The Wrong House

A New Mistress Operating From Home

I was between  mistresses. A well known and renowned mistress I’d heard about was operating not that far from me so I decided to get her a try.

A look on the internet then a phone call, a discussion about what I wanted resulted in me writing down her address and making a booking.

A few days later I arrived. It was a new estate, small blocks and arranged with winding roads. The address she gave me was on a circular ring road. All good I thought, it looked like a normal suburban home. Who am I to worry about that.

I have quite a bit of gear. There is a large luggage bag full of belts an straps and such like. Then I have a long triangular mailer my Canadian Prison Strap came in. This also has about 8 other straps and tawse shoved in there also. These two things make a reasonable load to carry.

Well, after parking in the driveway I headed to the front door then rang the bell. No answer. I rang again, and again. No answer. Damn. What’s happening?

Then I looked around and there it was on the wall. On a plaque. The full address of the house. It turned out I was on was in the right street name but it was “Circle” and not “Drive.”

Who has an address on a plaque on their front wall? I don’t. Turns out it is people who get callers who choose the wrong address in their GPS.

It made me wonder. How many had shown up looking for “Mistress XXX” and then the embarrassment.

It could have been me.

Helping hand in a BDSM Session

Mistress Was Giving Heavy Corporal

I think there is a trend. If I have three sessions with a mistress, she is outstanding. The first can be tricky as we are finding out about each other. The second session is the make or break – if this works well then I’ll have a third and usually this leads to a longer term relationship.

For this anecdote (absolutely true) I was in session with a lovely mistress who had me in suspension and was using my gear on me. She was giving me a folded belt strapping, using my tawse collection, the straps and all the gear I have in turn.

She was a very good looking woman (as they all are in fact). She was English and had been a model in the years prior. She was very pleasant to talk to and certainly a favorite. I still smile when I think of her. A lovely lady.

Well, I was of course watching her, taking all the corporal she could give and it was working out pretty well. That was until she left the dungeon suddenly. It surprised me but it wasn’t that there was much I could do. I was in suspension with my hands in cuffs clipped to a bar above my head. There were straps around my legs and I was gagged. No way was I moving.

Not long later she returned with a shorter woman, maybe a little older and blond. Another mistress in fact, that was all she could be. Strange, I thought.

Without saying another word this new mistress took up a folded belt and strapped me really hard. Much harder than I’d been having. These had an effect. Then she changed to another belt, then another strap, then another tawse.

Well, this went on and it challenged me, lifted me onto my toes. Got through to me, Then the new mistress left.  All without saying a word. My original mistress continued then we completed the session as per normal. It was EXCEPTIONAL.

After my shower the mistress confided in me. She had breast cancer and was in remission. Her energy levels were down and she’d been struggling to give me the corporal at an intensity that she thought I needed. She had called in a friend.

I was totally and absolutely gutted. She was gorgeous, had a smile and a way of talking and making me feel comfortable. She was delightful in the extreme. The thought of her having, suffering, breast cancer was obscene.

Well, all I could do was grab the only money I had from my wallet, a $50, and ask her to give it to the other mistress. We chatted for a while and she seemed comfortable with what was happening.

Some time later she died. She had my mobile phone number and her friend sent a message to say she’d died on the 10th of November. I had to pull over on the side of the road and shed a tear. I texted back that the world had lost a beautiful soul and was poorer for her loss. Her friend showed mistresses parents who had taken some comfort from my heartfelt message.

To my great annoyance I didn’t attend the funeral. I thought it would be inappropriate. It turned out that many of her clients did attend, sitting at the back of the church and her family had been comfortable with that. On her coffin she had crossed riding crops. I still think of her at times.

Well, I mentioned this to the psychologist I was seeing. She commented that my mistress would have just pocketed the money.

Turns out she was wrong. I had a session a few years later at another establishment on the other side of the city. The mistress commented about my gear and mentioned she’d been called in to aid a mistress who was suffering while recovering from breast cancer. She even commented that she’d been given a $50 for the 10 minutes she’d helped out. It was an instant and close connection we felt when I told it her it was me.

I’ll Have What He’s Having

The Sound Of Folded Belt On Bottom

A strapping from a folded wide leather belt across the full part of a bottom makes quite a loud crack. If the mistress is strong (and they usually are) then it can really be quite loud when they put their heart into it.

One session I had at a since closed down establishment was memorable for this (as were 2 others on other posts). I do like the sound of a well applied belt, and it seems other people do also.

It all started when I was in a session, in suspension. I had cuffs on my wrists which were affixed to a winch that was pulling me upright. There were a bunch of belts wrapped around my legs strapping me up in bondage.

I was also gagged with a plated ball gag. I do like them, it silences me and seems to make the corporal easier take and it helps send me into sub-space.

The mistress was very good (as they usually are) and she liked corporal. She said it was something she felt good at and quite liked using the gear.

I have a lot of my own gear. On this occasion she was using a belt, a wide doubled over and supple one. You can tell a good stroke. It cracks down crisply, sharply and it sounds just like it should, almost like a gun shot.

Well as she was giving me a strapping we heard the front doorbell ‘ding dong’ and that made me smile. Since i was gagged it was difficult to see I was smiling, but I think the twinkle in my eyes was the give-away. We shared a moment in time as she smiled and looked into my eyes for a moment.

Then it occurred to her, she strapped me harder, very hard, making the gunshot crack echo out of the dungeon, down the concrete corridor into reception.

That made me smile round the gag, she smiled some more, and it set her off. She gave me a dozen of the absolute best strokes of the doubled belt as we distantly heard voices in reception. She was playing to a crowd.

After the belt she chose another implement, then another, then another and so it followed. When the session finished after a hard caning I showered, we chatted and I left.

A month later on my next session she was almost laughing when she recounted what happened. Seemed that the person in reception heard my strapping and had said ‘I’ll have what he’s having’ so they put him into the room next to us where he waited and heard the session.

She was also delighted as she’d got a new heavy corporal client.

The Hairdresser

Some People Really Are good To Talk To

My new hairdresser was a younger woman in her early thirties. She has an open happy face that almost cries out to to make you open up to her. She also oozes a sensuality, a sexuality that is captivating.

Maybe this is a women’s hairdressing thing? They like to chat and hairdressing salons is where it happens? Well she worked her magic on me.

Since we were the only people in her salon, I opened up to her about my secret little BDSM kink. I have no idea how we got onto the topic of sex and fetish, but it happened.

Well, I described what I like and she lit up like a light bulb had gone off inside her.

She said she had a close male friend, had been friends for years. It wasn’t a sexual thing, they were just great friends.

Well, it turned out he was into BDSM play also, but in a more full on way. He had only a few sessions a year but they were big ones, going for three or four hours and he was usually beaten so badly he could hardly walk.

One last time she’d been called late on a Saturday afternoon because he was desperate for her to take him to hospital. She collected him from the place he’d had his session at then taken him to E.R and been with him during his treatment. It turned out he’d sustained a few broken ribs and the bruising and bleeding was significant.

They patched him up but it was super embarrassing for her.  She said they were looking at her thinking she’d done it.

Then it got better/worse. One nurse said ‘don’t worry, I do a bit of this after hours too.’

Sometimes BDSM flares up in the oddest of places.

Not only that. Since I was separated and heading into a possible divorce, she tried to set me up with her divorced mother. It was not a good match, but she did that knowing about my little kink.

My First Session. Pt 2

My First Hand Strapping From Mistress

Seconds after Mistress returned I was commanded to hold out my right hand, palm up. Mistress made me raise it a little and get it nice and flat with the thumb held flat and low down to the side of the hand. She gave me strong strict commands, making her slave present his hand just as she wanted.

I felt the weight and tension of the leather cuff around my wrist and I knew what was coming, this was something I had asked for and surprisingly to me at the time it was something that Mistress had not made a comment about as if it was quite normal.

At every step of the process, every part of the session till this moment I was a different person and in a different place. The “me” of a few minutes prior had been transformed into a new person; subservient, compliant, controlled and in need of strict discipline. I was her slave.

I heard the rustle of Mistress moving, the slightest of movement sounds then a loud “crack” then a sting shot through my hand. Mistress had raised her split strap over her shoulder then brought it down flat along the length of my palm and fingers.

I had been strapped!

This was the first time since I had been in Grade-5 in primary school that I had been strapped and the feeling was just the same. I suspect that Mistress had used more force than I remembered from all those years ago and a split strap like she used has a special feel. I also remembered that in school the teachers strap had been short and fairly supple so that its effect was somewhat limited. This strap felt a great deal harder and being split it dramatically increased the sting I later learned, making the strap feel like it was two separate narrower straps instead of one.

There was an almost instant sharp sting then tingling and heat in my hand followed a fraction of a second later by the deeper shooting pain. The speed of the strap had pushed my hand down so I raised it up again to the correct height just moments before Mistress brought her strap down for the second time in exactly the same place. Strokes three, four, five and six happened in quick succession leaving me really surprised at both the speed and at what had just happened.

I had been strapped six times across the hand by Mistress. A six-‘er.

At this time, and yet again, the realization really was brought home to me, strange as it may seem, that I was now getting what I had asked for and the old saying, “be careful what you ask for,” was ringing in my ears. I had asked for a hand-strapping and quick as a wink Mistress had given me a “six-er”.

Compared to my school days when I had to march out to the front of class and been given a paltry single stroke of the strap, the six from Mistress were a shock to say the least. I was very quickly to learn that Mistress never ever applied just one stroke and that my full quota of strokes was a lot more than I could have imagined.

Calmly and with authority I was told to put my hand down and hold out the other hand. I found that to be exciting, to be told to put my hand down. To be told to put my other hand up for the strap. To be told by Mistress. It still is to this day, and to know what’s coming.

Same as before, I put my left hand out, palm up, thumb in and again did not have to wait before a slight “swish” of the Mistress preceded the “crack” of strap on palm. In seconds six strap strokes were delivered and now both hands were hot and tingling.

That was a double six-‘er.

The next surprise was the command from Mistress, “Right hand out slave,” which surprised me. I was to get more! It sounds silly now but I’d never given the number of strokes of the strap a thought. Being the slave I dutifully did as told and the next stroke of the strap cracked down over the top of the previous six strokes. The heat and tingling intensified and it really started to get through to me – I was being strapped hard and fast. Quickly, almost too quickly, six strap strokes were delivered and I was told to put my hand down and raise the other.

As before, my left hand was treated to a second six of the best from Mistresses’ strap that left it boiling hot and tingling – a perfect match for my right hand.

That was a dozen to each. It was more than I’d thought, a lot more but it seemed right at the time. Normal. Mistress strapping her slave. Me.

During this strapping I had been moving my head trying to watch Mistress, watching her raise the split strap over her shoulder then bring it down on my palm. What a sight! Being both very attractive and wearing an outfit that hugely appealed to me I wanted to see more so I said “Please Mistress, may I speak?”

The reply “Certainly slave” made me feel better and after I asked her “May I please see you strapping me?”

She granted my request, put her strap down then took off the leather hood. I instantly missed the tight leather feeling and also the feeling of being incognito and now I was “unmasked”. This highlighted my situation and I almost felt embarrassed and silly. I was naked in front of the Mistress, leather cuffs strapped onto my wrists and she had just given me two sets of six of her split short strap to each of my out-stretched palms which were now tingling and hot. I felt very silly. Embarrassed. Getting the strap does not happen every day!

When Mistress had asked me about what I wanted to happen in the session, I had told her that the strap was my thing – along with a strong fetish for leather belts such as she was wearing – wide, thick and ‘strappy’. I had asked her if she would mind using my own strap on me also because I had brought it with me. My strap is an old leather belt 4 cm wide, 120 cm long, and reasonably thick and missing its buckle. When doubled over it is about two feet long and Mistress had said “…and what a lovely strap it is too,” with a warm smile. In truth it is a little long and perhaps a little too supple but Mistress understood my need entirely.

Reaching forward Mistress took up my belt-strap, folded it neatly in half and told me “Right hand out”.

Again and without hesitation I put out my right hand chest high and flat. Mistress used her left hand to hold the folded end and her right hand held the two ends a little way up so that it wasn’t too long and unwieldy.

With an obvious practiced grace and simplicity of movement, Mistress raised the strap in her right hand, steadied the other end of the strap with her left, took aim, pulled the strap through her left hand and powered the strap across my palm by bringing her right hand down quickly, swinging the strap down and across my palm.

A Ballet Of Hand Strapping

Mistresses technique was almost arty, artistic, something that looked choreographed like a ballet move. The whole thing was mesmerizing to watch. The whole thing was impossible not to be engrossed in. But it was also done quickly. With grace of movement the strap was raised, brought around and down with a quick arm movement, then a loud crack would sound.

Instantly my palm would time and again get a whole lot hotter and tingle like mad.

Not wasting time, Mistress repeated the strokes till she’d given me six and my palm was burning hot. This six of my own strap has been delivered harder and quicker than I thought possible.

Many, ever so many times in the past I had experimented using this self same strap on myself. I would swing it down across my own palms, giving myself six strokes to each of my palms. These strokes I had found were painful and I could not give myself many strokes before I had to give up, chicken out. Indeed it was difficult to give myself the mere six that I did. Now, Mistress had given me so many more and each one was at least twice as hard as I had given myself.

Mistress told me to raise my other hand which I of course did and then it too was treated to six of my own strap. My right was then commanded to be raised again and it again was strapped six times and then again my left for yet another six strokes.

After this rapid and powerful strapping to each hand, my palms were hot and tingling, shaking quite a bit and very red. Mistress inspected them and asked me if they were hot enough.

I of course answered stupidly and said “Yes Mistress.”

Mistress corrected my mistake and said, “No they are not, I judge when they are hot enough, hold out your right hand again.” Taking up her split strap she quickly gave me six on my right hand then six on my left leaving them almost too hot to touch and shaking like mad.

She had taken me nearly to my limit. She had also shown me that Mistress makes the decisions and she is in charge.

Overall, this part of my session was just the mere beginning but it did set the tone for the remainder. Mistress would decide what I needed then she would deliver, hard and fast. I was “slave” and I would be treated as she sought fit.

My First And Only OTK

Mistress then sat down on the chair and calmly told me to bend over her knees.

This was strange for me, a grown man, to be bent over for a spanking. I walked over and bent with my bottom directly over her thighs taking up as much weight with my hands and feet on the floor as possible. It was not easy.

Just a few seconds later Mistresses hand started smacking down on my bottom, one cheek at a time, top, then middle then lower bottom. In only a few minutes my bottom felt like it was getting hot, red, and tingling. This continued longer than I thought possible but was only a few minutes in reality. My entire bum was hot and tingling, this was the warm up!

I was not a huge fan of the OTK experience and this was the only over the knee spanking I’ve ever had. Instead I’ve found other alternatives for the warmup.

Onto The Cross

“Up you get, over to the cross,” was the next instruction. My arms were raised and the leather cuffs on my wrists attached to the top corners. Then cuffs were strapped around my ankles and they were pulled to the bottom corners and secured there. I was instantly at Mistresses mercy. I moved my body backward and forward then side to side but there was no real movement possible. I was firmly attached to the cross. This was real bondage, in a dungeon.

I turned and watched Mistress select a soft suede flogger from the equipment rack. Approaching me she ran it over my shoulders, back, and bum and down the back of my legs. Quickly moving backward she brought her arm back then swung the whip across the top of my back just down from the shoulders. It felt like it was scratching an itch, halfway between a sting and a hard massage. Two more quick strokes followed and then I was in real trouble! I had a problem.

Marking Badly

Mistress stood very close behind me and said “Slave. We have a problem. You are marking up very badly even with this soft flogger and I can’t do this without leaving a lot of marks.”

I was gutted. I’d waited so long for this, been challenged at every level. No way on earth was I backing out.

My question of “What can you do,” was met with the obvious answer that nothing could be done if I didn’t want marks. Sensation from corporal means marks, obviously.

I’m not stopping now I thought, it’s taken so many years to get where I was that I was never going to just quit and besides, it was really working for me.

I said, “I put myself in your hands. I can’t stop now but please minimize marking.” Then I said as an afterthought almost, “I put myself in your hands.”

Mistress stepped back and gave me another six strokes across the back and shoulders. It was remarkably therapeutic for me, being tied to the cross and flogged. I think maybe it was the bondage, the setting, the final realization of my dream.

The flogging was sending me.

After a few more lashes with the soft flogger she went back to the implement rack and chose the hard leather flogger. I had been looking at it and feeling the thicker wider hard leather lashes of this whip after I came back into the dungeon from having a shower. Mistress had seen me looking at it and now I was going to get a sample.

Same as before Mistress put this whip against my back and I could feel that it was a lot harder and colder than the suede whip. It was obviously going to have a different feel as well!

This was mush more serious. Previous it has been more at the fetish end. Now it was proper corporal punishment.

Mistress stepped back and a few seconds later the whip was put across my back and shoulders. This whip felt very “thuddy” making a heavy “thwack” as it landed across my back. This was painful and felt a lot more like a flogging should be.

The lashes landed, each loud and painful. Each felt like I was truly being flogged, flogged like a slave.

It is a unique feeling to be restrained and to be given corporal punishment. You can’t avoid it. You can’t move much and you must take what mistress gives.

This was my first experience of this, and it was working. I felt great.

A Belt For A Strapping

After a mere dozen of this whip, Mistress put it down. I suppose I was marking up rather badly on the back and shoulders. I remember feeling that it was hot and stinging.

Mistress next took up my belt, folded it, stepped back and strapped it hard across my bum. This took seconds. She was quick, efficient, and moved from implement to implement quickly. There was a work ethic in her that I was to see in most other mistresses over following years. They do work hard.

This was not a love-tap. The was a grown strong woman using a folded belt hard across my bum. Again, I’d done this myself in the past but it had been quite weak and unsatisfactory. This was neither. This was the kind of strapping that you hear about, someone getting it hard. A full on belting.

Mistress got into a rhythm, putting my strap across my bum every few seconds, swinging her arm and swiveling her shoulders. Like a machine she strapped me time and again bringing the stinging leather full across my rapidly reddening bum cheeks.

The shorter split strap has been very painful when Mistress used it across my palms. Mistress now got that strap and proceeded to use that very hard across my bum. The pain and sting were intense and not to be ignored.

Mistress had only one way, she strapped me hard and fast snapping the strap across all parts of my bum. “Crack” – “crack” – “crack”. Thinking back, I wonder if Mistress moving quickly from place to place snapping her strap hard across my bum was trying to make me plead for mercy. It sure was getting to me, but I didn’t.

The Spine, a Fishbone Harness

After a lot of strokes, Mistress took me off the cross and led me to the middle of the room where she had laid out a device called a “spine.”These are really great!

In my phone call to her I’d mentioned my belt fetish and my self bondage with belts, straps. This was the ultimate in bondage with belts, straps.

The spine device comprises 12 wide thick leather straps that circle the victim from ankle to head and are kept in place by threading through a solid leather strap running the length of the body. Once bound in this device, escape is impossible, the bondage is complete.

I now laid down on floor on the central strap of the harness. The spine. Mistress bent over me and strapped up all the bondage straps around me, from ankles to head encasing me in thick tight leather. Mistress cinched them up tight so there was no escape.

This was infinitely better than anything I’d ever done to myself. The belts were better. There were more of them. They were done up tighter. Bliss.

Mistress then rolled me over onto my tummy; I was hardly able to move at all. I lay on the floor with the straps binding me tight in place.

Mistress now told me how tight and secure I was. She was highlighting the bondage. She told me I am her captive and can’t get away. She is quite right. I am totally bound and at her mercy, I can’t get away, there are a lot of straps binding me so tightly. And I don’t want to anyway.

Flogged In Strap Bondage

Mistress never likes to leave her slave to day dream. Slave must be brought back to the now quickly and with force.

Mistress got the hard leather whip and moved its lashes up and down my body, drawing the leather over my skin. After a few seconds of tickling me with it, Mistress drew her arm back and gave me quick hard strokes to flog my back and bum.

This was wonderful. The cross was very powerful in holding me at wrist and ankles in the classic “flog me” pose with all of my back and bum at her disposal. But it was not in the same league as this. Now I was in the kind of bondage I loved. Now I was strapped up very tight indeed in a collection of leather straps and lying on the floor. It was completely different yet also extremely comfortable.

My fantasy and fetish for bondage in leather straps was being well fed in this position. The Mistress flogging me provided every bit of cathartic release and fantasy that I had every wanted but the bondage spine took it to a new level. It was hard to take, to accept. Each lash made me jump and move against the leather and that felt so good.

Mistress then did a surprising thing, she made me lift my legs so that my toes were pointing straight down to the floor. The soles of my feet were now ready and available for her which was not something that had occurred to me previously. The soles of the feet are surprisingly sensitive.

She took the hard leather whip then flogged my soles quickly, two strokes each. The pain was surprising and oh so fulfilling as I jumped around with the leather straps wrapping me so tightly. This is called bastinado, and I didn’t mind it at all.

In this bondage, taking this corporal punishment as she lashes my soles as much as she wants I cannot affect the outcome at all, I am ‘sent’ into that special place. I was to find out later this is called sub-space. It is a place where the ‘me’ is gone, where all the cares of the person evaporate and an out of body feeling permeated. I had been approaching it for the whole time up until now, but now in the strappy bondage and the corporal it was really getting into me.

Mistress then made me roll onto my back then move my hands around my thighs so that my palms were out and ready for punishment. She then used her split strap to strap my palms. She bent over and strapped my palms six times each making them sting and burn again, rekindling the heat in them.

The other thing, and the thing I find embarrassing even after saying all that is that with mistress standing over me she was a fetishists delight to look at. The stocking, The skirt, the belt and hat as she held the split strap was something I could not wish for better.

It had been an intense quarter hour in the spine straps but a happy time for me. I could have stayed there for a lot longer.

Mistress then told me to stand up. I felt almost sad to be taken out of the straps. They had felt very good going around my body. Mistress took four of the longer leather straps out of the spine and used them to bind my arms to my chest. She strapped me up tightly then when I breathed out, she tightened them up again saying that it is just like cinching up a horse.

She was good with straps. She secured me firmly; she used one high around my chest and over my arms. She used another lower down around my elbows and waist, and then another around my arms and waist then a last strap around my wrists and thighs. I was now and still fully at her mercy again, still, in tight leather strap bondage.

Mistress went to the tool-rack and selected a wide leather paddle. Paddles are not my thing but this is a first session and life is full of adventures I thought. It had studs in one side and smooth on the other.

She held it up in front of me and asked which side. I say ‘flat’ – Mistress said ‘wrong answer slave. It is as Mistress pleases is the correct answer.’

Walking behind me she swung from the waist and gave me six with the studded side to each bum cheek hard and fast. After this my bum is well and truly tingling. The power of each stroke lifted me onto my toes each time, making me gasp.

When I talked to Mistress about my needs I’d said that I had never had the cane and would like to try it. Time!

The Cane

Mistress made me shuffle hesitantly, still bound, to the stretching rack and bend with my chest on the surface, bum out and just asking for discipline.

I heard her rattling the canes in the vase then a few seconds later after selecting a cane, Mistress tapped my bum a few times then my first ever cane-stroke was laid on, probably at a light to medium power.

The cane is very different to the strap. The cane ‘cut’ very quickly from a tingle right up to a full sting, morphing in seconds from the tingle to the deep sting. It was ever so much sharper than the strap. Caning is also usually done slower than a strapping. Each stroke may take a few seconds to reach the full sting, to change from tingle to full on deep sting.

Over the next few minutes, Mistress completed a six-er of the cane that left me wanting more.

Mistress asked me how it felt. So I told her how it left me. I was wanting more.

Mistress then calmly went back behind me then gave me four much harder that had me lifting onto my toes and gasping. Wow! This was much more intense.

The session was now nearly over and Mistress asked me if I wanted to ejaculate. I was surprised and feeling a little clueless about that. But I answered ‘Yes.’ I didn’t know what was happening, but I did know I felt the need.

Mistress then released my right hand and squeezed some lube into it and I was told to, ‘Begin stroking.’

Mistress stood right behind me and with my folded belt, tapped me on the chest and told me I would ejaculate on zero after she had counted down from twenty.

The sting in my bottom, residual sting in my palms and just what and where I was all conspired to be much too much.

I only made it to 17!

Mistress told me to take a shower and I found it so relaxing to come down ‘from the mountain’ and regain my sense of self again. After the shower Mistress and I chatted for a few moments and I thanked her sincerely. In minutes I was sitting in the car with a very sore botty wishing I had a kilo of frozen peas to sit on.

The Drop After A Session

All sessions differ in some ways from all others. Even after visiting the same Mistress a number of times, there are subtle differences between sessions. I have visited the same Mistress for months on end for session after session and each time she will change it in some way. Perhaps part of the reason is that the Mistress is improvising each time and each improvisation differs. Perhaps the Mistress wants to try something different because that is how she is feeling, perhaps she’s had another session with someone else and she wants to repeat something she liked. Perhaps she can’t remember and does what she thinks will work.

However, one thing that remains the same is the immediate time after the session ends, there is a feeling that is hard to describe, some call it “Sub Drop” and it can be a very powerful moment for a person finishing a session. I know.

I am a new person. I am in a different head space. Part of me doesn’t care about anything right now. I have been rebuilt, remade, new and so why should I care about anything?

This is the moment when the real feelings of the whole new person emerge.

After Session Care

My strong advice to someone finishing a powerful session that transports them, gets right to their very core, brings them an out of body feeling is that they should spend a little time coming back to earth.

Just jumping in the car, in traffic, is not a clever idea. Your head is in a different space and it takes time to come back to reality.

The other tip is to take some antiseptic. If the skin is broken, this is a good precaution against an infection. I slather on heaps! Imagine getting an infected bum and having to take it to a doctor for antibiotics.

My First Session Pt 1

The thirty year walk

The 7 yard walk from the street to the front door of the ordinary looking terrace house in an inner suburb of the major city took me over thirty years to make.

The difficulty in making that short journey is almost impossible to describe.

But I’ll try.

After decades of denial and soul searching this was a very difficult experience. I’d been to a psychologist and for the first time I’d told someone about my hidden inner fantasies. She’d been puzzled as to why I had not done this before and said I should. Her acceptance of me, of this thing in me, began a path that was to ultimately bring me to an acceptance of myself that eased the huge burden I felt.

This was to be the first time I was about to actually venture into the hidden fantasy that had been part of me for much of my life. How many people can say that? How many people can claim that they have actually experienced their deepest and most closely guarded secret fantasy?

Also, that it was such a success.

My journey had started at age 14 when I discovered a hidden activity. At this age I was oblivious to what was happening and where it would lead but it did in some way fill a space within me that nothing else did. I knew my need was deep inside me and was something I couldn’t discuss, and in fact didn’t discuss for over thirty years.

I kept this ‘little secret’ to myself for all those years and denied myself the release that I was later to attain. What did denial give me? That is a common theme.

When I pushed the doorbell on that house I was middle aged and was fully cognizant of what I was doing. The preceding few years with the internet in its infancy had given me information, both hackneyed and actual as to what I was doing but that didn’t make it any easier. The internet was a source of information with much of it irrelevant or wrong.

Now and many years after my first time I still keenly remember the very first time I visited a dominatrix for bondage and discipline. It was a surreal time but also a deeply satisfying time that I was to relive regularly.

This first time was a time of contradictions, a time of anguish and turmoil but mainly a time of discovery and relief.

Facing the green front door of the “facility” with my back to street I was wondering who was passing, who would know that I was attending a bondage and discipline dungeon? Would they know this was (probably) a brothel?

Would someone who knew me drive past, see me then know what I was doing?

Even though these were irrational fears, they were real to me. Because they were irrational, that did not make them any the less real for me.

The place I was visiting did not have any signs that proclaimed what it was; it looked for all the world like a normal terrace house in a normal but busy inner suburban suburb. There were houses like it next door on both sides and some food type shops a little further up the street.

Just standing there for any time at all was embarrassing to me, a time I wished I was invisible.

After pressing the doorbell I waited nervously. Soon I heard the strong sharp echoing footsteps of a ‘definite’ woman in high heels striding along a tiled door. These sharp clacking sounds of her heels on the tile floor approaching, echoing slightly, added to the lead up and excitement which brought yet more nervous anticipation. This was a sound I would hear one way or another, just about each time I had a session, and it is a sound I relish as it is ‘the start sound’, the start of an experience that cuts to the core of my being.

All too soon the solid green door opened letting me indistinctly see the woman through the fly wire mesh inner door. I was hardly able to see any detail as it was dimly lit inside and the fine wire mesh tended to obscure detail but I was obviously presented with a tall woman. Years later when visiting a private house where a dungeon had been setup I of course went to the wrong address; luckily no one was home else the embarrassment would have been total.

This time however I had the address correct which was confirmed with the first words I heard.

I was greeted with, “Welcome Slave,” in an educated and somewhat sultry and definitely sexy strong voice. It was a voice ‘that knew’ and was very used to taking control; the voice of a dominatrix, a Mistress. “Hello,” was all I could muster and thinking back, it was probably a good effort for me at the time.

When she opened the mesh covered door I could see a tall very good looking woman wearing a pilot’s cap, a sheer tight blouse above a short black skirt and high heels. Just like I had asked her, she wore a wide leather belt round her waist. This was the first time I’d seen a dominatrix up close and personal, in the flesh. I’d never been to a sex worker in my life previous to this, never been inside a brothel, I’d never had any dealings with any of this at all so this really was a first in so many ways.

This truly was all very ‘out of body’ for me.

She told me to come in and go through the second door on the left.

On entry I saw that the nice tiled corridor ran the length of the narrow building down its right hand side. It ended (I was later to find) in a small kitchen area and there may have been another area out the back but I never saw past the kitchen. This building was just like many others on the street; terrace houses dating back at least fifty years and maybe double that.

I peeked through the first door on the left to see it looked like some kind of school room or similar as I remember a blackboard and an old school desk. I didn’t look all that closely, just a quick glance as the dominatrix was right behind me and my nervous tension was ramping right up. Over the coming twelve months that I came to this establishment before it closed, I never did look too closely in the first room. It was not for me, same as the cross dressing room which was the third room on the left. It featured wigs, large sized shoes, dresses, wraps and scarves. I glanced a few times but was never compelled to enter or ask. These really were not for me.

My First Dungeon

The second door on the left was the entrance to a dungeon, a room a little larger than a normal bedroom. However it was fitted out in a manner totally different to any other suburban bedroom, well most of them anyway – I was later to find a few suburban bedrooms that bore a striking similarity.

Anyway, this was my first and it was one of the better dungeons, or at least better than most as it suited my needs well. Suited my needs… doesn’t that sound odd in a dungeon context!

In front of me and the first thing I saw when I walked in the door was a stretching rack-bench against the far wall, something looking like it was straight out of medieval times though probably in better condition and nicely covered in black leather. The victim could have his feet attached to one end, the wrists to the other and a large winder-winch used to apply tension. Amusingly, some years prior I’d suffered some back pain and a physiotherapist had used a vaguely similar computer controlled device to stretch my back and relieve the symptoms (it didn’t work very well).

Hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room was a cable ending in a bar that could be (and later was for me) used to suspend a slave from. Looking round I saw a simple hand cranked winch that was used to raise and lower the cable and whoever was suspended from it. This I was later to learn was called ‘suspension’ and for all the obvious reasons.

Safety is a thing that I did not even consider on this first session however it is of vital importance of course. Because this is a fetish and somewhat taboo pastime, there is no reason why it can’t be as safe as any other hobby or pass time. A Mistress at a dungeon some years later told me about a suspension arrangement that periodically failed. If someone was raised up high off the floor, perhaps bent double, I could only imagine the consequences if it failed.

In the right hand corner of the room was the St Andrews Cross which is something that is given a lot of publicity on internet sites and TV shows. This was two large planks of wood joined at the middle then with the ends spread and leaning against the wall slightly making the shape of a cross “X”. The wood planks have eye-bolts at the ends of the cross so wrist and ankle cuffs can be secured to them, and straps can be wrapped round the legs, arms and waist to secure a slave tightly against the cross to keep them immobile and flat against the cross. I found this out the best way, it soon proved to be a very effective device for securing a victim for punishment.

To the left of the cross on the wall was lattice work board typical of what a home workshop would have to hold tools such as chisels and rulers and other hardware type items. In this case hanging from the hooks was a collection of bondage and discipline instruments just like I had seen on web sites but also some strange variations. There were various items on the wall I’d never come anywhere near previously; there were whip like multi stranded floggers, leather collars and cuffs, horse riding crops, some leather straps, chains, lead weights and ropes to name just a few. To complete the inventory was a collection of canes in a vase in the corner.

One look at this room and I knew I was in the stereotypical bondage and discipline dungeon. That one look took just a few seconds but it seemed to be everything I had imagined.

It was quite a shock to say the least and this is something that became normal; the contradictory feelings I was to experience. I was shocked and almost, well, awed by being in this room wondering what the hell I was doing there whilst at the same time I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Coming Home To A Dungeon

I felt at home. Instantly at home. Instantly happy to be there (but tense as hell).

That all felt so odd. And so good. Out of body good.

Suddenly I felt this “at home” really quite strongly, and that was the start of the conflicting emotions that were never to leave me.

After a decade and a half the same feeling returns each time. The rational part of me rebels at that, thinking how on earth an otherwise sensible, sensitive and caring person could have those feelings in such a place.

Even now, so many years later I feel a real happiness and a relief when I walk into a dungeon. I feel like I’m expanding. I feel like I’m already relieved, relaxed, released.

Of all the feelings, the relief aspect cannot be over emphasized; it is so real and so strong for me.

It is also a release knowing that I have been strong enough to accept my needs and now they will be properly met and there is no ambiguity or subterfuge or need to hide anything. This is exactly where I want to be. The waiting is over. I see all the equipment set out, I see everything and I feel ‘at home’, just where I should be. I’ve dwelt on this feeling for many years and that is exactly what it is, mixed of course with excitement and anticipation and the absolute relief.

Writing and re-reading the above, the absence of ambiguity and the actualization of this is strongly attractive.

It is maybe a factor I’ve underestimated in the past.

I am at last giving in to my need. My search is over. What had kept me from it previously is now no longer a factor. That is part of the relief. The internal struggle keeping me from this is now gone for at least a short while.

After only a few seconds I understood just what an amazing experience going through those two doors had been. For thirty plus years I’d dreamed about doing this and now I had done it.

For most of my life I had this hidden inner fantasy, or obsession, or need and desire and now I was doing something about it. I can appreciate just how an alcoholic or gambling addict feels, I know the “pull” of the need and its desire to be satisfied. For most of my life it had been my deepest and darkest secret lurking just below the surface, something that I had never told anyone else about. It was with me when I woke up in the morning, then at night when I went to sleep and often, oh so often, during the day.

Upon entering the dungeon I had immediately felt I had come home to somewhere that I should be, a sense of having returned. In short, I felt great.

How very peculiar! I felt completely relaxed, comfortable and ready and almost eager for whatever would come next. What a strange way to feel in a bondage and discipline dungeon! I felt release! Here I was in possibly the most peculiar situation of my life yet I was more than happy to be there.

The Pre Session Consultation

Mere seconds after I entered, Mistress entered and told me to sit on the sturdy small stool which I did immediately.

My first thought was that it was ridiculous, it was such a small stool and I am a grown man but there was a method to this. I now think Mistress wanted to seat me to start the control and submission process where I was lower than she was and in some way put me at ease with her. After all, it was my first visit and I was pretty nervous. I quickly came to learn that (this) Mistress was extremely perceptive as little was left to chance and very seldom was anything missed.

Mistress then asked me a lot of questions about what I was doing there, how I had found out about her and what my likes and dislikes were. For me it was initially quite confronting to suddenly ‘spill the beans’ in detail on myself after over a third of a century of secrecy and denial. I had to assure her that it was truly my first ever session and that I was a complete novice and not some kind of game or worse. I was indeed serious.

I had a feeling at the time that she didn’t believe me. I was in my early 40’s and a grown man – so why was this my first session? I did assure her that it really was my first session, a number of times.

This time of question and answer is the most critical part of getting a successful session; the negotiation and discussion phase. This is vital to describe expectations and outcomes and also, if at all possible, for the Mistress and her client to achieve some kind of at least basic connection or a basic understanding.

Session Preparation

When Mistress was comfortable with what I wanted and how it could work into a session I was told to strip, put on the dressing gown, and take a shower and return.

This posed an immediate problem. Stripping in front of another woman and clearly Mistress being a woman made this a challenge.

Thinking back, it is ridiculous. What did I expect to happen? Would it be remotely possible to have a session fully clothed? However at the time it did present a challenge. Also and until now it had been a somewhat acceptably deniable and normal time even though I was opening up about my darkest secrets and in a most unusual setting. At least I could rationalize it away by saying, “Well nothing has happened, I’m just doing some talking.”

Therefore the big step of taking off my clothes was a ‘crossing the Rubicon’ moment for me, there was no turning back, I was committed and by doing it I was affirming my presence there as being what I wanted and there were no excuses.

At that point I also realised that I was in her hands completely and dependent upon her. I had passed control to someone else. When she had greeted me as, “slave” I was just a normal person off the street. By stripping down and beginning the session I was to become truly her slave.

The other emotion I felt was guilt and at a number of levels. Simplistically I was thinking I was cheating on my partner. It didn’t matter that we had separated, I felt the moment keenly. Sure, sex was not discussed and I didn’t want it with the Mistress and she certainly didn’t offer it but still the guilt lingered. I also felt guilty in that I was spending a significant amount of money on myself instead of putting it toward the family. I’d spent the last many years caring for the family and putting them first. By doing this now and doing it just for me felt decidedly selfish and uncaring. In hindsight these are all silly emotions.

Anyway, stripping off was more difficult than it sounds or at least it was for me.

I put on the dressing gown, headed out of the room, turned left and went to the bathroom and had a shower. I took my time soaping up, rinsing and enjoying the feel of the water on my body. In the years to come I’d find this time to be rather pleasant – almost a ritual when I wash away the other person to now become the person in the session. It becomes a dividing-line moment, a moment around which I change from one person to another.

I remember calling it a “book end time” that separates the session from the outside reality.

I ran a towel over myself, put on the dressing gown and returned to the dungeon to find it empty and hence feeling a bit lost. What to do now? I was standing in a dungeon wearing just a dressing gown; the peculiar feelings were peaking, as was the anticipation.

I walked across to the collection of implements on the wall and was feeling the heavy leather flogger, running its hard leather lashes through my hands when Mistress returned. The whip itself was interesting as I’d never seen one up close before, only on television and the internet. It was a hackney item, stereotypical of BDSM play and dungeons. There had been a couple of these on the wall but this one had the thickest heaviest lashes which felt like heavy strap leather cut into strips instead of the thin soft suede that the others had. I guessed (properly) that the others were for warm ups and this one was a lot more serious.

When Mistress returned it took only a few seconds for Mistress to tell me what was expected of a slave in the dungeon, how I was to present myself, how I was to behave, how I was to address her. I was now “slave” and expected to behave as such.

For the past few years I’d been in management, used to giving orders to others and being in control. Now being told how to behave was challenging to my ego, being told to say ‘yes Mistress’ or ‘no Mistress’ and to kneel submissively on the floor were all out of body things for me. But as soon as I was told, I did them. Quickly and without thought.

It was about to happen.

The Session Begins

“Take off your dressing gown and kneel slave,” Mistress said reinforcing my new lowly position in life, so that was what I did. I looked down in the way I was told; I was to have my chin down on my chest not looking at the Mistress, totally subservient, and the backs of my hands laying my knees with the palm up.

This, and I can’t emphasise too much, was so very strange to me; I was stripped naked, kneeling at a Mistress’s feet, my head down and the backs of my hands on my knees. Mistress explained some more about what her expectations of a slave were so that I knew exactly what was required of me. I had to obey. I was a slave. I was to do what I was told. If something was too much I could use the word ’mercy’ and she would stop but until that time she was Mistress and I was slave.

Mistress then went to the equipment and took wide leather cuffs she strapped onto my wrists. The feeling of the tough leather circling my wrists was delicious and a small part of what I had come for. Each feeling, each sensation seemed to be drawing me inward to being the slave. Both wrists circled by tough and rough leather cuffs felt comforting.

Mistress had earlier asked me about being hooded and I had answered I had never thought about it much, so she laced a fine soft leather hood onto my head quite firmly. My sight was restricted by the small eye holes so I found myself moving my head from side to side trying to see what was happening.

Some people hate having anything over their heads and even find putting their heads underwater difficult. I felt none of that. I quite enjoyed the feeling of the constricting leather when she laced it up tightly. However I found it frustrating as I was enjoying being in the dungeon and I wanted to see what was happening, yet at the same time the feeling of the laced up leather hood round my head was good and almost comforting.

The overall feeling, after the initial surprise, was that it was easy to breathe and it felt almost comforting to be anonymously hooded. That feeling of anonymity was quite strong.

For so many years I had hidden my little hobby, covered up the feelings, denied myself and now here I was; the feeling of the hood disguising me was quite nice. One of my biggest fears was that I’d be somehow revealed to family and friends, and that they would find out I had this massive need for bondage and discipline and I’d be shunned or criticised. The hood helped. Someone I knew could enter the dungeon and I would not be recognised and that was a relief from a major fear for me. All in all, being hooded was an unexpected and pleasant feeling.

After only a short while like this I was told to stand up. It felt quite strange to be naked except for a leather hood laced around my head and I also felt a little unsteady on my feet. The leather cuffs were firm around my wrists and I was very aware of them at my sides just adding to the feelings. It was quite a nice feeling but the nakedness with my genitals on full display to another woman, Mistress and Dominatrix or not, was challenging to me. It was as if I’d suddenly become an exhibitionist, something I’d never been.

Seconds later I heard Mistress turn and walk to the rack of implements on the wall and then return to stand in front of me. She had possibly selected something and was going to use it on me right now but I was clueless as to what it was.

By turning my head from side to side I could get small glimpses of Mistress through the holes in the lightly laced leather hood as she moved, seeing parts of her body, seeing her standing in front of me. It was a very voyeuristic few moments. More than anything I liked the look of her waist with the wide leather belt wrapped around it leading down to her bottom and long stocking covered legs.

<to be continued>

So Many Blog Posts To Come

Here is a life of BDSM in blog posts. The only question is, what order to release them in? With such a large number and a wide range of posts and topics, it is daunting trying to work out the best release order.

Over the last 20 years or so I’ve been almost addicted to writing down my experiences, thoughts, and how I live my life.

Of course in among all this is my need for BDSM, namely, corporal punishment and bondage with a touch of leather fetish. I’ve tried to come to terms with it for decades and here you will read about that journey.

Most of all, I’ve documented my dealings with BDSM and mistresses, dungeons, implements and the full gamut of my kind of BDSM.

My first ever BDSM Session was also documented into a book I never published. I’ve found that and many other topics and produced about 50 blog posts that I’m hoping to release over the coming weeks and months.

If you are interested in BDSM, corporal, bondage, and all the peripheral things that go with it – please keep watching.

The only problem is drive. I tend to start things, get diverted onto something else and leave a project behind. Oh well. I’ve had a busy few days preparing all these blog posts – hopefully I won’t get distracted for long.

After all it is a subject close to my heart.


The Punishment Thing

Corporal Punishment in BDSM

BDSM play can be perplexing for any number of reasons. Some activities really do push the envelope of believability.

One such activity is corporal punishment. This is where the sub or slave receives actual punishment from the top or dom, master or mistress. This can range from a spanking, to a flogging and caning and with plenty of variations. Sometimes this is called ‘impact play‘ for the obvious reasons.

In my case I am the sub and the Mistress delivers a significant dose of corporal punishment in a pro-Domme session.

Clearly this is all very subjective and of course from my own perspective, at every level.

In this post I’ll talk about some of the issues behind the whole corporal punishment thing from the point of view of the pro-Domme sessions I’ve had for many years.

Role Play and Fantasy

There is a strong element of this in corporal punishment (again from my own perspective) and of course it harks back to the whole kink-fantasy thing.

What role play? For me it is the mistress disciplining the slave because she wants to. She feels like taking off her belt than giving him a hard thrashing with it. Then she uses…. and you get the idea.

Of course there are so many other scenarios; the teacher and student, the boss and bad staff member, the trip to the woodshed, and the list goes on.

Behind all that is the acceptance of corporal punishment. To the logical among us it will seem strange that it is sought out and required.

What Drives The Need?

At the primitive level, what drives the need for corporal punishment is that it makes us feel better. This is inescapable. Why do it otherwise?

Do some googling, you will find many reasons. One I found disturbing talked about the need to not feel loved, or to not have to love, and used  punishment as a substitute for love. It may be true for some, but I suspect it is just one aspect of the whole topic and hopefully applicable to few.

Drawing on my own experience and from speaking with Mistresses and cruising the internet for many years, there are many reasons, just like for any human behavior. Also, there will probably not be one single reason – there will be a mix.


This is clearly the simple and easy excuse for embracing corporal punishment. It feels good to say that and feel like you have discovered the reason. It is comforting to say that the masochist seeks the pain, seeks the feeling of the pain, and the pain is all there is.

I think this is totally ignoring the underlying reasons for many people, myself included.

It is too easy to just stop there, to just say that the pain is the end unto itself. For many like me there will be deeper underlying reasons.

For me, pain is just an ‘effect’ that comes with everything else. I accept it because it is part of the whole thing.

Need To Escape

I feel this so strongly. When I’m undergoing heavy corporal punishment nothing else exists. Time almost stops, all I hear, all I see is about the moment as I absorb the punishment.

Each stroke of the belt, the cane, the strap all transport me from the here and now. There is no other place.

My comment is, ‘it is impossible to be thinking of anything else when you’re getting heavy corporal punishment.’ It really does focus the mind.

What causes this ‘escape’ – it is simple. The pain captivates and controls. It fills and takes control. My whole body shudders under the mistresses punishment.

Depression - Anxiety - The Need To Feel

Corporal punishment can be like shock therapy. It makes the body release endorphins in the brain and nervous system giving the feeling of a high, but that’s not all. There is the visual element, the fetish, the whole scene thing happening that it becomes engrossing.

All of a sudden, there is nothing else in the universe. All of a sudden your cares a are gone, your anxieties forgotten and the corporal is all there is.

Depression is a horrid thing, something that devastates lives and takes away the pleasure of living.

Release Of Control

If you’re not in control, then nothing is your fault. You are not accountable for anything, you are not guilty. You have no reason to feel any kind of anxiety, any kind of anything.

The Need To Be Punished

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The Fantasy

Re-Live School Days

This is a common thing.

For The Theater

If you are the person who is doing something for everyone, all the time, having your own private theater is an absolute indulgence, a pleasure.

What are your deepest desires, the things you’ve never told anyone?

Release From Trauma

Release From Trauma


Historical Abuse

I find this disturbing. From my contact with mistresses I’ve seen both sides of this.

For those receiving corporal punishment some people who have had abusive upbringing sometimes find themselves drawn to more abuse. Corporal punishment gives them a reason to atone, to be the victim, to say sorry for whatever in their lives they feel a need to apologize for.

Fetish and Fantasy

This is strong for me and it pervades many of the topics here.

I find the leather mistress giving corporal punishment irresistible and I am sure I’m not alone. It is all a matter of perspective, again.

The Sexual Element

There are multiple elements of sexuality in corporal punishment. IT all depends on the players and in my opinion, on the severity. Of course, the scene matters,

This is not an element for me. I find after heavy corporal punishment that my desire for sex, for release or orgasm, is about nil.

Spanking in a sexual context is vastly different. This is corporal punishment of course, but generally it will be delivered much more lightly.

Where Did This All Begin

Brilliant question. Everything has a beginning and I presume an end. Both are difficult to deal with.

The beginning of my BDSM journey happened for me when I was about 14 years old. For some reason still unknown to me I tied myself up with leather luggage straps my parents kept in the hall closet. They were quite long, used to hold a suitcase together in case the lock broke.

There were four of them. I wrapped one around my ankles, another round my knees, then a third I used to bind my wrists in front of me. Using my teeth I could buckle it tightly enough so that I could not slip my hands out. It was there to stay till I did something to unbuckle it. Since I was quite supple at that age I could squirm and contort so I could get my feet then legs through my bound wrists so they were then behind me. in this position with the straps around me I was bound to stay.

The only way to get out of this was to get my legs back through my wrists so I could bring my wrists up in front of me and use my teeth to unbuckle the strap.

Because my wrists were behind me, I was laying on my front. In squirming on the bed, my front rubbed against the bed and the inevitable happened. I orgasmed. My penis had enough friction against the bed to make me climax.

I remember I had my clothes on, this first time, and I remember being ashamed that I’d wet myself. That it wasn’t urine was something I had no idea about. It was warm, wet, sticky and absolutely pleasurable, in amongst the shame and surprise. I didn’t know what an orgasm was and the intial tying myself up was not directed at that. It just sort of happened.

To this day I still have no idea why this happened. The straps didn’t just jump out of the closed and wrap themselves around me. I did that.

The only conclusion I can reach is that I knew deep down what I liked. I liked those leather straps. I liked the feel of them, the leather, the feel of the leather against my skin. Tying myself up must have been a logical progression.

Today with the wisdom of the internet, I feel the younger generation has so much more information at their fingertips. I had none of it. In my day ‘bondage’ was an unknown word. Not just not spoken, it was if the word did not exist where I lived.

I have been to kink parties. I commented to one younger person I spoke with that he was much more honest than I was. For me the stigma remains, the inability to deal with my needs and desires for kink. For him, sure he was reserved, but in an accepting group he was far better able to deal than I was.

Now the Fifty Shades thing has exposed the words and given them a legitemacy I thought i would never see. The whole spectacle of  BDSM has come out of the back room and been given some legitemacy.

The times are changing.



Re-Write – First Blog

So. I deleted the original SilentQuivers site and this is a total re-write. I kept a copy of the blog posts – I’ll recreate them over the coming days.

Why? I was vastly unhappy with just about everything in the site, and even the page editor. I tried “updating” but the inevitable happened. I broke it badly. The only option was to delete everything and start again.