Who would have guessed?

June 11, 2017

Who would have guessed?

That she could be so –
so dirty, so delicious?

Erotic thoughts flickering
behind her eyes
like startled fireflies,
to desires so potent
so intense and violent
her moans become screams
of lust too strong
to ever ignore

I could growl…

May 12, 2016


I said: I could be a wolf for you. I could put my teeth on your throat. I could growl. I could eat you whole. I could wait for you in the dark. I could howl against your hair.

Catherynne M. Valente
The Bread We Eat in Dreams


The internet abounds in simplistic definitions of BDSM versus abuse. Usually these definitions have been written to justify BDSM – which ultimately is consensual whereas abuse is not.

For my part I’d stress (along with Elie Wiesel) that we should never “see” a person as an abstraction. Instead we should “see” them as a universe: each with their own secrets, their own treasures – and each with their own sources of anguish and desire. We should also be able to “see” when a particular individual’s desire for pain / punishment / humiliation is out of control.

If you recognise mental aberration in a BDSM Sub, is it then abuse to forefill that Sub’s most keenly expressed desires?

‘Hurt me more, piss on me, shit on me, fist me…Make me bleed.’

The worse part about anything self-destructive, is its intimacy. And a Sub, too closely enmeshed in strong violent desires, is like a drug addict desperate for a fresh fix; their fantasies become more like an illness…they are unable or unwilling to turn away from them because it feels as if they are killing a part of themselves in the process.

Is pandering to their desires / fantasies abusive or no?

Well, I think it becomes abuse the moment the Dom recognises these addictions for what they are. An illness. And in satisfying the Sub’s intense need for extremes of experience, a fine line is being crossed.

Likewise, those sadistic Doms who know their Sub / victim will not use their “safeword” despite the severity of the treatment being dished out – are they abusers? So much freak and nastiness abruptly released on some poor Sub / victim…

Is that abuse or no?

I think yes, that’s feckin’ abuse. The Dom is abusing their position, and their power over the Sub.

Personally, I’m involved with people who play bondage “games”. Mild kink is the order of the day. Rarely anything too heavy. That said, I know people who incorporate knives into their “play” – I think it too dangerous – and I know others who engage in “needle play”…which, again, is not for me.

BDSM then, is about “acceptability”. If you ain’t comfortable with it, don’t do it. It’s also about respect – for yourself and for your partner / partners. It is also very much about consent and communication – Communicate, communicate, communicate!

The games me and mine play are rigorously planned and choreographed down to the last little detail. And if there’s anything – anything at all – that a participant isn’t happy with, then it doesn’t happen. Risk management is all important. BDSM play should NEVER result in actual physical or emotional harm to any individual.

If it does, then that, boys and girls, is abuse!


Diary 8th May

Yesterday was a nothing day. No work to speak of, although I did organise a BBQ indoors because of the heavy showers in the afternoon. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. Certainly there was no food left over.


I watched a DVD of “The Hallow”, which was written and directed by Corin Hardy and stared Joseph Mawle and Bojana Novakovic. The film was shot at a beautiful location in Ireland – its fine cinematography enhanced the air of spooky menace overshadowing all. Irish folklore provided the background, along with modern concerns about the environment and the ‘restructuring’ of Irish debt. Fairyfolk provided the menace – for these are not the ethereal little people of Arthur Rackham, but more like a nightmarish overspill from the dark imagination of the late H R Giger.

Highly recommended, boys and girls.


It’s really muggy here this morning. The met office have cast their runes, examined the entrails of a recently slaughtered Ox and predicted a day without rain…a day of sunshine and soaring temperatures.

Well, I’m all for that, providing they’re correct…


Many of the locals will attend Sunday morning service later in the village church with its tall tower and four corner steeples. They will sit there, the paupers, the wealthy, the farmers, the bankers, and the has-been civil servants enjoying their pensions; they will listen to all the usual clichés, their blank faces and blank eyes…the old perverts (and the younger ones, too) eyeing up the new tits of the Fraser girl or imagining the dark sex of her mother as a second mouth ready to gobble them all up whole.

At least the church’s interior is cool and dim and will deaden the secret lusts of the congregation. Or we hope it will…

Although even the Vicar’s wife has this hot little fantasy about shimmying semi-nude on some appalling stage in front of the village men…

Yes, village life is like the worse, most slimiest beachball you can imagine, tossed about with gay abandon. No one can be sure whose lap it’ll land it next, nor whose lap it last occupied – although, praise the Lord, there’ll always be the gossip afterwards.

Never mind. There’s the village pub for after the service. Alcohol can be a most merciful and forgiving God. A couple or four drinks, and, “Lo, you shall be cleansed…”

Undo the sin of Eve…

August 5, 2015


“There is lust and then there is love. They are related, but still very different things. To indulge in one requires little but honeyed speech and a change of clothes; to obtain the other, by contrast, a man must give up his rib. In return, his woman will undo the sin of Eve, and bring him back into Paradise.”

Anne Fortier, Juliet

Magic and lust…

June 17, 2015


Blend allspice, cinnamon, and/or cloves into a cake for someone you lust after. It will help draw them closer to you, make them more amenable to your sexual advances. Serve the cakes with herb tea for the most efficacious result.

These cakes used in conjuncture with a love mojo bag will melt any (and all) resistance to your sexual desire.

You have been warned…

Playing Cluedo…

April 4, 2015


The Good Friday meal was superb (even if I say so myself). Courgette and leek quiche with goat’s ricotta and basil, accompanied by a monster salad; two bottles of good merlot wine; and for afters, my very own fruity crumble with clotted cream.

(Great smacking of lips)

We sat at table afterwards talking and laughing (yes, after the initial awkwardness between us, there was laughter); drinking coffee and an excellent brandy. Later we played Cluedo in the sitting room. Honest to God, we did…”Miss Scarlett in the parlour with the candlestick!” “No, no, Colonel Mustard in the Study with the pipe…!!” More laughter. We listened to music while we played, and then Dee said, ‘It’s after one o’clock, children.’

What happens next? An unsightly display of emotion from Gabby? The sort of unpleasant effluvia that can spill from hurt souls?

‘Am I keeping you both up?’ Gabby asked.

‘Not at all,’ replied Dee.

‘Would it be okay if I spent the night? Head back in the morning?’

‘This is your home,’ Dee said quietly. ‘You’re always welcome. You should know that…’

A little after two o’clock we all rolled off to bed, just like old times. Then two hours or so of sighs…short, sharp little cries of pleasure / pain. A wild tangle of naked limbs. Gabby giggling, uncontrollably. We are all a little drunk. Dee sitting astride me, Gabby lowering herself onto my face and declaring herself Queen Gabriella the first. Smothering me with musky-sweet scented flesh, as I come off inside Dee…

The creation of a world through love. Playing with souls. Enveloped in gaiety and tenderness. I want this moment to never end…Not ever.

Eventually, I fell asleep; slept soundly.

It was all so wonderful, so bloody wonderful!!


Gabby’s new hair style looks good, makes her face softer, more erotic. I wish we could make love but she won’t because she’s pissed at Dee and blames me – as if I’m part of some general conspiracy against her. This is what jealousy does to you. Makes you unkind; makes you paranoid. And Gabby is pure jelly over Dee’s latest adventure…

Oh, they call it love…!

Gabby is totally obsessed with Dee; she’d do anything for her. Anything. She puts up with her little adventures, although she hates them just the same, wishes they’d stop completely. But then Dee would no longer be Dee if they did.

Gabby accepts her lover’s many small cruelties. Dee plays Cruella de Vil to Gabby’s simpering puppy dog all the live-long day. Which means we’re all confined together here in “Hell Hall”.

Dee’s latest “adventure” is a local young woman who was born in France to Irish parents, and grew up in Dublin and London. She is one hundred percent lesbian, and spends most of her free time in the gym. She is very, very fit.

Dee plans her “adventure” with consummate skill. Saturday evenings the young woman who for convenience sake we’ll call Steph, is always in our local. Dee has frequently chatted her up in the past, but now she means business. A strategy is determined: it’s aim, to get Steph to come home and sleep (?) over.

Steph wears contact lenses. So Dee purchases solution. She’s not going to put up with lame excuses like “Oh, I can’t stay over, I’ve got to sort out my contacts…Also purchased: one flame-red tooth brush, sensible white panties, and a stick deodorant. All eventualities are catered for.

And Gabby gets more biter and twisted with each new acquisition.

From their first meeting with Steph last year, Gabby was jealous: she’d seen that eye-to-eye contact between Steph and Dee; registered the barely suppressed lust – but she was powerless to do anything about it.

So, Dee’s strategy goes into operation on Saturday evening and she, Steph and Gabby turn-up here just after closing time. I’m banished to my study to listen to radio three and drink Glenfiddich while the three ladies occupy Dee’s bedroom (earlier in the day, Dee had moved the two chairs from the room, so they can only sit on the kingsize bed). All goes to plan and an orgy takes place, a Sapphic three-some, complete with orgasmic cries of ecstasy that rent the stillness and challenge the forlorn owl cries outside.

Sometime after four am silence returns. The Sapphically-inclined ladies gently push-up the zeds, finally exhausted by their physical exertions, wrapped in each other’s arms.

But, Hey-ho, Sunday morning, Gabby is like someone who has been reading the “Lesbian Avenger’s Handbook”. She is the dyke from hell. Apparently Dee enjoyed Steph a little too much. And this makes Gabby feel isolated…And Jealous as Jealous can be.

‘I love you Gabriella (she hates being called Gabby by the way), you know I do…’ I tell her this with meaning.

‘You and Dee…Her bisexuality party-games. She never knows what she really wants.’

Oh, dear…

So, what becomes of the broken hearted? They sit alone in the kitchen eating Weetabix while Dee begins round two with Steph in the bedroom…It is after midday before the pair finally exit the bedroom. Gabby has gone out to sulk, or construct a handgrenade to throw at these two sweaty-needy girls. A quick glance at their faces and I see only numbness, vacancy…they’re both still lost in the sweet oblivion of last night.

They call it passion…

Sometimes shit does happen. You can’t odds it. You just have to suck it up, chalk it on the board of life as a lesson learned. Gabby ’ll get over it. She always does. When she comes back we’ll sit and talk it out. It’s what we always do.

Vanessa, Ben and Me…

March 19, 2015


Today is an anniversary of sorts. Exactly ten years ago today I had a memorable night out with my friend Ben and his wife Vanessa. In fact it turned out a very strange night indeed.

We went to their local, and had a bit to drink. Ben in particular was a big drinker. Vanessa drank rum and cokes, but made them last; Ben would usually put away three vodkas to each one of Nessa’s Bacardi’s.

Vanessa was much younger than Ben; he was forty-six, she was twenty, and they had a little girl, Mary, who was three years old. Unknown to Ben, I’d had sex with Nessa for the first time the preceding week. And I was feeling very bad about it. He was my friend and I’d betrayed him. It was unforgivable. Yet I’d done it and would do it again.

The day after we’d made love that first time, Vanessa sent me a letter. In it she wrote the following:

“Love and hugs, to you, my darling,

“I can’t get you out of my head since Tuesday. I keep thinking of the feel of you. My fingers in your hair when you were kissing me, our lips crushed together and your tongue exploring mine. Remembering gets me wet again.

“I recall vividly tracing the outline of your stiff – Oh, God, so stiff – cock through your jeans. Unzipping that insatiable monster took my breath away. It really did. Then climbing astride it, you in the armchair as I rocked against its hardness, letting it go all the way up me.

“Then your hands on my bare skin, my back, breasts, bum; mine on your neck and shoulders. It’s burned into my poor aching head. I’m lost at sea, and who will save me?

“Will you? Do you really care?

“After you left me Tuesday I kept looking around the place expecting to see you again. Weird, eh? I looked and I craved. Oh, God, how I craved. I made myself cum three or four times thinking about you – thinking about the things we did together. Never enough. Life is so crazy. You are now constantly in my thoughts, my magnificent obsession…”

That letter only made me feel worse about myself, what we’d done. What I’d done…

Ben did have a tendency to be violent with Nessa when he’d been drinking. He’d lash out without thinking. Vanessa wore a hearing aid, and one Saturday morning I remember sitting with her in a local bar as she explained he’d smashed her aid when he’d hit her the previous evening. He’d hurt her. It was the first I knew of this darker side to him.

Vanessa was trim, petite, blonde. Not a raving beauty but striking in a pretty, hard to define way, with that delicious pouting mouth and those soft blue eyes. She had small but very full breasts with large dark nipples. And that first time, when she’d sat on my cock, I’d swear hers was the tightest quim I’d ever known.

Anyway, I was out with Vanessa and Ben, and when the closing-time bell rang, he suggested going back to their place for more drinks. I wasn’t so keen, but Vanessa joined forces with her husband and insisted – so finally I acquiesced.

Their flat was in a small block on the third floor. It always smelled of roast meats, beef in particular, overlaid by Jayes disinfectant…not a particularly pleasant smell. Their daughter was spending the night with Vanessa’s parents. Ben went to the kitchen to sort some drinks. Vanessa said to me, ‘He was blotto last night. Really drunk.’

‘Did he hit you?’ I wondered.

‘No, but he got-up in the early hours and went for a pee in one of my dressing table drawer’s.’


‘He wasn’t properly awake. It’s the drink. It took me hours to sort it out this morning. All my knickers were soaked. And the wood of the drawer swelled-up…’

Ben returned with drinks. We sat talking in the living room. Nessa used her hands a lot when she talked. Her gestures were quick, vivacious. ‘Let’s have a game of cards,’ she said.

‘Poker,’ Ben said; his speech was slurring. ‘Five card stud…’

‘I can’t afford it,’ I said.

‘We can play for clothes,’ Nessa suggested, and laughed lightly. ‘Strip poker.’

‘I’ll get the cards…’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said, frowning at Nessa. I was unhappy at where this was leading. But together they over-ruled my objections. We played cards.

Correction. We played highest card wins. Each of us in turn took a card from the pack and laid it face up. Those with the lowest scores removed an item of clothing. Ben was soon down to his Y-fronts and went off to the kitchen for fresh drinks. Nessa was reduced to lacy black brassiere and panties, and smiled provocatively at me in hubby’s absence. I was still fully clothed.

After Ben returned with the drinks, he took a card. Once again he and Nessa had lowest score. He took off his Y-fronts, and Nessa her bra.

‘Your Sharon should be here,’ Ben said. He rolled his eyes and laughed raucously. ‘What happens now I’ve got no clothes?’

‘We play for dares,’ Nessa said quickly.

‘Sharon should definitely be here.’ Ben started laughing again.

‘We’ve not been getting on, remember,’ I said to Ben, irritated; he knew damn well Sharon and I were breaking-up. ‘Things between Sharon and me are still a bit up in the air…’

The next round of cards I lost my shoes and Nessa her panties. She sat straight backed, legs slightly parted, a tangle of pubes forming a wide V at the base of her hard belly. There was a look in her eyes, I remember, a look of hunger…Vanessa wanted us both, I realised: Ben and I, to love with her. She knew two into one will go, with a little effort…

I’d had too much to drink. We all had. Did I want to be part of Nessa’s sexual fantasy? We each turned over a card and again I won.

‘What are our dares?’ Vanessa asked, her voice teasing and seductively low. I unfastened my trousers, pushed them and boxer’s down to my knees. Ben’s cock was still flaccid, like a thick olive-skinned grub; mine was stiff and in the perpendicular.

‘Come kneel here,’ I said. ‘Suck this…’

She did as requested, pressing her face down to my erection. Gently she kissed the head, her tongue flicking down the length of my shaft to my balls. She continued to tease for awhile, then took the head into her mouth, pressed downwards…taking me deeper, as her fingers slid under my testicles towards my backside.

‘Get behind her,’ I ordered Ben. His cock was beginning to stiffen. ‘Put it up her bum.’

Nessa tensed as Ben, kneeling, attempted to force himself into her. With my cock almost in her throat, her forefinger teased its way into my arse…The finger wriggled, and I shifted position slightly to allow ease of access. After two or three thrusts, Ben complained, ‘It won’t stay hard. Too much effin’ vodka.’

‘Wank yourself,’ I said. ‘Keep rubbing it.’

I could feel the heat of Nessa’s breath on my belly as she came up for air. She smiled at me; her fingers teased and stroked my swollen sex. Kneeling behind her Ben was intent on jerking at his semi-erect cock.

‘Are you going to shoot in my mouth?’ she asked me.

‘D’you want me to?’

‘I’d sooner you cum up me,’ she said.

‘You’d better sit on me, then,’ I said. ‘I’m very near…’

I could see the wetness glistening on her sex as she climbed astride me. The head of my cock was pressed against her pussy and entered effortlessly. She moved, slowly at first, then faster, her hands making small fists in my hair. I kissed her tits and smelled the scent in her cleavage. Her face was all dreamy concentration…Ben, still wanking on the floor, was forgotten for now.

A soft moan from Nessa as her climax came closer. She swore aloud like a trouper. Effing and blinding shockingly. Then her thighs were suddenly ridged as steel, her face a contorted mask – abruptly her thighs relaxed, tensed again, and relaxed…She cried out. Like a woman in terrible pain…

I was at the point of no return. Gripping her body tightly to mine, I felt myself dissolve into her. My body lurched violently with each involuntary spasm…

‘I’m getting nowhere with this,’ Ben said in protest. His cock was still only semi-hard, but now looked a little red and ill-used. ‘Anyone fancy another drink…?’

He went to the kitchen and Nessa clung to me. She kissed my mouth, my eyes, my neck. I hugged her close, said, ‘Wow, that was a biggy.’ She gave me a soft glance, her eyes no longer hungry. I ran my hand through her hair. Kissed her neck and breasts tenderly.

‘When will I see you next?’ she asked quietly.

‘Monday? In the afternoon?’ I knew it was wrong but justified my actions now by Ben’s complicity in what had just happened between us. I knew, too, he’d been unfaithful recently, himself, with the daughter of his immediate boss at work. Vanessa had no idea.

‘No good,’ she said. ‘Ben’s on earlies…But you could come over anyway. At least we’d get to see each other.’


‘He’s working double shift Wednesday. We can be alone then. Mary ‘ll be at the centre in the morning. You can have me as many times as you want. I’ll even let you do anything you want to me…Anything,’ she repeated for emphasis, all husky voiced and fluttering eyelashes.

Our affair continued. One evening Vanessa confided that she’d wanted me as a lover for some time. More than a year. But because of Sharon and her relationship with me, she’d kept her distance. She didn’t want to come between us.

Then, apparently, one girly night out, Sharon had laughingly confessed to Vanessa her many betrayals of me over the past few years. Nessa had immediately decided “What’s sauce for the goose…”

The following week we became lovers.

I thought then, “What poetic justice!” Sharon had destroyed the little that remained of our relationship herself. Her erotic boasts of multiple lovers had freed Vanessa from any moral restraints…

One Thursday I came inside Nessa twelve times. A record of sorts for us. She told me, ‘I want you to breed me. I’m off the pill. I want you to fill me every day…’


‘It’s true.’

‘We should have spoken about this first?’

‘It’s what I want.’

The following Monday she left Ben and moved in to her parents flat with little Mary. She was going for a divorce.

‘This is all my doing, isn’t it?’ I said to her. ‘It’s because of me.’

‘No, I can’t stand it anymore. His drinking. He gets drunk and hits me. Afterwards, he can’t remember doing it. He wants sex but it never gets hard…I have to play with it until he falls asleep. You’ve no idea…’

She’d told Ben that I was her lover. She said he’d cried when she told him. I felt more unhappy than ever about the way things were going between us. I’d never felt totally at ease in our relationship…Yes, I felt strongly attracted to Nessa. But…there was always a but. I felt totally out of step with my world.

Shortly after we’d first gotten together, Ben and Nessa had a party round theirs. Sharon came with me to it. She got very drunk during the course of the evening, and Ben suggested we stay over. ‘You’ll never get her home in that state, matey,’ he said to me. And he was right as it happened: shortly afterwards, she passed-out. Nessa and I got her into the spare bedroom.

‘Make love to me,’ Nessa said. She lay on the bed beside Sharon. Together we’d managed to get Sharon’s dress and pantyhose off, which left her in skimpy bra and thong. Nessa worked her own dress up round her hips, spread her legs. She wasn’t wearing panties. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please please me…’

‘No way,’ I said. ‘Not here. Not with Sharon there.’ The whole idea seemed bizarre to me. ‘She’ll wake up. Ben ‘ll find out. There’ll be hell up. You’re mad.’

‘Don’t you love me?’

‘Yes. But I’m not making love in here. I can’t.’

‘Then do her. I want to watch you fuck her. She’ll never know. She’s well out of it. Every bloke in the place could have her, and she wouldn’t know anything about it.’

‘She’d be a bit sore in the morning.’ I tried to make light of the situation. But there was nothing funny about it at all. Vanessa was totally serious. She was struggling to remove Sharon’s thong, exposing the small shaved sex.

‘If you love me, you’ll fuck her.’

This was bloody ridiculous. And I said so. ‘I’ll make love to you, but in another room.’

‘Ben would have her. He’d have us both. Provided he could get it up, that is.’

‘I’m not Ben,’ I said.

‘You’re a coward,’ she snapped back at me. ‘That’s what you are. If you loved me, you’d do it.’

Our first row. A lover’s tiff over my inability or non-compliance to fuck my almost ex-girlfriend while she lay half-naked in a drunken stupor. It was all beyond my comprehension. I couldn’t cope with it and stormed from the room.

That night I lay beside a gently snoring Sharon tortured by doubts. It was too much, too damn much. I felt impossibly torn between frenzied sexual ecstasy and pain – the pain I was inflicting on others by my behaviour. I was being crucified by desire, by love, by self-justification. My sleeplessness became a symbol of despair.

I left the bed early, before five. It was still dark. In the kitchen I made coffee. I was naked except for a pair of stripy boxers. I crept about trying not to disturb anyone. I sat at the table beside the window looking out. Mainly I saw my own reflection in the glass, and distantly the sodium glow of streetlights.

‘Penny for them.’

I glanced up, surprised. Nessa in a semi-transparent wisp of nothingness. She was gently smiling at me.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ I mumbled.

‘Phantoms of the mind,’ she said. ‘Love has such terrible repercussions.’

‘Like magic…’


‘For months I wanted you,’ I said. ‘Wanted you and wanted you. I’d recite your name over and over every night before I went to sleep. An easy invocation. I visualised you in my arms. I needed you to fall in love with me. Crave me, my embrace. More than anything else, I wished to possess you.’

‘You made me love you?’

‘I think perhaps I did.’

‘Oh, well…’ She sank to her knees before me. She pulled my boxers aside. ‘I can’t help myself, then. You’ve put a spell on me. You you you. It’s all your doing. And I forgive you for not doing as I asked earlier. Momentary madness on my part.’

I felt the touch of her hand, the warmth of her lips, and sensed this was all as inevitable as an astrological reading. My orgasm came abruptly, unsought, flowing out of my night thoughts and sense of nonbeing…each violent spurt drowning my mind.

The end of the affair came out of our shared guilt and in particular little Mary’s unhappiness at being away from her daddy. Vanessa arranged a meeting between us at a local hotel. I had a room booked, and in there we shared the natural fleshy delights of each other’s bodies – along with a number of unnatural delights – that left us both sweaty and breathless.

For a fragmented moment of time we existed in a void. There was nothing else. Her cries of pleasure were like warnings of pain to come. Finally, fatigue won out. We came to rest beside each other.

‘I’m going back to Ben,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t bear it, but I have to.’

‘I know,’ I said. Leaning over to kiss her cheek I experienced the wheezing shrill feedback from her hearing aid. ‘Sorry about that. I keep forgetting.’

She laughed. ‘Am I hurting you? Going back, I mean.’

‘It’s all painful,’ I replied. ‘I feel so bloody lonely. When I’m with you I feel like a sick tormented madman. When we’re apart, I’m haunted by the idea of you.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, so am I. But it is inevitable, isn’t it? You and I would never work out. Not really. We’d just fuck each other up. We’re both bloody dangerous, but without meaning to be so.’

We parted the following morning after a final frenzied fuck. She waved to me as she walked towards the bus stop on the corner. I waved back.

I never saw her again after that.