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.
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 »
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 »
She’s got me standing, facing her, my back pushed against the hard metal and leather of the flogging frame. Minutes earlier, facing the other way, I was being flogged and my skin is now alive with sensation. The only thing I’m wearing is a thin cord, tied tight round the base of my cock and my balls.… Read More »
Caning is all about the cane. The sensations of a thick, stiff cane are quite different from those of a thin, flexible one. As are the after effects.
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 »
My image this week comes from my first meeting with Miss Hunter. She introduced me to the Tawse, the feared instrument of punishment in Scottish Schools until it was banned in 1987.
I’m stood in the shade, only 100 metres from the rental dungeon in central London where we are due to meet. My heart’s running at about twice it’s normal rate, pumping liberal doses of adrenaline around my body. My mouth is dry, my breathing shallow. I curse myself for arriving too early, feeling I must look suspicious, a… Read More »
Seeing Mistress Kikko is always a highlight of my occasional poker visits to Las Vegas. Two years ago she completely took me apart, leaving me shocked right to my core by what I had been through, opening me up to a world of BDSM play that went way beyond what I was doing at the… 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 »
Earlier this week, and at my specific request, Elita took me apart. In 18 months of seeing her, in fact in 20 years of seeing Mistresses, this was the hardest session of them all.