The Wandering Mind

What do I get out of being dominant? I’ve been asked that question here or there over the years. Every time I smile as I recall memories and feelings and the little things in life that have filled my heart with love and yearning - and the moments that have led me down a path of growth. 

Its become such a huge part of me that answering it, well - to be dramatic it is like glancing up at the stars in the night sky and getting so carried away and overwhelmed with strands of thought that I don’t know where to begin.  But sitting in the peaceful 3am of my Monday Morning here in Australia, soft rain gracing my windows, I thought I’d try.

I think, ultimately, it’s that I get fulfillment from my being Dominant. My needs, my love language, on both a primal and psychological level, is that I like control. I love the non-sexual aspect, of setting tasks and having that dynamic in place in a 24/7 aspect. Of dressing a submissive, of being granted control in matters in and out of the bedroom. It feels like a multi layered need and want in me. My love language. Romance, in a way. It satisfies my heart and mind.

But it goes deeper.

There is something truly, absolutely special about earning that dominance. Not taking, not unless that’s a part in the play we are both acting out, but also…there’s just something really beautiful about getting to know someone in such a deep, intimate way. Not just sexual. The conversations you have in light of the morning. In the dark of night. Out at dinner where sight and sound around you melts away and it’s you two in the moment.

There’s something beautiful about forming a bond. A bond that sets friendship alight and evolves into D/s —- and through that, there IE something beautiful about exploring a submissive’s desires and fantasies and taking your part in bringing that to life so that, together, you are living and breathing them in a way that satisfies both of you in different and beautiful ways.

So it’s about finding fulfillment in taking part in that dynamic. In leading and assuming / earning control but it’s also those small, yet gargantuan,  moments as well. Her giggles, her playfulness and pleasure (or pleasure in pain) — and then building a realm and getting lost - or found - in that realm together. Our cabin out in the forest in our Mind Place together. Where we can be free to shed our clothes, decompress after a long day or week, fuck completely like primal beings, whatever it is that we want to explore we can do so in company.

Nothing makes me happier as a Dominant then to see her in her element. Relaxed and happy, naked and collared, exploring whatever she’s always wanted to – the freedom of submission, meowing like a cat, drooling like an animal, kneeling like a slave, whatever magical it is, it is that joy in seeing her that way that fills my heart with peace and contentment. And through that, it’s wondrous to that other side of me as well.  

It also gets me incredibly, achingly hard. But that’s not quite as important in the grand scheme of things…

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for coming to TED Talk. I appreciate you reading my words. Have a lovely day! 

There’s something about those eyes.

The faintest, lightest blue.

Like a lake in wintertime. Grey mixed with the faintest blue. Shimmering. Mesmerizing. 

She stands before him completely naked. Lit by the soft purple glow of her bedside lamp. Thin black choker around her neck.

Head bowed.

Eyes down.

Arms laced before her tum.

Her chest rising and falling with every slow and steady breath.

And her eyes . . . wide and bewitching . . . Peaceful and alluring . . . 

Waiting.

No, it never goes away. That feeling that he’s looking at her for the very first time. As her friend . . . As her dominant. 

That stomach flip.

That jolt of electricity sizzling over his body.

That tremble in his breath.

Blood pounding in his ears.

She chose him.

Him.

Considered him worthy of her submission. Her mind. Her body. Her sass regulated full force to him in their own private realm.

All that she is.

All. That. She. Is. 

He has reflected upon that for years. Writing and rewriting and editing and trying to perfect the meaning, the feeling, the scale of just what that means to him, what she means to him, her submissive to his dominant. 

His self to her self.

Treading darkness with their light.

Naked under the stars.

Raw and wild.

A tempest raging all consuming and then the storm gives way to the morning light and their kisses are as sweet and soft as the morning dew that beads along their bare bodies.

It seems she woke up and chose brattiness.

Even after our agreed upon three-warnings-and-you’re-out, even when she kneeled before me as I bound her wrists, that half-smirk of hers was there at the corner of her lips. Challenging without words. Brattiness with a smile.

Fifteen lines of ‘I WILL NOT POKE THE SADIST.’ was the designated punishment.

Up on the blackboard we keep in the corner of the bedroom to leave little love notes to one another of a morning as we head to our place of work.

‘I can do that.’ She says with that wicked smirk. It reaches her eyes, sets a fire within them. Olive eyes blazing intensely with that same brattiness.

‘I can do that, Sir.’

My correction slips from my lips without thinking.

She rolls her eyes. And to be honest, I’m kinda impressed how smooth she’s got it down.

But a question remains — how does one punish a brat that enjoys said punishment?

‘Naked.’

She shrugs nonchalantly, that smirk never faltering, ever wicked. ‘Do it. I’m naked anyways most days. You know this.’

Her left eyebrow arches as she watches me, waiting for me to correct her.

The correction dies in my throat. Curse me for being entranced by that look in her eyes.

Before I can get the words out, she’s slipping her panties off her legs.

I keep my eyes on her.

Hers watch me just as closely.

I catch her scent in the air.

Makes me ache to taste her.

Fuck, I love the taste of her.

No.

Focus.

Easier said than done.

I feel the primal in me dragging its nails along my skin.

I want to bend her over our bed.

Take her ass.

Turn that smirk of hers into a surprised gasp that comes between her clenched lips.

I really fucking want to wrestle her.

But another idea comes.

‘Let’s grab your favorite toy. I think I want to glide it along that eager slit of yours and play with your clit while you write. Let’s see if you can finish all lines.’

And there it is. The flicker. The shock. The intrigue. The eagerness. Here one minute and gone the next. Back to composure.

Back to the smirk.

Oh, she’s good.

‘Fine.’ She says. But I catch the slightest quiver in her voice.

On her knees and one line in, I trace the toy along her shaven slit. She doesn’t let out a moan but I sense she wants to. I can feel it caught between her teeth as she breathes in an attempt to maintain composure.

Can see her jaw clench as she suppresses that moan.

But it’s only a matter of time.

Only a matter of time until she breaks. 

Until she is my needy, begging pet. 

‘There’s a good girl.’

That’s my mood right now. Denying her that release. Building her orgasm till she’s a quivering, begging, needy mess all over my sheets. I don’t care. I love to see her squirm, I love to see her make a mess. Soak my sheets. Curse my name. I’ll only prolong that edging — and how far can you go, my little, eager whore? Let’s test that theory, let’s push you to the fringes of your sanity and watch as your mind goes feral. Primal. Animalistic. Possessed.

I don’t want to stop there, you know? How sensitive can we go? How long until pleasure becomes laced with pain? How long until you’re not sure of that feeling that curls your toes, that tickles your stomach. You’re not sure because you want so badly to cum, to suck my cock while my hand, resting on yours, trails the vibe over your clit and teases your red-hot slit.

Coming for me once is not enough. It’s not enough until I hear that animal in your cries, those grunts totally unlike the work persona you present. Throaty. Guttural. Angry. What have you got to say? Let’s hear it. Let it all out because I wouldn’t be stopping any soon. Not till you’re spent, till you tremble oh so deliciously and uncontrollably.

Only then, till you’ve soaked your thighs - soaked with sweat, with cum - will I take your face in my hands. This is my favorite part, seeing you come down from the high, seeing your flushed face, seeing you pant like a cat. ‘There’s a good girl. Come back to me.’

I was drifting off when this came to me. Sleepy, aching, wanting, I wrote it out. 

Right here.
In the dark.
In the middle of the night.
I want to fuck you.
Taste you.
Feel you pant in my ear.
Somewhere out there.
There’s something so fucking sexy to me - hearing your whimpers, hearing how your soaked cunt eagerly takes me in - but not being able to see you.
Intrigue taking form in darkness.
Our minds colouring in.
As you sleepily part your legs at my touch.
Even coming to you’re so well behaved and obedient.
As I tear your lips apart and ease in.
You’ve been such a good girl that, yeah, you can ride me ontop.

I want to fill you.
I want to feel your thighs around me.
Your tits brush against my chest as you reach down for a kiss.
That quiver in your moan drives me wild so much that I do believe I’d growl around your lips. Into the kiss.
Feel me tug at a fistful of your hair, non verbal ownership.
I hope you shiver at the thought of my fingertips trailing down your back to your ass.
As I claim your cunt.
There in the darkness.
Till we kick off the covers to escape our inescapable body heat.
Sweat trickling down our intertwined legs.
Where I will pump my full load into you.
And order you back to bed with the feeling of it there around your ass.

Do you know what’s fucking delicious? The sound of my name spilling loose from those trembling lips of yours. As you follow my command, as you grind against that vibe we picked out together, it is MY name reverberating through your mind. MY name taking form on your tongue and easing out through your clenched lips in that sweet voice of yours.

It comes out in a strain, in a gasp. Without thinking. Yes. That’s it. It is instinct to your submissive mind because I own your ass. Words are almost dotted with confusion, as if you’re not sure of the intensity of the feeling gripping your body. I picture you squirming as your thighs involuntarily clench around the vibe, burying it deeper. That’s it, my gorgeous, needy girl. Think of my cock taking ownership of that tight, soaked pussy when you come back home from work.

Pinch your nipples for me. Harder. HARDER. I want to hear your frenzied cries as your mind skips over and over my order like a broken record — for you to come for me on your lunch break…over the phone, hidden away in your car in the parking lot at work, with the added cover of cars on either side. What a delightful risk. Any moment one could find you. Spot you. Out you like the eager whore you can be. I wonder what they might see. Your greedy, slickly wet cunt desperately taking in the toy, your cute, frantic moans. (That have me SO achingly fucking hard, by the way.)

That’s another matter. Do you know just what you do to me? What hearing you, in this moment, does to me? Knowing it’s you who calls my name? You! My delightful little fuck doll! Hearing how soaked you are for me, knowing when you’re back in your work meetings you’ll squirm at how drenched your panties are. I cannot keep my hands from my cock. I can already taste your cunt on my lips.

The sounds I make, the growl that comes out of me at the tail end of my moans…you did this to me. I want you to know that I’ll show you just what you’ve done to me when you come home.

But for now…be a good girl and fucking come for me, yes? Let out the last pieces of your sanity. I want to break you. I want to hear you.

I’m a Dominant. I’m a Master. I’m a Daddy and I’m a Primal.
I’ll lead you when you need it, I’ll help guide you when you’re feeling lost and I’ll nurture you when you sink into a drop.

I’ll step into the darkness by your side. Deprive you of sight and sound and release till you’re a quivering, sobbing mess without a semblance of humanity.
I’ll pull your hair and pinch your tits and spit on you and call you such wicked names we both delight in.
I’ll claw your body till marks show the next day like you’re my calling card.

I’ll leash you. Collar you.
Watch movies with you collared beside me.
I’ll take pride in the smile that comes when you show me what you’ve coloured in today.
I’ll cuddle you after a horrible nightmare in the stillness of the night.
I’ll walk with you to whatever realm you desire because your happiness is paramount.

And I’ll let you teach me.
I’ll let you take care of me when my anxiety is so bad I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I’ll listen to your heart, advice and needs.
I’ll put your desires ahead of mine because your smile and your happiness and the expression of your free submissive spirit satisfies my soul more than I can ever say.
I won’t flinch when you step up to take care of me, I’ll let go of what society has taught me about what it means to be a man.
I won’t speak over you when you need to tell me something.
I will fall to my knees and press my head between your breasts when I’m feeling vulnerable and sad and lonely and out of sync with the world around me.
I’ll let you cuddle me from behind when we rest in bed.

Because I need all of these things.
Every little slither of light and every moment of shadow with you.
More than I could express.
More than you realise.

It’s something I’ll never forget.

How I truly saw you that day.

Lounging, completely naked, in bed.

Knowing you were away on a work retreat.

Knowing you had to work.

But you didn’t want to.

You lay there. On your stomach. Grey eyes catching the daylight streaming in from the hotel window and glistening with mischief.

How you tried to talk but the cute lil blue vibe buried in your cunt – the vibe I controlled from my phone, sending through patterns controlled by my touch – sent you stammering, moaning, giggling.

There we laid together – a whole state apart, hours from each other, but connected. The moment shared. Nakedness shared. Giggles shared.

I wonder if you know just how mad you drove me. How badly I wanted you. How achingly hard I was for you.

How surreal it all seemed, you being lit by the morning, the curves of your tits hidden away by the sheet, that post-orgasm smile on your face. Touching your lips.

And that tether, still between us. Who says I can’t command you from online? From that far away? Certainly not you, my own little fuck toy – do you know how many times you’ve said ‘Okay, I should reaaaally get some work done?’ — But then you moan and you ride that little vibe with the patterns I’ve sent you like a good little whore.

How did you feel when you first checked into your hotel room, when you knew you had to call me. Did you know I was going to ask you to slip out of your black and white little dress? Did you know how badly I wanted to see what underwear I picked out for you, that I missed seeing you slip into for the flight over to the retreat. That faint pink lace underwear…fuck.

You made me ridiculously hard. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from you, mesmerised by the primal being coming out of you. The side you show to only me. The side that’s been clawing to get out but sometimes just has no outlet, is always pushed back for work, for life. But now is here and loose. I marvel at your spirit, it fuels me, drives me. And you won’t be done till I say you’re done, till your clit aches, till your legs wobble, till you can’t take anymore. Can’t talk anymore.

My only regret was I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t claim that little pussy for myself. To roll you on all fours, to admire your pussy from behind, belonging to me, to growl into a bite I take out of your ass, to ease my cock all the way into you and feel how wet I’ve made you. How wet you have been through all our texts. If you close your eyes now and imagine, can you feel me sliding deep into you? Go on. Try. The thought of you squirming makes me grin. But seriously, try to imagine. Now.

There’s a good girl. Thank you for coming back to me.

How did you feel when, after a third orgasm, you wanted to shower but I wouldn’t let you go. Not without keeping that toy there, not without ordering you to come once more, right there, your back to the shower wall, legs buckling, squeezing your nipples and pinching them for me. I loved seeing your little grin, knowing you were thinking it was my hand, my fingers rolling and stretching your nipple. I love knowing that you can hide it to everyone just how much of a horny girl you are but deep in your alone time, when no one but yourself is present, you come to that fantasy, to that idea. To me and my words. To our shared world.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re more of a dutiful slave than you realise. Did that ever cross your mind? How deep those slutty, needy, impulses go? Because that’s what I saw when you came in the shower. That’s what I saw before that, when you rolled on your back, lifting your hips into the toy for your greedy cunt. I saw the smile across that wet, fuckable lips that knew she was a slave.

Do you remember how you felt when I told you to describe just how you imagined us? Me running my cock between your tits, teasing you with a titty fucking, me sliding my cock against your lips, teasing you with being fucked. And reading this now, what do you want? Where do you want me to mark you? Claim you? Your ass? Your mouth? Your tits? Do you want me to come on your tits the next time I pick you up from the airport? I’ll mark you right there in that car park, right down your dress and watch you squirm.

Don’t forget I own your cute ass. I’ll see you when you get back home.

This little piece is something I’ve been tinkering with on and off for the past month – outlining, editing, weighing whether it was good for the blog or another piece to add in the vault with the others I don’t know what to do with.

It came to me one grey, rainy Autumn Weekend in March – this idea of feeling so drawn into your dominance or your submission, this little sphere of romance you build together, that you’re bursting with so many strands of thoughts. For the past month it was just a few lines in my notes on my phone, a visceral scribble, until the past two weeks, when I sat down and started to get lost in the moment.

I hope it is worth your time. Heads up - it is a bit long, rawly edited and such. 

Thunder erupts across the night sky above, a low growl stretching out to mark the coming storm.
Jake and Iz, hand in hand, strolling along the edges of the beach barefoot, pay it no mind.
This humidity is killer. Scorching their skin, coating their bodies in that inescapable layer of sweat. Izzy’s chestnut coloured hair has gone curly again, for the umpteenth time.
They welcome the change.
It’s their first night into their weeklong vacation. Their first in 4 years. And they’re spending their time off at an apartment by a beach one stretch of road away from the ocean. One stretch away from the white, blinding sands and luscious ocean the colour of every shade of green.
They ordered in some Thai, shared their dinner watching the sun going down amidst crashing waves and the scent of sea salt on the air.
In the fading light, they walk side-by-side, conversation flowing from everything to nothing at all.

Until the lull comes.
As comfortable as the gentle sea breeze stroking their skin, weaving through their hair.
The touch of the breeze does something to them. Heightens the moment, the silence between them. Stirs something within them.
A thought pops into Iz’s mind. Time coming to a crawl, the moment stretching onwards to eternity. Her skin tingles with goosebumps.
Beside her, Jake’s mind races. They’re in their own realm, a beachy paradise. Nothing else exists outside of this moment. There is only the sound of the beach, their feet sinking into the sand, the feeling of giddiness in his gut.
Something about the moment here with Iz, tasting the sea salt on his tongue, walking by the beach, into the dark of night with her, is turning him on. He feels his stomach begin to knot, feels his cock brush against his jeans, his heart swell with love.

Something tugs him out of his reverie, pulls him back to the world, and resumes the flow of time.
He turns to see Iz a step behind him, linked by their hands, her eyes wide.
With the sun going down, half of her body is saturated in monochrome. The colour has been drained out of her blue dress with sunflowers, leaving the night to swallow all but her neck, where the shadow of the Eucalyptus tree above her marks a line across her pale throat dotted with beautiful freckles.
And her eyes glisten something unspoken in the sunset. 
Her green eyes became a running gag between them early in the relationship, an in-joke they both giggled at it. Depending on her mood they would change colour, shifting from a deep green to touches of blue or yellow. Be a tell for a thought brewing in her mind.
It was a cliché to think they sparkled like light scattered on an Emerald — but as she looked to Jake, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, it was the thought that came to him.

‘What is it? What’s…’
Iz’s hands were reaching up to her shoulders, fingers slipping underneath the straps of her dress.
‘Izzy!’
His head whipped around to look for any others on the beach. See if people were walking too, couples like them, oldies out for a stroll, kids playing till the last light of day drove them back home.
But no one was there.
He could feel her gaze draw him back to her, draw him deeper, closer, into her eyes. They were wide with…what was that? Adoration. Concentration. Submission.
He knew this look before. The beautiful look of a primal warrior, eyes reflecting the wild spirit. No matter how many times that look surfaced in her eyes, it still made his stomach flip.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until her dress fell to the sand in a clump – with just a cute little wiggle from Iz’s hips. 
And the air was knocked out of him.
Just like it was the first time he met her.
The first time she laughed.
The first time they kissed. Were naked together. What started off as a sweet, innocent embrace when he was staying over hers in another room. That she crept into in the dead of night.
The feeling of a connection, an up-link, between established between minds.
Her resting on top of him, pulling aside her blue-sky Cookie Monster shorties and guiding him to her.

He traveled through time in that instant.
The colours of her hair over the years. Purple. Blue. Red. Green. Silver. Blonde.
Love and time and dominance and submission and affection and friendship built on top of a fire never dying out.
And here she was before him, completely naked, drenched in monochrome. Hair frizzy, her natural brunette colour growing out over her blonde dyed. The slightest, sweetest curve in her lips showing a smile that reflected in her eyes. Her favorite quote from Bioshock – We all make choices, but in the end our choices make us – slinking up around her right arm. The lovely shape of her breasts. The thin stretch marks running alongside her belly button. Her trimmed pubic hair, the way her left leg rested as she stood, just bent at the knee.
She was beautiful. All of her.
Yes, there was a part of him that felt like a creep, breaking eye contact as he did, taking every inch of her in, but he couldn’t look away.
Her spirit was here, burning bright, and it was infectious.
Jake swallowed, his mouth working to express the thoughts stumbling over each other in his mind.
‘Isabel, I…’
What are words? What words could succinctly, properly, express how he feels? Where could he begin? What would sound less of a ramble? He knew she wouldn’t mind, that she didn’t care if he stumbled on his words, not after these 4 years together. But still, he stood there, mouth working wordlessly as he mind assembled his thoughts.

Iz felt her cheeks grow red-hot at hearing her full name come out. The truth was she didn’t know what came over her. She just felt it, this sudden inexplicable desire to strip. This fucking maddening urge to do this for him. She didn’t expect it like this, an overwhelming compulsion. Her heart hammering, skin prickling with heat, nipples rubbing, hardening against the fabric of her dress.
Was it the storm coming that did this to her?
The thunder rumbling above, the breeze on her arms – the breeze now tracing its way across her ass, ticking her curves, sending chills down her back. What was it?

Before she even she knew what she was doing she was lowering herself to her knees before her Sir.
Jake watched, heart in his throat, as Iz lowered herself down, her pale legs stretching out behind her, knees sinking into the sand, her head bowing, hair obscuring her face.
He stood there, frozen by the powerful sight, amazed by the beautiful sight, touched by the love filling his heart for her. Words formed and died in his throat. Still, nothing seemed right enough to say how he felt.

Kneeling before Him, eyes closed and listening to the roaring ocean, Izzy smiled.
She felt small. Protected. If asked, she could not say why, she simply felt calm, at peace. Like the universe was cracked wide open and in this very moment she understood herself for the very first time. And with this, she understood Him. That his primal being would protect her, cherish her. Keep her safe.
‘Isabel…’
Izzy lifted her gaze to Jake, her hair falling into her eyes.

Jake didn’t know how to say it. He knelt down beside her, brushed the strand out of her eyes. Gave in to the urge to cup her face in his hands. His heart fluttered when Iz leant into him. Nothing ever felt so right.
Izzy sighed and leaned her head into his hand; rubbing her face into his arm, showering his wrists with little, wet kisses that tickled his stomach. The sight of her, cat-like, primal, made his heart flutter.
Something gently brushed against his leg and Jake downed looked to see Izzy’s hands climbing up his knee, her fingers stretching out to grasp at his cock through the denim.
Just the slightest touch of her, the distinct, and lovely smell of her this close to him, made his cock ache further, pressing against the denim of his jeans.
‘Sir?’
Her voice was lighter than usual.
‘Yes, pet?’
‘Pet would like to take Sir’s cock in her mouth.’
The two of them, kneeling there in that moment, blushed together, a bubbling pot of awkwardness and shyness. Iz couldn’t say why she felt the need, she just knew she wanted to.
He looked down at her, his body vibrating with that nervous energy, and saw she was looking ahead to where his jeans would open to let his cock out.
‘Can she..?’
Something hit the back of Jake’s neck, raising the hairs on the back of his arms.
Thunder rumbled above them across the sky as the first bit of rain began to fall.
‘I think she can.’ Jake replied.

“Oh, you delightful little fuck toy. Show everyone just how much of a slave you and your cunt is to me and only me. Let them witness just how this transforms you into the doll you are right now.” He growls to her, one hand around her throat, the other on her ass, keeping her pinned to the glass of their hotel room as he eases into her from behind.

There’s a wee bit of an exhibitionist lurking within me. It doesn’t always come out but when it does, it comes out wickedly, strongly. The language is coarse, my voice comes out rushed, in between pants and snarls. I’ve got a shot of adrenaline coursing through my veins and I’m feeding off of my partner in crime. Her warrior submissive, bratty and challenging, devious and devilish. Is it pretentious to liken it to that perfect storm? Funny — writing that I just now remembered I woke from a dream this morning, the last image before I woke being me looking out at suburbia at night and seeing a tornado howl in the distance.

Exploring exhibitionism, there’s something that links back to tapping into my primal mind. There’s a fantasy to explore together, something to engineer together — I would never subject a non-consenting party to that act. Something like this is engineered. Controlled.

But I mean..it taps into that sense of exploring the primal aspects in me, in what is taboo. Because, like most kinks, it holds a mirror up to you. For me, it was challenging my extreme shyness. My insecurity to be naked. And my upbringing in a tightly-wound-conservative-Catholic-household. And to let go of that, to stand up, back straight, cock out — especially alongside another, thus connecting your minds, sharing the experience of throwing caution to the wind - is beautiful. Freeing.