their moans reverberating around this small clearing.
Ryan’s fell upon the orgy and almost fell backwards at the sight he had never seen before. Not in his lifetime anyway.

To be concluded…

 Part three – The First Night In Asgard – will hit the blog May 19th.

 As always, I value any feedback. Constructive, of course, as I am only writing for you guys and for as long as there is interest in this story.

 

Why I Write: An Open Letter From Me to You…

Ladies and Gentleman,
I have been sitting here for the past twenty minutes trying to put into words what it means for me to write. 

Writing has been with me since I was a kid. And has evolved throughout the ages. I write a mix of genres – drama and horror and fantasy mainly – but starting this blog has seen me dive into the world of erotica. I learnt something about myself. I feel at home in the darkness, I feel the need to hone my craft, to write a compelling story, to entertain or shock.
My uni course – creative writing – I applied for that five times until the university relented.
When I was unemployed and job networks told me I couldn’t get a job in writing, that I just needed to apply for the job that they provided me with, I refused because I stubbornly believed in my dream.

And you know what? YOU are my dream. 
To be honest with you ladies and gents, I don’t think highly of myself. I’m too critical on my writing or my life. And you – the kind stranger – believe in me, which is why, in my darkest moods, I’ve decided to keep the blog and keep writing.

Why did I do Patreon? What right do I have to ask for money? My dream job was always to work as a freelance writer and I – perhaps stubbornly – thought I could attempt to live the dream – to write for the audience that has been so kind to me, and who enjoy my work. I just had to try. You guys and my writing mean the world to me. 
Even if it’s $1 a month that you pledge, that’s still $1 that will go towards my rent or my dream. It all adds up in the end and I would be eternally grateful.
Even If a handful of people, say 5, put in $1-5 each, I could work for you all from my home, in a space comforting my anxiety, on a time that suits you guys. For stories or insight into the craft or any commission. I could sit down in my study with my battered MacBook Pro and I’d be right where I feel I belong. Fulfilling my dream and giving you the greatest thing I could ever give 

In the mean time, I try not to be dissuaded. Maybe dreams are dreams, maybe I’m living in the clouds as a joker. Will I Persue my dream until it kills me? Maybe. But you don’t know how far you can go until you try. 
So I keep writing. For my kitten, my best friend, my world. For my readers, who do their part to keep the light within me alive. For myself, because creating world’s and characters and settings is like a drug I can’t quit. I need it, and need me. 
Why do I write? For her? For you? For me? What if I’m garbage? What if your responses are facades when you just spam likes without regard? 
I write because I cannot stop. Because if I didn’t, I would never learn how to get better. Because it’s therapeutic. Because I believe it’s the one good thing about me, God’s gift to me, and I have to see if the world appreciates it or whether I’m crazy.
Because we get one life and if I never started this blog, if I never tried my hand at Patreon to see if the world deemed me talented enough to pass on their hard earned cash for my stories, to support me, I would leave this world lonely and empty and dead inside.

Because it’s a part of me, twisting and turning within me. My soul. 

That’s why I write. That’s why I can’t stop trying or learning or helping you all. That’s why I started my Patreon and why I continue to mention it. 
I simply cannot, will not stop. Ever. Even if it kills me. 
Sincerely, 
TD&D

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Want me to write you a story? Want more thrilling and twisted erotica? Want to help me achieve my dream? Every dollar counts! 

View my Patreon here!

I’ve re-worked my Patreon!

Hey ladies and gents,

I hope you’ve all had a lovely Valentine’s. 
I’m just writing in to state that I’ve reworked my Patreon to focus purely on my original work, as I’ve decided to keep the blog and my writing apart so that they are two different beasts.

What that essentially means is that the blog is still absolutely 100% free but I’ll reshape it so that its focused on other elements, such as my journey, self-help, Q/A’s and any reviews pertaining to anything BDSM related.
While I might post some erotica, I will be writing more to be exclusive to Patreon, for anyone that wants to lend their support, for which I’ll be eternally grateful.
That means for now, erotica will be split 50/50 for the blog and Patreon. A lot of raw a material, deleted / extended pieces will be up over on Patreon, while the blog will still get a handful of new stories and poetry experiments. 
With the new layout comes three reward tiers:

Pledging $1 per short story grants access to the Patreon site for me, which include stories for users, plus any posts or such that I do. 
Pledging $5 per short story also grants you access to exclusive ramblings, plus users at this level can give me a prompt and I’ll do my best to go with it for you.
Pledging $10 per short story grants you access to my Patreon and to my thoughts on writing the story you’ll read. These are essentially my author’s notes where I’ll geek out about writing and my thoughts on characters, theme and setting. 
And that’s it. If you’re still reading and haven’t skimmed or skipped, might I ask your advice in any rewards you’d be interested in, as a reader? I’d love to hear them!
In any case, my site is over here.  

Remember, even $1 adds up in the end guys. I love you all!

Greetings from Queensland, Australia

I’m writing this from an airport in Queensland and it has me thinking. The sunny lands, blue sky, sun kissed folks, it’s dreamy. One of these days, I should write a series set in the sunny lands of Queensland, using the people and sunny setting as a reference and contrast for what would be taking place – lust, greed, demonic sexual possession and a hunger so insatiable it shakes the reader. Hopefully. 
We will see, for now. Until then, have a beautiful day /evening my friends! 

Dealing with feelings of fear and guilt in regards to sexuality…

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Today must be reflection day.

I’ve been looking over the emails that have come my way, the emails I will be eternally grateful for, and one common element the messages all share is a sense of fear and uneasiness and it got me thinking.

When I had my first experience as a Dom, the strangest thing happened. I could feel this surge through my entire body, this…I don’t know how to even describe it. It was like a rumbling fire. Almost like butterflies, like my stomach was constantly flipping because this was it – this was the moment, the very first moment.

And I was scared, I was freaking out. Should I be enjoying this? Shouldn’t I behave like ______? Shouldn’t I respond like ______? What is this feeling within me and why it toe-curling, stomach-churningly intoxicating.

Do you know how many times I felt this and threw it away? Felt this and threw it away? Felt this and threw it away? Time and time again. Time and time again I struggled with this transformation, like a character struggling with turning into a werewolf. I was, to risk sounding pretentious, evolving and my body was ready. But my mind was fighting it. And it took me years to accept this. I would flirt with it by jumping into chat rooms but this would last a few minutes before I felt the strangest thing.

Guilt.

Why guilt? I don’t even know.  But here’s why I am talking about this.

The common recurring message from people was guilt. That they felt ashamed, that their families might feel ashamed.
“How could they do this?” They would ask me and I would help the best way I know.
But this is the thing.

When I click my stats occasionally to make sure I am connecting with new followers, you know what I see? Visits from Pakistan, Norway, Canada, South Korea. And I wonder…I wonder how many people out there are suffering the same toe-curling, stomach churning mix of excitement, fear and guilt? How many go to write in, think they sound utterly stupid and delete the draft email? How many want to write but don’t know where to start? Well, let me tell you something – there’s no right or wrong way to write in. There’s no way to talk correctly to me or to anyone else. Be yourself. Because hey, I was right there once upon a time. I felt it then and I feel it now writing my words. And I want to give anyone that wants to write in what I didn’t have – the reassurance that you don’t have to feel guilty. Or wrong. Or afraid. Because you’re not wrong or guilty. You’re you – and that’s fucking beautiful. Do you understand? No, don’t hesitate about it. Do you understand? Scream it out, purge yourself of any fear or guilt and be yourself. If not for yourself, then for me.

And on the off chance, I am entirely delusional and no one is out there feeling that guilt and fear then…well…we can all sit back comfortably and eat our favourite snack food or whatever.