In 2018, You Will Be Alright

 

The D/s dynamic.

Master. Slave. Submissive. Dominant. Switch. Primal. New. Old. Divorced. Separated. Isolated.

No matter what you’re feeling, no matter where you are in life, 2018 will be okay for you.

It’s easy though feel fear approaching the new year. What have you achieved? Where are you going? How will you get there? What plan do you have?

The thing is, through hard work and determination, through taking one step at a time – no matter if they’re baby steps – you’ll be perfectly fine. It’s an old saying but it’s something that I found when I was at the lowest in my life – things have a way of working themselves out. What that means for you, time will tell – but things tend to fall into place.

But you can’t expect things to come to you. These things take work. Time. You have to want what you’re seeking. And some days you need to challenge yourself, cauterise the negative thinking and get out of bed.

The same goes for people new to the dynamic, new to exploring where they fit into all of this – whether you’re single and looking for the right partner, whether you’re in a marriage and trying to find the right balance –

All you need is patience, love and the drive to explore and educate. You may not feel up to it every day, some days it will be tough and overwhelming and you will feel like you are about to crash, but keep pushing, keep moving. Keep thinking this is just one day, tomorrow is a new start. A fresh start.

You can achieve anything. If I can, you definitely can.

 

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In Which I Discuss My Writing Style..

Something I do in my free time is offer up my writing services – proofreading, editing, sometimes people want an original story. And so I have a file with some of Creative samples across many different genres – Fantasy, Thriller, Erotica.

The erotic one I have on sample is Zoe. I’m very proud of that, mainly because I wrote it in a fever – I slipped away from myself and was there. I can still hear the crickets and feel the heat of the locale.

But one thing that struck me with this piece that I put on my Creative Writing sample list is that it’s explicit in its use of language. ‘Cunt’ is used quite freely, and I’m sure I dropped a few f-bombs, as my characters tend to live their own lives.

I used to wonder if this was a suitable point of reference. People (Some people) are put off by it, others don’t seem to mind.

But tonight, as I sit here in this comfortable weather that sits somewhere between Just-right levels of coolness, I wonder what draws me to use such language – language I don’t use myself in real life. Unless severely frustrated, or turned on.

What I keep coming back to is that I enjoy the toughness of the word. It is coarse and unrefined and I always felt that some characters, not all but some, would grasp at these words first when trying to form thought.

But in saying that, and at the risk of sounding pretentious, there’s a beauty to that roughness as well. There’s something delightful about tapping into this sense of being in a state of arousal, one where the right word might not come to you, so you grasp for the explicit one. Fuck, tits, ass.

I do take into consideration the character – who they are, who they were, who they are in the moment – but I am aware that when things get animalistic or raw in the heat of these moments, so does my language.

Which is why there is a recurring theme in my writings of people getting down and dirty and unrestrained (or otherwise) because pushing people to the brink, to see what occurs when they topple over, can be a thrilling thing.

I don’t really know why I’m writing this. I don’t like deconstructing what I’ve done because it takes something out of that unrefined piece I write at 2am – but at the same time, I have been wondering why I chose to put Zoe on the list. And in doing so, I have wondered if it would be a bad choice. Which is why I ended up offering alternative pieces of erotic fiction.

Manifestation

Do you understand the power of the human mind?Do you understand the strength of that power?

We hallucinate. Our minds play tricks on us. 
When we’re tired, sometimes we conjure up manifestations that aren’t there. Conversations that never happen.
When we wake from our dream, sticky with sweat in the comforting light of day, we are safe from our minds. But at night? At night, you should take heed. Imagination is a magical, unwieldy power. 

So. You can look in my direction, safe with the knowledge you are secure from your lawn opposite the street. You can put your feet up on the couch or lay them across your partner while your babe sleeps. 
You can convince yourself you’re happy with your life, day in day out. Feed yourself, take care of yourself, feed the babe, take care of the babe.

But.

In the dead of the night. When it’s quiet. When not even the crickets will sing for you, find your anchor. Find your safe spot, your warm comfort. Find what light within you that you can.
Because if you think. If you think of me.
I will materialise before you.
Out of the dark, out of the shadows cast by the moonlight that filters in through your window, my form will appear.
And before you can turn on the light, the safe comfort, I will grab you by the ankle and drag you back within my reach. Back into the darkness. 

The more you indulge this thought path, the stronger I grow. 
The stronger I grow, the more I become self-aware. 
When that occurs, where does your original thought, your fantasy, end and my thoughts begin.  

A runaway mind would lead you to having your clothes torn completely off. 
Could you guess that your singlet top and shorties could be peeled off, curled off, torn off, across the room so easily?
Had you wondered how you might scream to your snoring partner who fell asleep on the couch downstairs? Did you wonder how you could even get out a scream? We both know you can’t raise your voice. You were never good at it. 

When you’re on your stomach, completely nude, your hair down and out across your back and past your shoulders, will this be my fantasy? Or yours?
Would my gaze, resting upon your pale bare ass, be your desire? Or mine?
Would your wet cunt, filling the bedroom with its delightful aroma, be offered to me for tribute? 

And when I pull you up to your knees and back into me….when I take your ass….is this a delicious act reserved for me, for us, in this moment? Or a product of a scrapped fantasy, something your boyfriend shows no interest in?

If you think, just for one second, you open the doorway between worlds. 

If you open the doorway between worlds, you run the risk of inviting me into your bedroom.

That power is yours. 

Memoirs Of A Dominant

Next week I will be turning thirty.
And looking back on the last ten years of my life is a strange and beautiful thing.

I’ve had the gift of life given to me but also of laughter and love and yeah, even Dominance. 

When I was twenty, I didn’t know what I do now. 

You could say I was Dominant, but I was coarse and unrefined. 

I could dominate – and I did – but it wasn’t with any sort of awareness of the bigger picture. I was playing chess one square at a time rather than the whole board.

Unknowingly, I had formed D/s relationships but neither me nor the lady I was with knew that. All I knew was that I had gone from being a loner to suddenly an attractive man – well, in the eyes of others anyway. At 20 I was insecure with myself in a way that I’m not now. 

My twenties were spent outside of anything BDSM related. There were flickers of it: The degradation that came out in my teens also came out in the bedroom. But I didn’t know terms, dynamics, things I wanted. I was coarse and unrefined and in a strictly vanilla relationship. 

It was around the time of my mid-twenties when something inside me awoke. Suddenly I wanted to learn. 

I was afraid to learn – there were times in the middle of the night where I woke from a dream to an ache I had ignored due to some of that catholic guilt I was raised with coming out – but I still had that desire. 

My long-term girlfriend at the time was not interested in the slightest. Not even after me trying to introduce to her some things I wanted to try. We simply were not compatible, though we hung onto each other long anyway.
Her dismissal led me to blogs and sites and that’s where I discovered Fetlife. That’s where I discovered apps like Whisper.

Suddenly I was finding that education I was so scared about. I deleted and signed up to Fetlife numerous times before I created the profile that exists today. 

Through whisper, I met a bubbly young lady. She was eighteen. I was 26 at the time. 
Blonde hair, blue eyes, piercings over her face and nipples. 
I did not have an affair with her, if that’s what you’re thinking. As I write this now, I can see that this was the origin of my Daddy side. 

You see, she came from a broken home. She was constantly in a state of distress. And over the weeks, we would talk and I would help in any way I can – because…well, because she felt like a little sister to me. 

The universe is a strange thing. It brings people together, it pulls people apart. And I guess, in that time, the universe gave me someone to talk to who was just as much seeking answers as I was. 

We would talk about our interests, mainly though, we would talk shit. And it was pleasant. 

I don’t know where she is now, but looking back, I think that was instrumental in forging my Daddy side. My caring side. My nurture side. 

EVENTUALLY my long term relationship with my girlfriend fell apart. We stopped being friends, we hung out in different rooms after work. We simply weren’t compatible. 

At the time, I wanted to fight. I felt that was what I wanted to do – fight for her. But when she showed no interest in fighting back, I decided to drop my compulsion to fix things or solve things and just…let her go. 

In the months after, I sought to explore myself. I moved in with my parents for a while, Iogged back into Fetlife. I took nude selfies despite my lingering guilt post-relationship. I wrote songs too. Really on-the-nose songs, with titles like ‘Penultimate’ and ‘Signposts’. It was my way to heal.

Through Fetlife – through people, really – I learnt what I was once too scared to learn. I spoke to women I befriended. Some I was drawn to on a really primal level. They helped point out what I was feeling. 

I had plenty of fascinating conversations about minds and life just staying in the intimate space of my childhood bedroom. In a lot of ways I was doing a loop, folding over back into my childhood town. Adulthood is weird.

But I learned I was a primal. I learned I was a Daddy. I had a six hour edging session – and I’m not exaggerating to prove something, I spent the majority of that day in bed pushing my limits. I was done crying, I was going to edge damnit. 

So you see, life is strange. Why we don’t accept our minds and our sexuality is stranger. I could lament and wonder why it wasn’t sooner that I had this life affirming epiphany, but you can’t go back. Only forward. 

If you have any questions regarding this post, always feel free to write me at my email. I’m more than happy to help you with your own journey.  

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?

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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