Imagine you were a regular client of a Michelin starred restaurant. Perhaps you visit once a month, dropping a few hundred pounds on expense account meals. Would you expect the chef to spend time between your visits chatting about the food you’d eaten, the menu, what you might be looking for on your next visit?… Read More »
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 »
“Get back here, you!” called the gaoler, as she neared the relative safety of the hallway, her bottom sore from the impact of his hand through the thin cotton of her bloomers. Her friend was already there, shaking in fear against the cold stone wall. “You didn’t think that was your punishment did you? HaHaHa! That… 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 »
Lilly is in a dungeon. It has stone walls, red leather fetish furniture and racks of whips, chains and floggers; yet she can see none of it, has seen none of it. She’s been blindfolded since she walked into the small hallway behind the anonymous front door of the terraced house. Lilly has been kidnapped.
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 »
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 »
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.
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 »
Black. Everything’s black. The blindfold’s not one of those cheap, useless bits of cloth you get on airplanes. This one offers me nothing. I’m very conscious of my own breathing; shallow and faster than normal. I can hear my heart beating.
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 »