I pause, the rope held loosely in my hands, allowing you to see it as I slowly move my hands apart, left pinching the bight so as to extend a length between them. Your eyes lift to mine and my heart lifts at what I see there. Apprehension, desire, a question, I hold your gaze and see your decision, your eyes closing slightly, your shoulders dropping slightly as you slowly exhale.

I lift my hands up and over you, lowering the band of rope behind you, lower than it needs to be, brushing your back as I move it up and against your skin. As if seeking the perfect location I move it slightly from side to side, teasing you with it, knowing without looking your nipples will already have hardened just as if the rope had just caressed them instead. I move slowly around you, extend the rope through my fingers carefully, keeping it taught enough to wrap against the skin beneath your breasts and over your ribs, making the first wrap. I pull the free rope slowly through the bight ensuring the weave of the soft hemp moves across that of its counterpart, the rope around you thrumming gently.

The first wrap complete I start to move back in the opposite direction, pausing again in front of her, noting her eyes are unfocused, as she concentrates on the swirling thoughts and feelings the ropes touch stirs in her. I smile to myself loving the way her body sways slightly under the pull of the rope as I circle her with the second wrap, immediately above the first. Moving more confidently now I finish pulling it through before pinching the ropes in one hand so as to free the other to reach round in front of you.

I make sure to wrap my arm carefully around you as to check the rope is layed well against your skin, but truthfully it is so I can hold you between rope and arm, your head against my cheek. I feel you exhale with a slight sigh, your eyes fluttering closed, a vague smile playing on your soft, full lips.

The next two wraps, above your breasts are smooth but unhurried, your head now lolling forward as you relax in to my rope. Quietly I start to talk to you, of possibilities, making my voice your focus, guiding you to leave yourself in the care of my rope…….


Daily Prompt: Trance


So what was it like for you?

Woman lying down on her bed at home.

Can you remember what it felt like?

Recently I tried to write what might be classed as erotica, mainly driven by my desire to see if I could write something better, actually more accurately speaking, more realistic, than 50 Shades. The actual quality of the writing of those books has pretty much been done to death but it has also been jumped on in the BDSM community as not reflecting the reality of “the lifestyle”. So since I have done this weird stuff for 11 years now, partied hard and done it as part of a relationship as well, I figured I have a fair idea, so I sat down to write.

Simple story line, girl meets guy at party thrown by friends, both get hots for each other, he does bad things to her which she likes, a lot, some hot rough sex, he cuddles her afterwards, perhaps to be continued. Dialogue, easy, words I have said or heard others say in that sort of situation, technical detail nailed, after all I am a geeky Dom, love my toys and techniques. Settings the same so that just left the sex. And that is where it all went wrong.

I could write the scenes, write his thoughts and feelings but hers? It was as if I had suffered a complete lobotomy, I could not even begin to imagine what a woman actually experiences during sex. The play was fine, I am not shy about admitting I have tried most of the sensations and activities I inflict, for their pleasure, on others. But sex, suddenly I am a goldfish with a typewriter.

Now I know that emotions colour perceptions so that after the act memories get tinted, rose or otherwise, but can you actually remember what you physically felt and how that made you feel? Is sex like driving, there is little sensation, the physical becomes subconscious, an extension of your emotions and desires? Or, does it become an intricate dance where release is the crazed applause at the end? You can probably tell I am guessing here, right?

All suggestions gratefully received, either based on personal experience or pointers to the work of others you feel have answered this question.



Curves. Real bodies are made up of them, how many and the size of them determines what shape we are. How we feel about that shape is a consequence of cultural, experience, education and on and on but the truth is, most of us do not have the right one. We do not like our shape, we do not like our bodies. Some people strive to reach perfection, are proud of what they achieve, the journey becomes their life story. For others it becomes the leaden weight that constantly weighs them down, life is such hard work, so pointless.

But what about the person inside the shape, no curves there. Inside we are like crystals, edges and facets, twisting and turning so that every person seeing us sees a different facet, a different shape. Crystals are amazing, wonders of nature, simple in construction, complex in their beauty and inside so are we. Today I will try and see the beauty inside others and hope they see some in me. In the words of the song

Shine on you crazy diamond



Who ya gonna call?

When you’ve been ghosted.

Ghosted, a term I wasn’t familiar with until recently. Sat at a munch, a rare occurrence these days, hey been there got the T-shirt, the poster and the giant foam hand, Yay Go Munchers, when one of the ladies sat at the table with me made a wooOOoo noise under her breath eliciting much sniggering and giggling from those around her.

A quick scan of the group showed apart from me and the girl, everybody else seemed to get the joke. So turning to the source of the noise I asked what the joke was. “Oh it’s just us being bitchy about poor old Derek” she replied with a, I suspected completely insincere, sad shake of the head. “Care to elaborate?” I prompted and as expected got the furtive cartoonesque scan of the room to check nobodies watching move. Still she leaned closer, apparently so as not to be heard even though I suspect all around us already knew even more than she would tell me.

I didn’t object, it’s the rules of the gossip game and besides which she is gorgeous, a woman of a certain age completely in touch with her sexual self and enjoying life. I would love to have her at my mercy, begging for release, straining against my control. Pity she is a badass sadistic Domme who should I ever try to do that would in a heartbeat cut my manhood from my body, marinade it my body fluids and then make me eat it. The sort of woman who carries several weapons concealed about her person and knows how to use them, for her pleasure.

“Poor old Derek he’s the only one doesn’t know he’s being ghosted” she half whispered in to my shoulder and sat back as if I should instantly understand. Well it explained the silly noise but I was really no wiser. Of course with suave Domly calm I smiled a half amused, half of course smile and looked at the poor man’s back across the room all the while wondering what the hell ghosting was. The girl was by now gently looking askance at me so I leaned closer and whispered “What’s ghosting somebody mean?” She gave me that “Really? You don’t know?” look that is usually followed by a “With respect Sir, you are s out of touch you old codger.” This is just implied in the eyes if she feels on thin ice, we are in public or I am feeling grumpy. Behind closed doors she would say it; what the hell she’s a brat in the bedroom as well as a whore.

“Perhaps later?” she said and we let it hang until the start of the next demo caused the group to break up and we could move to a quiet corner. Settled she started to explain. Apparently since so much of our relationships these days are virtual, completely as in website friends, or in terms of publicly expressing our relationships to said virtual connections, being virtually present is to most people the reality of the relationship. This is certainly true in the world of kink where for most kinksters face to face is a social highlight, once met in real life most connection is then online. So if you are in a D/s relationship the only way from day to day that your connections know this is, is by what you do online, no online no relationship.

Now obviously, if you are seen at a real life event, happy and contented together, the flag is reset but in many relationships these days face to face is not 24/7. We lead busy lives; D/s can overlay other relationships and commitments so even the relationship can be partially virtual. So how do you know when a relationship is dead? Well in this case it appeared after everybody else. This was no Velcro collar strangers to Master slave in six months scenario, oh no, Derek and Elsa had been a scene item for years, see guys you can live the dream they are. Except that apparently he stopped listening and didn’t hear the alarm on her biological clock go off. She wants a little Derek, she wants one real bad. Now of course she is a good slave and never tells her Master what to do, Master always knows best or some such crap. Crap because in this case it has destroyed their relationship.

Apparently he is the only one to have not realised that she always has an excuse to not be out with him, a convenient recurring medical problem, ageing and increasingly sickly parents, ever more demanding boss who needs that report tonight. They are seeing each other rarely, he is unhappy but being understanding, she is fading away. No longer is there a stream of posts about what they have done together, how he makes her feel, just an ever decreasing number of social likes of friends pictures or posts. Coming to one of these for the first time you would never guess she was in a long term relationship, which of course in her mind she now isn’t.

Apparently this is the modern way, just fade away so that when you finally stop answering their messages, go invisible, it isn’t as painful, but of course that is simply what the ghoster tells themselves to justify their cowardice. It is going to destroy Derek, his whole social credibility will be removed, he is going to feel publicly castrated and betrayed not only by the love of his life but by all his friends who he will quickly realise knew and said nothing. She will lay low, first surfacing virtually to remake connections, there will be no shortage of comforting strong Domly shoulders to lean on and the fact he wouldn’t, perhaps if need be hinted at couldn’t, give her the baby she craved will be seen as reason enough by some of the women around her.

So did I go over and tell him, of course not. How could you prove it, that’s the beauty of it, the perfect crime, no hard evidence and a victim that doesn’t realise until it is too late. No, I carried on as planned, had a great evening and went home. Went home to check all her posts online and texts and calls, to count them and work out how often, how many, my God was I next? And then I spent a sleepless nice feeling like a shit for doubting her. My resolve was to listen a little more closely, hope she makes some murmur of protest that I can detect early enough to act or believed me when afterwards I told her I would rather change anything than lose her. Hopefully the fact that I also told that if she ghosted me I would make it my life’s work to hunt her down and destroy her reassured her as to my commitment to the relationship and didn’t in anyway scare her.



The times they are a-changin’


I have little time for social media, I despise Facebook and its bastard offspring and have seen how the growth in accessibility of the web has shortened the life-cycle of web forums proportionally. The first web forums lasted years before being dragged under by the weight of trolls and soapboxers, these days the window between informed educative niche and sprawling home of the fantasist and the prurient gawpers can be mere months.

But I digress, as my story really starts on a rare recent visit to one such behemoth, now it seems the last player in town. I visit rarely, mainly to check on the kink version of hatches, matches and dispatches, bright eyed newbies, collarings and vitriolic spats over who did what with who when. My days of kink clubbing and partying it seems over, my need to buy new toys minimal, so with a weary smile I watch and wander through the shadows

And crawling on the planet's face
Some insects, called the human race...
Lost in time, and lost in space,
And meaning.

Bless that film, still an all time favourite, but whilst I was lurking I stumbled over a post from somebody I knew, a post so shocking I had to reread it to check I hadn’t in some way terribly misconstrued it. When last I saw the Dom who was its authour he was the centre of attention, life and soul of this party and in fact anything he deigned to grace with his presence. A master technician, expert by study in anything that interested him, an avid networker, he knows anybody worth knowing and was the owner of a stable of girls.

Actually not a stable but a Sheldon Coopers sock draw of submissives, each having her own uses, whether it being his roady when he was putting on a show, head turning trophy bimbette or the desperate to be wanted puppets who he would turn inside out then pack off home till next he needed to show what a hard bastard he was. They were summoned and tasked and for a few hours had their moment in the sun trying to hide their jealousy of the one he was now with or the pain of being dispensed with.

And yet today I was reading him writing of what he was going to do to his latest little project and having to draw breath at what he was proposing all the time my inner voice screaming “Holy Fuck man what happened to you?” Now before you start to think what they hell was he going to do, something violently terribly, I’ll say no nothing criminal or stupid it was the language he used. It read like something out of 50SoG. This witty erudite and knowledgeable Dom was writing like a one handed internet fantasist.

Now its time to plead mea culpa, yes in my time I have texted or emailed some mortifying things to my girl, hey it worked for her and hence me, when your miles apart and feeling low a little bit of Sirs own frapfiction reaches her spot. But this was private time not all over the town in neon pink, why the hell had somebody who was once so mannered and subtle being so, well to me anyway, crass. I always check context when something pops out of the frame like this and this time was no different.

So I actually started to pay attention to what “Doms” were writing online because you see to me being a Dom is not about other people it is about you and your sub, I don’t seek or need others validation of my behavior or relationships, as long as my girl is just that I figure I am doing it right enough for the people who get a vote. But apparently not in the new world order. Apparently Doms have to be “hot” and ideally “buff”, they have to fuck like porn stars and talk like a cross between a Russian Mafioso and a plumber with Turets. Tattoos also seem to feature heavily even though the number of them on any man over 35 seems inversely proportional to their IQ.

So it is with some regret I have to inform you dear readers that I can no longer be a Dom, I possess not one single attribute of the skills or features I now require. I with heavy heart informed my girl of this and was a little taken back by her reply

“You haven’t been a Dom for years Sir.”

I thought “Well thanks a bunch for letting me wander round in my little self deluded bubble all this time. Next thing you know you’ll be telling me you are my Father and chopping my hand off.” But with the timing most comedians would die for she said

“You’ve been my Master for years but I know you think that is a stupid idea so didn’t argue.”

Do you now understand why I keep her around?

Her point if I can sum it up was that the depth of our relationship and the commitment we had shown to each other meant that ALL elements of our lives were intertwined that even though I might not think I controlled some parts of her life I did if subtly. I am still thinking about this, the jurys out, but in the meantime I have signed a four book deal to write for a well known erotic publisher. The Adventures Sir Porksword, the Dom with the heavily tattooed penis the size and shape of a large Salami should be on Amazon any day now.

If all goes well I intend to invest the millions I get in movie rights in to buying a deserted castle in a wood somewhere where trembling virgins, kidnapped during meets arranged on the behemoth between me and the mindless post 50SoG fresh meat, can be plunged in to the depths of ultimate subspace by my guturally whispered entreaties to “take it slut, your my motherf**king whore now” They will then of course be available for private webcam chats to my websites well paying customers. where they will entice you to buy specially made videos of them submitting repeatedly and noisily.

Or maybe I’ll just slink back in to the shadows, my anonymity protected by my Buddha belly, wrinkles and quiet mannered behavior.


Love Actually….

is not compatible with a D/s relationship.

At this point I sense hackles will be rising throughout Kinkland, in all the loving D/s couples, in the heaving bosoms of all the single submissive females and perhaps even in the quiet hidden part of some Dom/mes souls, but I’m right. Of course I am, me Dom, Master of the Universe etc, or maybe not, but I do think I am right. Why? OK I’ll tell you since you asked.

Because as soon as you become emotionally linked to your submissive it clouds your Dominants thought process. Being Dom/me is about assuming a position of control within the relationship, you enjoy being the decision maker, your submissive wants you to be so and to make decisions based on your desires. They of course presume that you desire them no harm, maybe even are intent on their wellbeing but inherent in a D/s relationship, by definition, are the wishes of the Dominant.

But when you love somebody their needs and happiness start to become yours. Now you may be screaming, that’s not what love is like but for my contention is that consciously or unconsciously it is. The Ancient Greeks, general fairly wise folks, classified love in to four forms

  1. Agape is unconditional love. It is love by “choice” even if you are not pleased
  2. Philia is charity or brotherly love, guided by our likes or our healthy or unhealthy needs and desires.
  3. Storge is the word for family love and the physical show of “affection”, the need for physical touch.
  4. Eros is the physical “sexual” desire, intercourse.

Now by definition a dominant should not experience Agape but for some and this aligns with the view of the wider world it may well be Philia, whether the needs and desires of the Dominant are healthy or not becomes the point of contention. Many Dominants may experience elements of Storge, feel affection for their submissive, admiring their loyalty, focus and endeavour, but for that feels generic, the feelings engendered by any diligent submissive at the time of interaction. Then of course there is Eros, a strong driver in some Doms although in my experience not always. Ultimately I think that as a D/s relationship continues the balance of loves can and will shift.

It is the emergence of an Agapian quality that signals trouble on the road ahead. Of course choice is the primary prerogative of the Dominant so love “by choice” should be no problem but what if you choose to pleasure or protect your submissive rather than direct or correct them. They notice, oh boy do they notice and sooner or later they will perceive you as weak. They may love your kind nurturing nature but will also somewhere inside resent it because it lessens your Dominance. They want you to be the resolute, implacable place in their life, their rock. They want you to cling to in life’s storms but also to block them from leaving the path in life. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, it’s a damned hard life being a Dom/me.

This was written from experience and the perspective of a heterosexual male Dominant, I believe from experience it may well not be true in heterosexual Female led relationships and as for Gay D/s culture I am pretty clueless, but if anybody wished to offer me their perspectives I am always fascinated to know more.

Pop! There goes my blogging cherry

So this the first post, what to say…..

The pause doesn’t bode well for the future does it but I will as in most things I do persevere. I wanted a space to record my thoughts, to perhaps in the process organise them, not for others but for myself so that there is a breadcrumb trail I can follow afterwards, when I need to understand how I got to where I am at that time.

So, welcome inside my head, please do not stray from the marked pathways as we cannot accept responsibility for your health or sanity should you see what your not meant to.