I’m sure most of you know at least a little bit about BDSM by now. If nothing else, from the dubious Fifty Shades books. If you own a copy, please do the BDSM community and yourself a favour and burn it, toss it in the bin, use the pages to clean your windows or shred it for guinea pig bedding. I don’t care, but please, for the love of kink, please get rid of it. I’m not even going to get into why that book is so wrong; my blood pressure is already high enough just mentioning it.

So, probably most of you have heard words like dom, sub, blindfolds, bondage, pleasure and pain thrown around, but I bet my morning amaretto coffee that about 90 per cent still have no idea what it is about. Maybe a bit higher here, where we all congregate to open our minds to a wide variety of smut genres.

I have read all sorts of statistics on the theme. I don’t like them. I want to change them. Even if by just a tiny little fraction.

So apparently, only about two per cent of us practice it regularly, which is a shame because this self-exploration is a truly mind-blowing experience.

If it freaks you out, or you have decided it wasn’t for you, then be it. It’s not for everyone. All I ask is not to be judgemental about it. But if you are at least a little curious, if you fantasise about it, read your adult fairy tales with millionaires with fancy helicopters who tie you up and make you cum just by looking at you and make you sign a contract. Well, that’s ridiculous.

Let me give you an alternative.

There’s this cute, innocent-looking milf next door... The one standing in the playground now a little bit pissed off because her teenage daughters raided her underwear drawer again, and she has to wear the socks of her five-year-old that keep slipping off her feet. She has a boring, not-so-glamorous job, drives an old knackered car with an overdue MOT... I’m a busy girl, ok?

Yeah, so that’s me.

Hold that thought for a second while I sort this drama out with the kid burying his brand-new toy car in the sandpit.

So yeah, when I’m not losing my shit over another £10 car being lost on day one, I live and die for BDSM. I’ve been practising it pretty much all my adult life, starting probably with my first girlfriend, who used to love tying me up to my bed with her pretty little silk scarf.

With my line of work, the chances of me running into a CEO with a home dungeon are a big fat zero. Not that I’d want to. I wouldn’t be creaming my panties over his fancy helicopter; I wouldn’t be having Earth-shattering orgasms just by a brush of his finger. What utter nonsense. And I would tell him what to do with his contract. And a home dungeon? Really? Maybe I’m in the wrong circles, but I have never seen one in my life.

Yet, I get to live out my wildest BDSM fantasies. Even the ones I thought I’d never write about. And now here I am doing just that because lately it’s all or nothing, baby. Because I’ve realised the more you open up, the more mind-altering it gets. So, let's jump in

So, exactly what? and how? you ask.

Simple. I know what I want, and I look for it; I ask for it. But it has been a long journey, way too long for 5k words.

But let’s not start with the what and the how. Let’s start with the why because that’s more important. I think that’s what most people struggle to understand.

***

5 am. The streets are deserted, just the way I like it. When I let go, I don’t want anyone watching. Be it running like a racoon drunk on fermented berries or having a wild, body-trashing O between the sheets. I don’t let many go there to see my most vulnerable side.

Why?

A lifetime of telling me I’m too much, I’m weird, I’m messed up. Starting with our lovely education system trying to force me to draw a fucking vase when all I wanted to do was fold the sheet into a paper plane and run around with it pretending to fly it to a new continent. Well, I’ve decided quite early on that they can shove that vase where it belongs. So yeah, I’m an experimentalist, and I like to do new and weird things.

But you cannot escape being judged, ever. On your looks, on your work performance, on your parental skills, or the kinky shit you’re into.

But here, I’m alone without being judged.

This is between me and the empty streets, my knackered trainers and the asphalt, my legs and the three miles to reach the end of Abbots Green, my barely-recovered-from-covid lungs and the freezing morning air. My feet pound the tarmac to the 128 rhythm of Mr Paul Kalkbrenner’s No Goodbye in my headphones.

It’s only 4 degrees, and it’s spitting. The cold raindrops cut into my face, slashing my cheeks. Sometimes, I just put up with the rain for the sake of it, but today, I need this. I need to be awakened. At the same time, frozen in space and time

I have a little theory: I think we got too comfortable in our cosy, warm houses getting out food from supermarket shelves. And we need something raw, something primal to remind us what we are and where we cane from. Recently, life just got a little too much. I have taken on an awful lot lately. Sometimes, I run when what I want to do is to run away. The feeling of not being enough can get me down a lot, but I don’t fight it anymore. Here, I just let go.

My breath blends into the morning fog. It evaporates and disappears. My heart beats in sync with the rhythm of my thudding steps. I seize to think. I only exist.

This long stretch of road overlooks my favourite scene with the quiet valley of Foxcote Woods beneath. This is my safe place. This is where I think, where I self-improve this is where I cope and heal.

I need this.

***

There’s another safe place, another escape I can’t get enough of: being on my knees with my thick leather collar around my neck, the soft fur lining caressing my neck. My mind is like a boxset of the most spectacular fireworks, and he’s here with the box of matches. He drinks in the darkness in my begging eyes. We are ready for the spark.

Our bodies tense up with anticipation; time halts to a creep. He looks down at me with that twisted smile, holding my jaw and stroking my face. With him, one look, one word is enough to close the curtains on boring everyday life, for my mind to shut down and just float. I’m his to do whatever because I trust him because we have a connection I have with no one else. This is our tiny slice of the kink universe

‘Come on, you know you want to touch it’, he sings mockingly. He’s not your typical dom. He’s not rough; he doesn’t have a low, growling voice. I never ever called him Sir or anything like that. Yet, he has power over me like no one else because he knows me; he knows my buttons like no one else before.

I gulp audibly trying to reach for his thickness through his jean in the half light of my room. He is so hard. And he’s not wrong; I do want to touch him more than anything. But something is telling me this is somehow a trap. His grip closing around my neck confirms my suspicion. “Come on, ask for it, kitten.” With a streak of playful mischief in his voice eyes full of warmth and affection, I’m none the wiser as I try to form the words. “Pleea...”

He tightens his hold around my neck, cutting me off mid-word.

“You don’t want it?” He cocks his head at me while I struggle for air, my hands flying up to try to peel his hands away. I don’t stand a chance against him. He’s much stronger than me.

I can only breathe because he lets me. “Can’t hear you, Kat. Do you want this cock or not?” He shakes his head at me as I gulp in some desperate mouthfuls of air. “I... I...” I try again, just for him to squeeze my neck so tight that the room starts to spin. Inside my mind, I throw a cushion onto the floor to lounge in my favourite place of them all, my sweet, cosy subspace.

When he tells me how disappointing it is that he drove all the way from the other side of town, and I don’t even want his cock, his voice seems like hearing it from underwater, and I grin into his face, which earns me a hard slap across my face. His expression is not so angelic anymore.

“You’re such a useless slut. Go on, touch my cock.”

He is so fucking hard. The sick perv gets so fucking hard when he torments me. But he’s probably hard since he stepped through the door or maybe since he got out of his car.

***

M pulls the belt taut around my neck. “What’ ya waitin’ for? Get tha’ cock in ya mouth,” he slurs his sentences together - his mindfuck accent and his cock forced into my neck make me drip like never before. I’ve been soaking wet since my husband dropped me off around the corner. My mind is tripping since he’s put that belt around my neck.

He throws my kitten bowl on the floor and fills it up with a can of Red Bull. We had talked about milk, but I completely forgotten about it, and apparently, he doesn’t have any. I need these wings anyway because I’ve just finished a 60-hour work week, and I know he will work me hard. This is my escape. He’s my thrill ride.

“Com’ on, kitty, lap it up. Ass high up, so I can spank ya for bein' such a filthy whore.”

I snort with laughter into the bowl and blow bubbles into the cold golden liquid.

“What’s so funny, ya stupid cunt, huh?” A giant whack lands across my ass cheeks. I don’t even know whether he’s using one of my paddles or his crop. He’s been taking turns with them, turning my behind red and raw.

How could I possibly answer? I’m high on his words. I’m high on the way he treats me. I love to be his filthy whore more than anything.

He pushes my head into my bowl harder till my face is flat against the cold ceramic. “I saaaid drink it up,” he growls, kneeling beside me, one hand on my head, keeping me down, the other hand rubbing my soppy cunt through my drenched underwear. “You do know why we’re keeping your knickers on, don’t you, silly slut?”

Fuck! Are we really doing that?

Of course, we are. What else was I expecting? The asshole can make me do anything he wants, and I knew that. I’ve been his ever since we opened our friend’s only pictures folder for each other, and I saw his smug, smirking face holding his thick, beautifully curved cock in his grip.

“Fuck, are you even real?” I had asked him.

His reply was, “Come over, naughty kitten and find out for yourself.” It took me a few days and a cancellation from my favourite couple, but finally, I’m here, and I drink in every fucked up thing he says to me and makes me do.

“Ya gonna drink that up, ay? And ‘er drink this up, too. He forces the pint glass to my mouth. “Drink it up, stupid whore. Then you gonna piss your knickers for me like the fucking dumb slut you are, ay kitten?”

I whimper and cry as he slaps my clit through my soaked knickers.

***

“You know what’s next?” Sam whispers into my ear as he bends over the corner of the bed and grabs the knife I prepared for him on the TV stand. It’s a bit fucked up that I offer him the tools to crack me open this way; he used to bring over his kitchen knife, but I prefer my new wolf one.

He used to tease me with the back of the blade, but I told him that it was too soft and didn’t even feel like a knife, so now he exclusively uses the sharp tip. He draws wavy lines on my arms and my stomach as I hold my breath and enjoy the ride. I let go and trip like never before as he draws closer and closer to my throat.

A few minutes later, his whisper wakes me from my delicious daydream, “Do not move,”

My eyes fly open with and involuntary tremble. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to turn the blade.”

“Fuck.” No matter what fucked up games we plan for the night, he can always come up with something new and turn it up a notch. I feel the cold steel leave my neck for a second, and then the freezing sensation returns, barely having any contact with my skin. “Did you really...?” I ask.

He leads me to the mirror and holds the blade to my neck again. “I’m glad we came up with this little trick that you’re willing to do anything at knifepoint.”

Yeah, me too.

I guess.

***

I think it was like round three. After quite a few glasses of vodka (in my defence) and after recording the mandatory fucking video for my husband - his only condition when I’m meeting someone solo. M was casually walking around in a t-shirt with his cock hanging out. We were chatting about the other two girls he’s seeing regularly, like best pals having some light-hearted banter, then fuck knows how, but I find his cock in my mouth again. Then as things progress further, he’s fucking me so deep that I quite literally lose my mind, and when he tells me it’s gonna be my ass next, I fail to stop him. He is not small, and I don’t do anal -on paper. And he knows that. He should know that. So, I’m not quite sure where this is coming from.

Yet, my only objection or wish is that he uses a lot of lube, which he does. And well, he pounds my ass like it has never been used in my life. “Ya say you don’t do anal,” he rambles, “but look at you now. I think you are a filthy lying cunt with a cock in her ass. Now, repeat that!”

“I’m a worthless lying slut with a cock in her ass.” I want to giggle and laugh because my soul is having a ball, but he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls hard till my back cannot arch anymore. His words are like the morning rain on my cheeks, making me feel rough. He makes me feel alive.

“That’s right, you worthless, disgusting whore. Uhgm, your ass is so fucking tight.”

“Hm, yeah, because I don’t let anyone else do this to me.”

“Are ya being a lying whore again, silly slut?

I know he doesn’t believe me, but actually I’m not. I only let him treat me like this.

One slightly embarrassing taxi ride later because, I did bring spare underwear but forgot to bring spare stockings, and the one I was wearing was now in bits. I kneel by the bed while my husband is still watching the videos I’ve sent him earlier

“He turned you into his right little filthy whore, didn’t he?

I stare at the ugly brown carpet, contemplating my reply. Just how much do I admit to what happened after those softcore videos? Oh, fuck it! We promised complete honesty; otherwise, it’s not going to work. “Oh, you don’t even know half of it.” Then I tell him everything because I don’t hold back anymore. It’s all or nothing these days.

Is there a chance he will want to treat me like that, too?

Absolutely.

Do I mind?

Not at all.

On his words he unleashed an unstoppable sex demon when he told me I can do whatever the fuck I want.