Last week I booked into a hotel room, lay on the bed and waited for an unknown Mistress. My earlier Sinful Sunday post described the unnatural stillness of the moments before and after the beating she gave me. As happens sometimes, it’s taken me a while for me to rationalise my responses to the session itself.
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 »
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 »
There’s a place I go when I’m beaten, a place deep inside myself, a refuge. There’s a sense of quite deliberately diving down to it early in the session. I allow my sense of where I am and who I am with to diminish, focussing only on the waves of sensation, becoming utterly absorbed in… Read More »
I hope my head will be in the right place for this next session. It certainly bloody needs to be. How I come out of a session very much depends on how I go into it; the experience can be cathartic and life affirming if I start from the right place, or negative and self-harming if I… Read More »
A visitor once described London as a great party you’re not invited to, full of secret, niche things down side-alleys that you’d never know about if you didn’t know someone who knows someone. On Thursday, for example, shoppers at a busy street market were walking backwards and forwards over a glass pavement, under which this… Read More »