“Hey! Let’s take a picture,” she said. What followed was lots of wriggling around in front of the mirror, trying to get the angle right. We were both as high as kites, having survived horrific beatings with a dungeon-full of fearsome corporal punishment implements. Her man had been doing the beating and he hadn’t messed about. He hadn’t… Read More »
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.
Sometimes, when we touch…. I’m isolated in a tunnel of pain, through which your touch is a first glimmer of light
I posted recently about how, when I’m between sessions and needy, my masochism can feel like a dark obsession. It can be quite alarming. Occasionally though, my masochistic responses during a session seem to come from that same dark place and I feel completely taken over by it. At such times my masochism is all… Read More »
I was delighted that Mistress Elita agreed to accompany me to the Saturday evening event at the Eroticon sex writer’s conference last weekend. As the Mistress with whom I have been exploring my kinks more or less since I started this blog, she is a huge and important part of the story I try to tell here. I… Read More »
Back In December, and at my request, Elita made a mid-session threat that, should I not loose a set amount of weight by the end of January, she would introduce me to the established, if alarming, BDSM practise of ball busting. Being hit on my cock or balls has been a hard limit since almost… Read More »
Occasionally, when flush with guilt-free poker winnings, I will book both a dominant and a submissive for a session of sensual kink, immersing myself in conflicting sensations of pain and pleasure as we play games of power and control. The feeling is of having all my buttons pressed simultaneously.
I knew I was in trouble when Elita stepped out of her heels. It is quite possible to deliver a serious caning using the wrist alone, especially if you have selected a suitably whippy cane. But to deliver a real beating, the whole torso comes into play, the power of the stroke coming from the turn of… Read More »
I’d seen these little bastards before, two years ago with an American Mistress. She’d made me keep them on my nipples for 10 seconds the first time, let me recover then replaced them for 20 seconds. So when Elita produced the new toys she had promised me, I instantly lost control of my heart rate and… Read More »
The caning has just ended, or at least paused; I have no way of knowing which. On this occasion, each and every stroke has been a real challenge but now I can breathe deeply, trying to soak up the pain, to absorb it and be ready for whatever comes next.
For someone who pays for their kinks, while living an outwardly vanilla home life, Christmas can seem an endless stretch of enforced vanilladom. For me the only answer was to plan a kinky encounter as close to Christmas as I dare, something that would stay with me through the entire holiday period. My thinking centred on… Read More »