The Collector

He smiled her way as she moved to sit down outside the busy café.
She made some throwaway comment about no ashtrays – he was smoking too.
Rugged, unshaven, old jeans, biker jacket; his smile crinkled his eyes and revealed a row of neat, white teeth. He seemed honest, gentle and good.
“You might as well come and sit here,” he said, “Now that we’ve broken the ice.”
What harm would conversation do?
She had a notion that there could be some fun to be had with this man, and his smile was sweet and inviting. Perhaps this once it wouldn’t hurt?

Later she couldn’t remember what they spoke about. He liked her voice, he said, and she knew she’d charmed him straight away, as he’d laughed at her delicate innuendoes.
“Oh you’re good! Very good,” he chuckled, a number of times. What the heck had she even said? Mostly she just listened and smiled. That was the way it seemed to work best. Men just wanted to be heard and be seen as attractive by a beautiful woman. And she was remarkably beautiful, everyone said.

He had an old brass lighter – the type with the flip-back lid, and it was engraved with a quote that she’d forgotten now. It amused him to tell her it was an homage to Lemmy, “But then you probably don’t know who he is…”
“I’m older than you think,” she replied, and once again enjoyed the shocked look that she always received when strangers discovered her age. Time had been very kind to her indeed. He leant forward and flipped back the top of the lighter while she dragged in on her smoke. So simple an act, but still so sexy when a man does this for a woman. Maybe more so in this age where vaping has largely replaced the old ways of tobacco: a dirty luxury she had no intention of giving up.

Later, as she undressed him in her bedroom, she was able to appreciate the immensity of him. He was tall and broad and still strong despite being well into his middle years.
“You’re all man,” she said, and he blushed. It was seduction by numbers and he was as susceptible as all the rest. Once her clothes came off he didn’t seem to know what to do. He became fragile and lost, like a little boy who’d never fully claimed his own desires. It maddened her that human beings could live a full life on this planet without embracing the great wonder of their sexuality but she’d lost patience with teaching and guiding them to it many lifetimes ago. If they couldn’t find their own way to it now, it was their loss and more fool them. She’d have them anyway and find some satisfaction, however fleeting and brief.

With her head bent back over the edge of the bed, he rammed his steel rod down the back of her throat and thrust hard against her face. She fought back the bile that threatened to rise but grinned because he’d found some spunk to fuck her with at last. The delicious thrill of fear of suffocation toyed at the edge of her vision and occasionally made her struggle, legs in the air… the dark tunnel creeping in as her body demanded more oxygen, but he was essentially gentle and pulled out too quick, allowing her to breathe and she pitied him for it. Perhaps if he’d shown more raw, primitive force she’d have allowed him to leave but she swallowed his cum as it spilled down her throat in thick, copious amounts and so it only seemed fair that she should get some reward in return. Orgasms had lost their power over her many years ago, if she could even find a man on this damn, dried-up Earth that knew how to deliver her one.

Smoothing her dress back down over her thighs and fixing her hair, she called up her pet from his place in the kitchen; a devoted being who asked only to serve and to worship her feet from time to time. They’d become inseparable over the decades and she couldn’t imagine daily life without him.
“Alfred, please clean up the mess in the Master Bedroom. Feed the waste to the pigs.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he grovelled, crawling past on all fours.
“Please serve tea in the Summer Room at eight.”
It was getting dark now but she liked to sit and stare at the stars on a clear night like this. Sensing the life force flooding her veins made her feel so alive after taking fresh prey, and now she had a new trophy to add to the wall with her other sad and shrivelled specimens from the men who’d failed to meet her needs for the last five centuries. Tonight Alfred would tuck her in and she’d sleep the sleep of the innocent for a few days, until it was time to rise and hunt again.


Listen to your inner voice

I have lived with abusive partners too many times in my life.
I lost years of my life this way.

First sign is to spot the moment when he makes you doubt yourself.
When he’s challenged, or backed into a corner, he will defend by attacking you and making out it’s your fault. If he’s good at this (and he usually has had years of practice) he will hit you somewhere close to where you doubt yourself, so that you feel he might be right. He will twist some little insight that he’s gleaned from you and turn it into a glaring fault. And you will respond to his accusation with guilt and shame. They hit you in the guilt and shame because that’s where you’re most likely to keep quiet. Oh my god, if he’s right, I can’t let anyone else see this about me…. and so you batten down and keep it to yourself.

That becomes step two. He’s isolating you. He’s stopping you from talking to anybody else about what’s happened. You don’t want to admit what a fool you’ve been. But he forgives you, and absolves you, and so you go to him for relief. The dirty little secret between you builds, and that becomes step three. He has you now.

That’s it, there…. you’re wrapped tight in his sticky web. All he has to do is keep employing these tricks and slowly slowly the gaslighting extends and before too long you think that you’re insane. You think no one else will ever want you. There are no friends around to put you straight because they all hate him and you fell out with them ages ago about why the hell you’re still with him. And you don’t even know.

If you’re lucky, you’ll catch a glimpse of his true colours before he’s bedded in. Remember, it’s that moment when he makes you doubt yourself.
Don’t fall for it.
Trust your inner voice and take action before it’s too late.

On being a “three hole” submissive


The Rules‘ arrived by email, 9 days ago, after my second coffee date with the Prince of Darkness.  As he’d already taken to instructing me on what to wear, and asking me not to swear, and insisting that I arrive on time (and no, a text message to say I was stuck in traffic was not considered acceptable, and I still received a very public lecture about my lateness that day), I had naively asked him what his ‘rules’ were.  I thought it would tell me more about this quiet, enigmatic man that I was becoming so drawn to.

What I did not expect was a document explicitly setting out the sexual parameters for our relationship.  Parameters that focused heavily on punishment and discipline. Parameters that included my punishment being delivered by other males and females, as The Top might see fit.  And that The Top may outline the punishment before it is delivered, if he desires, but he might not.  And that Punishment may include Corner Time, when The Top decrees (I’m still wondering why so many subs on FetLife get freaked out about Corner Time – clearly I haven’t a clue).

Was this what I thought I’d be doing when I created my profile on FetLife? Holy fucking hell.  Noooo way.  Never.  I was a girl that liked a bit of rough sex, being spanked, sucking cock, and I wanted more.  That’s what I thought.  I can’t help laughing now, at the me I was two weeks ago.  Silly, stupid girl.

I recognised in myself the horror that Ana felt when presented with Christian’s contract (oh yes, I just broke the Golden FetLife Rule and mentioned 50SoG) and it made it all the more surreal.  My life had turned into something from a bad FanFic novel! I walked around giggling about this for a day.

With the Rules, the PoD wrote:  “Something for you to reflect upon. Don’t make a snap judgement but talk to me about them!”
“I would like you to be specific about my ‘general behavioural issues’, please.”
“Timekeeping for one. x”, was all I received.  Suddenly our long written evening communications dried up and I couldn’t fathom this out.
“Are you forgetting that I was early yesterday?” I typed. “Feeling pretty freaked out right now and wish I’d bought 2 bottles of wine instead of just one.”
“Stay with it and breathe.”  Came the very minimal response from him.

And here’s the thing.  I stayed with it and I kept breathing.  We kept having coffee dates; now sitting holding hands across the table, smiling inanely at each other.  If this arrangement is just for the PoD to get his sadistic rocks off, it doesn’t feel that way to me.
One morning I get this text: “I think about you all the time xxxx”
“Ditto xxxx”, I reply.

I go back and read The Rules and now they make me feel horny as hell.  I still don’t know what any of this means but there’s no way I’m quitting yet.  I still have so many questions.  My biggest fear is not about being physically harmed because I trust him to look after me.  But can I trust him with my heart?

The Rules (or, the parameters for providing sensual and erotic discipline as part of a sexual relationship)


These rules set out the parameters of the relationship between “The Top”, (xxxx) and “The Submissive” (xxxx).  The rules can be amended, at any time, by The Top, but The Submissive can only make suggestions for amendment and seek the agreement of The Top.

The Purpose

These rules are put in place to address both the poor behaviour of The Submissive including swearing and blaspheming, as well as general behavioural issues, together with providing sensual and erotic discipline as part of a sexual relationship.  They are agreed by both parties as being necessary and reasonable to address the issues set out in the Purpose.

  1. At all times, The Submissive will do as she is told, without question. If there is backchat or refusal to do as she is told, The Top will set out and administer a punishment of his choice.
  2. Punishment can be to any part of the body (apart from the head) and will be accepted immediately by The Submissive. Punishment will be administered by The Top at a time he decides (apart from during the Menstrual Period Cycle – MPC). If punishment is due to be administered during the MPC, it will be delayed until after that time.
  3. Punishment will be by open hand spanking or the use of any implement as The Top decides to use.
  4. Punishment will be in any position of The Submissive as The Top may decide.
  5. The Top will decide what, if any, clothes may be worn by The Submissive during her punishment.
  6. The Top can examine all parts of The Submissive’s body, checking for cleanliness.
  7. The Top will decide when sufficient punishment has been administered. He may outline the punishment before it commences if he desires.  Punishment will include Corner Time when The Top decrees.
  8. The Top, or others (male or female), may punish The Submissive as The Top decides and Rules 1-7 above, shall still apply.
  9. The Submissive will be a “three hole” Submissive and The Top can use any of the holes as he desires for his pleasure. This rule, like 8 above, can be delegated to other females to perform.
  10. The Submissive will provide oral or hand relief as The Top desires, to part or full completion, to any part of the Top as he decrees. The Submissive will also provide the same for females as the Top decrees. The Submissive will swallow ejaculate if instructed to.
  11. The Top may ejaculate on or in any part of The Submissive’s body.
  12. In company, The Submissive will seek permission to use the toilet. This permission maybe withheld if The Top desires. At times if The Top desires, he will watch The Submissive urinate.
  13. The Submissive will, at times of The Top’s choosing, be required to masturbate to completion whilst naked, in the presence of The Top and/or others, using any Toys and following any instructions that The Top may give.
  14. The Submissive will, at times, be required to be out without wearing underwear. The Top can ask her to display herself whilst in that state.
  15. The Submissive will, at all times, keep her pubic area free of bodily hair or, as a minimum, neatly trimmed. The Top can examine her as he wishes to ensure this rule is adhered to. The Top can also shave The Submissive, when he so desires.
  16. The Top can attach any clamps and or restraints to The Submissive either as punishment or as bodily adornments, at any time, for his pleasure.
  17. The safety of The Submissive will, at all times, be paramount and no long-term marks will be left on her body.
  18. A safeword will be discussed and agreed which can be used at any time during play by The Submissive and the play will stop immediately.
  19. The Submissive is not allowed to masturbate or arouse herself in anyway, without the prior permission of The Top.
  20. The Submissive must measure herself against all these rules and on a weekly basis, at the beginning of each week, she is to report to The Top about her behaviour and whether or not she has transgressed any of the above rules.


Signed……………………………………  The Top


Signed…………………………………….  The Submissive



Screw the roses, give me the thorns


You ask me what I want…
I want to know you and the deepest darkest crevices of your mind, but since we started meeting up for coffee, you have stepped back and become closed in our communications. And so I reach out frantically, trying to pull you in again. Maybe you never really were ‘in’ before and I just imagined it because that’s how I wanted it? You were always prickly but I prefer the thorns.

I see the extent of your control now and it is clinical.
You are a mystery and a challenge to me now.
Do you want the emotional connection or just someone to beat, I wonder?
Is a good sub evaluated by how long she can stand your thrashings and that alone?

Anything I do, or agree to do, is purely to try to reach you now. But I don’t think you want to be reached, known, pushed…. If you just want a woman to beat, that won’t be enough for me. I want to explore the dynamics and rewards of a full power exchange relationship. I want to watch you walking by and feel it, “That’s my man.”
[I already do.]

I want to live with the anticipation that I feel on days when I’m going to see you and the fluttering worrying about my appearance [because you will inspect it closely].  Knowing my lateness could lead to a lecture, but then you smile and let me off because I’m wearing a short skirt today.  Your regular tease about which coffee blend I want: I’m touched that you’ve remembered this particularity about me ever since our first cafe date.

I want you to know all of me and to want my submission to be your daily duty.

Losing my kinky virginity

A couple of weeks ago I took part my first scene.  There was a 4-day build up to it, as we chatted online and made that initial connection, and then we moved onto WhatsApp where things quickly heated up, with him giving me instructions to do things that kept pushing me further and further past the limits I’d lived with up till then.  It was intensely charged, highly erotic and my head was spinning as he introduced me to the ideas of the things he was going to do to me, and make me do, that coming Saturday night.

It was also a crash course in the etiquette of BDSM for me.  I had to call him ‘Sir’; he called me a slut a lot, and subPeggy (I preferred slut).  Through his naming of me, I observed this part of my psyche emerge.  She was really there and I’d had no idea.  As I paid attention to her, she grew in strength and became more solid.  As I accepted her, instead of rejecting her as a perversion or a deviation from the norm, I became stronger.  I became empowered.  And with this power came liberation too.  I cannot tell you how rich and fulfilling it is!

Every day I was scouring FetLife for information. If I was going to be entering this world, I needed to know about rules, and safety, and consent, and toys, and fetishes, and oh my god — there was so much to learn! I felt like a teenager again.  Terrified but eager to break the spell by losing my kinky virginity as quickly (but safely) as I could.

The thing that frightened me most was the prospect of wearing a collar, which he would put on me when I arrived.  I was sure that my will would rise up and reject this act of domination but when he made me kneel and placed it round my neck something very strange happened.  It was as if the woman that I am in daily life just got up and left the building.  She drifted away and in that moment the weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders.  A sense of myself, who I am, still remained, but it was a simpler version of me, with no responsibilities and the only requirement she had was to do as she was told by Sir.

Things became a little vague from that moment on.  I think he put cuffs round my ankles and wrists and lead me to the bedroom on a leash.  I felt remarkably calm, but essentially he was gentle and polite and I expect that probably helped.

I don’t know how long it lasted.  My wrists were bound and suspended above me and he beat me with various implements (soft flogger, paddle, riding crop, cane, I think).  I’m sure he didn’t hit me very hard, or I just have no memory of the pain, but the photo he took shows bright red marks and they left a gentle glow on my bum for a few days which was very satisfying to me.

It turned out that when it came to arousing me, he wasn’t very adept.  He wanted to tease me to the edge of orgasm and then deny me my climax but he never made the effort to get me anywhere near it, and then ended up shouting at me to cum now! cum now! which was fucking hilarious.  The thought of this sort of eventuality had never entered my mind.  And the promise of being fucked hard and long also proved to be a big fat wet dream for him, as he couldn’t ride me for more than a couple of minutes without getting short of breath and having to stop.  The general disappointment I felt about his small, limp dick (not the ‘medium endowment’ he had spoken of beforehand, but all men lie about this) would have been erased if he could have at least fucked me properly for a while.

And so I settled in to sucking his sad little penis for a couple of hours and at least found that to be an interesting diversion.  I let him play the part of Sir-giving-Peggy-deep-throat-training and whilst I’ve taken in much bigger dicks than this before, there was some enjoyment in the brutality of it for me.  Being taken to the edge of not being able to breathe, trying not to gag violently, eyes streaming with tears, proved to be something quite memorable…. my take-home moment of the night.

When we’d finished that part of the scene, he stood me up to face the mirror and tenderly said, “Look.  Look at her.  There’s Peggy.  She’s beautiful.”
And I saw her for the first time, and he was right: she was beautiful.  Something burst free inside my chest and I sobbed wildly because she was so beautiful, so natural, naked and pure.  Even with the collar round her neck, and the smudged mascara under her eyes.  Especially with these things!

When our play ended we were laughing and chatting.  He gave me water and told me to drink.  It all became quite mundane.  Putting toys away and looking forward to sleeping.  I wondered around naked in this stranger’s flat feeling completely at ease in myself; that has never been me before.  Perhaps because we’d shown so much of ourselves to each other there was really nothing else to hide or feel self-conscious about.  He loaned me a t-shirt to wear, I remember, as it was rather chilly then.  He made some remark about me being ‘high maintenance’ when I asked for a cup of tea and I felt a bit miffed, I mean, come on, I’ve just sucked your cock for two hours, at least offer me tea!  But he bought me a few slices of ginger cake and I realized how bloody hungry I was, and we sat in his bed eating cake and talking about our mutual love of the countryside.

Something strange happened after the light went out.  We started kissing and he finally became hard, so I got on top of him and rode him until he was exhausted and sore.  There was no giant orgasm for me, but it was orgasmish and sometimes I’m happy to settle for that.  I would have enjoyed it more if he’d employed less dirty name-calling during this interlude, but I think men do it because it turns them on and he was trying to stay hard until I came.  Maybe he was just trying to play the part of the mean old Dom. Either way, it wasn’t the real him.  I felt what he wanted to say and it was tender and sweet.  Just a lonely man looking for love.  So when it was done I let him hold me in a gentle spoons position and he drifted off to sleep, snoring peacefully.

I don’t ever sleep in a strange place but I lay there feeling at peace, reflecting on the strangeness and the non-strangeness of it all.

On Sunday I struggled through the tiredness I felt but it was mixed with elation at the new barriers I’d broken through.  The real prize, however, came on Monday morning when I woke up and discovered a huge beautiful bruise on each forearm, which must have been where he’d restrained me with the cuffs and tied my arms behind my back.  Inspecting the bruises gave me a deep sense of calm and satisfaction.  This lasted the best part of the week, until the bruises faded and disappeared.  I was proud of them.  They were a sign of my strength.  They were talismans that could take me back to that space of weightlessness, liberation and purity.  They were the tells that indicated I’d come home and found my kinky self before it was too late… that I wasn’t going to get subsumed by the heartbreak I’d been experiencing anymore.

The hollow wanting space

Maybe we write because no one is listening, a friend said to me recently.
Maybe we write to listen to ourselves.

No one is listening and right now, no one is telling me what to do. The structure around me feels insufficiently material to withstand the forces that are pressing upon it. I float and expand. Tiredness overwhelms me.

I need physical touch or I begin to disappear. I need to feel the warmth of skin on skin and know the way it smells. And for that smell to become an instant touchstone of calm when I inhale it. Bodies are more than a stimulus for sexual and erotic sensations; they are necessary to me. Like water, and food, and air. If it’s possible, I need to be pressed down hard by the weight of a body on all my limbs, and held in place until my breathing gets gentle and slow.

I have done wild things to fulfil this need in my life. I will abandon all sense and control to satisfy my deep longing for a body next to me. But I prefer a body that I’ve taken time to get to know so sometimes I am left without, in the hollow wanting space, the empty aching of my limbs.

Pain is just another form of resistance. Touch is resistance. Resistance becomes the way to experience the world even as I submit. The resistance is the knife edge where I know that I’m alive. Without it I would sink into the void. It can be beautiful there, outside of the body, in the vast expanse of the Cosmos (pick your own belief-system here, I’m not dogmatic). But I always come back to this existence, and to the resistance.

He says that he has bought a bar of soap today to deal with my Potty Mouth. I feel my resistance to this. I told him I would bite his fingers and he laughed. Silly little sub! His fingers will go nowhere near. I will be doing it myself. Does he have the power to make me go that far? There is so much I don’t know yet and I’m nervous about it all. Without the relentless drive of last week’s hyper-orgasms, I start to wonder why I’m here.

The house is quiet. The wine’s run out and there’s no money till tomorrow so perhaps I’ll sleep. I’ll pile duvets and blankets high on my bed to trigger the reassurance I need from being compressed, their weight on me. The gently fading pain of yesterday’s tattoo a comforting reminder that I’m still real and present in my skin.