It wasn’t actually in the dark or there wouldn’t be a picture, but I was waiting with a blindfold on, waiting for the mystery Mistress. No name, no email, no website address. No communication of any kind. All I knew was that Mistress Elita, who had kindly set this up for me, had given her the… Read More »
My tastes are pretty varied and I can enjoy a wide variety of scenes whether playing as top or bottom, dominant or submissive. I’ve come to recognise that my kinks are part of me and I relish the world of extreme sensations and emotions they have opened up. I also recognise that I am exceptionally lucky… Read More »
Many of my real fantasies, the ones I find in my head when I’m disturbed or stressed, are dark and non-consensual punishment scenes. Sometimes I’m the perpetrator and sometimes I’m the one being punished but the consistent components are an unwilling, tightly bound victim, and the authority figure handing out corporal punishment of escalating violence.… Read More »
Entering the hallway, I’m pleased to see Lilly’s stood exactly as I instructed, hands at shoulder height against the wall, her bag on the floor. She’s followed my other instructions: a dress that will slip off easily, little make up, simple hair. Good girl. I slip an eye mask over her head, tightening the Velcro;… Read More »
It’s a ritual I go through. Not before every session; only those where I know I’m going to be really tested. This one for instance. I’m definitely going through my ritual of preparation for this session. It’s going to be judicial caning, taken with no warm up, delivered by a man.
After a couple of posts of maudlin introspection about my current situation, Sinful Sunday is definitely a time for happier thoughts.
I write this on the train, as I travel to a session with Mistress Elita, my first meeting with her for five weeks, though it feels longer. It’s not going to be a normal session and, as they say in the deep South of the USA, “I’m as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a… Read More »
Catherine took her seat in Patisserie Valerie on the corner of St James Street and Piccadilly and ordered an orange juice, exactly as she had been instructed. When the client, one she knew well, had suggested a shopping trip she had been thrilled but the instruction to take a table on her own and wait… Read More »
For years, too many years, the only outlet for my kink was through hurting myself. A sub-kink developed (is that even a thing?): I found the act of making or buying implements with which to hurt myself became erotically charged in itself. It still is.
A while ago, it seems like ages, I agreed with Mistress Elita that at some point between then and my June holiday her man, a serious BDSM practitioner, would appear unannounced in one of our sessions. I described the motivation for this unusual agreement here. It seemed likely that the session we had pencilled in for May at… Read More »
The ante room is dark, barely enough light for me to fold my clothes onto the chair provided. The mechanics of undressing temporarily alleviate my nervousness but by the time I’ve carefully tightened the Mistress’s studded leather collar and put on the blindfold, the fear is a tangible, solid object.
Having missed a Sinful Sunday or two, I wanted to participate in this one but had no pictures from my recent session. A perfect excuse to dig back into the kinky archive.