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Losing control: blindfolds and rope

“I’m absolutely terrified of being tied up.”

“The thought of a blindfold can make me physically sick.”

There: two things that only a very limited number of people know about me, and even less of them understand, or try to understand. Very few have watched the change in my demeanour and behaviour if I come into contact with items specifically designed to restrain, or the way I burn up and my eyes fill with tears at even the mention of a blindfold coming anywhere near me or, by extension, the very mention that it might.

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Audience for the Marionette, part 4

This is the fourth instalment of my dark, erotic short story, “Audience for the Marionette”, which features in my erotic short story collection on voyeurism.(read more…)

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The Apple of Her Eye (18+ only)

The #WickedWednesday prompt this week caught my eye: Vintage Art. I love art in a big way, so set out perusing way too many vintage(read more…)

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The House of Seven Sins: Mistress in Training chapter 3, part 1 (18+ only)

Ella arrived outside the gate with the personal items allowed—various toiletries, razor and depilatory cream to cover all eventualities, even though she’d waxed on Wednesday,(read more…)

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The House of Seven Sins: Mistress in Training Chapter 2, part 2 (18+ only)

  The outline of the building loomed above her, around her, in the growing pink of the late afternoon light. She shuddered, but it wasn’t(read more…)

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The House of Seven Sins: Mistress in Training Chapter 2, part 1 (18+ only)

Ella’s route back home blurred into a series of twists and turns, road crossings and a vague recollection of unlocking the door and making a(read more…)

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Freebies for you

It’s a long holiday weekend here in the UK, so I have decided to celebrate by making some of my work FREE on Amazon, for(read more…)

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D/s and Abusive Relationships

It’s rare that I post on a completely personal issue, but I came across a blog post yesterday and so many things about it resonated with(read more…)

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Love Slave Part 15 – FINAL PART (18+)

My imagination taunts me: my own hands become his hands against my skin, reliving every touch, every culmination of our messages, and every single year of desire since I first set eyes upon him. Amid the gushing water and the waves of tears I make myself come, because I need to find a release from the excruciating pain that threatens to overwhelm me. The feeling builds, an all-consuming ache that roots itself in my cunt and winds through me like a serpent, at the picture of his face burned on my retina, and the memory of the way I clung to him during the night, finally knowing the fullness of him inside me. The pure energy of the memory threatens to leave me unconscious there under the water, drowning me in my own desire and desperation and salty reprisals.