Moving From A Vanilla To A D’s Relationship


This is a task that is not really an easy thing to do, but it can be done. In orders to move into a whole new world there are somethings the Dominant has to do.

The first being a huge change of attitude. The Dominant has to demonstrate he is in full control. The attitude has to change a full 360 degrees. This is more true if the two have problems arguing.

A woman will not submit to a Dominant or any male if he cannot control his temper. Second we do not always have to be right. Although I am not wrong that often I do make mistakes. I think things out before acting and when something goes wrong, I am like what the fuck how did that happen, because I have covered all of the choices and of course the consequences.

Being in full control is the key…

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School’s In!

It’s that time of year when the new term is about to start and kids are getting their new uniform, doing that last minute homework they should have done right at the beginning of the school holidays, and generally getting ready to get back to the grindstone of school.

School days are amazing although we seldom appreciate it at the time we are in our last years at school. Between acne, raging hormones, oppressive parents, social awkwardness, struggling to be popular, and rules we have to obey, we usually spend our school days moaning rather than enjoying them for the last care-free days we are going to have. Which is kind of a shame, and probably is why we often all dream of being in school again at some point in our lives. Only later do we realize how good we looked, how much potential we had, and how many hot boys/girls we could have scored with if we had only known how.

At the time we modified our school uniforms or stretched the dress-code as far as it would go to stress our individuality and or sexuality – kneel length skirts somehow ended up with the hems almost at the tops of our thighs, blouses got tied and strained over push-up bras, neck-ties were loosened and jackets slung over shoulders. Fashionable boots stood in for sensible shoes, flat soles replaced by heels, stockings and pantyhose for socks, and if regulations went as far as underwear, they were completely ignored!

I guess that’s why a lot of people fantasize about being back in that last year at school, or of dating someone who is. Any adult store has a school uniform or three next to the French Maids and Sexy Secretaries, be it the plaid skirt of some US uniforms, the English gymslip from St Trinians, or the Japanese Sefuko, all there to help us re-live our crush on a hunky teacher with a very different outcome (I assume, I know some girls that got their outcome regardless).

Of course if you are into BDSM, that school uniform with its short skirt and tiny panties is the perfect invitation to pull that naughty girl across Teacher’s knee for a good old fashioned spanking. Skirt up, panties tugged down, and the bare hand on your bottom makes it sting and your pussy tingle, while for him the sight of that wiggling bum and the sound of those whimpered apologies is enough to get him hard with anticipation. A spanking over the desk or against the wall is also very effective, and leaves Sir free to take advantage of the naughty girl’s uncontrollable hormones as well.

For some the roles are reversed, with him the naughty schoolboy and her the strict but hot teacher – and every other combination imaginable as well: it’s a common cross-dressing scenario, or one for both partners to age-play, there are even groups that role-play it all out. The principle is effectively the same in all of them: It’s reliving a point in your life where you became sexually aware, had few responsibilities, and often had someone very attractive in authority over you or working next to you. That pushes a lot of buttons for many people, and in role-playing or fantasies you can take the attraction, and the authority, to new levels no teacher or student could legally engage in for real. Certainly no teacher could tie you over that desk, pull your panties down and cane your bare behind before taking you hard and rough and…

Sorry, where was I?

Anyway, what I am trying to say is that school days are a common fantasy for a great many people in some way or another, and they work perfectly in conjuncture with a little bondage and corporal punishment.


Writing Lines

The issue when wanting to write about a school fantasy is how to keep it believable and most importantly, legal. Having a snog and a grope behind the bike sheds and dreaming of going further is fine when you are fifteen, but when writing erotica you really need all protagonists over the age of eighteen if they are going to take it further.

That’s when I remembered a news story I read once about a school that was set up on one of the Caribbean Islands for really recalcitrant kids. It was in many ways like a prison, parents with out-of-control kids paying to send their children there to get them back under control and teach them that there are such things as consequences. That Island having different laws to the USA, they could get away with effectively imprisoning children without trial and using forms of punishment not sanctioned there.

So if there was a place you could set up a reform school, you could add in the elements you wanted. As long as the students were consenting adults (consenting to the sex, that is, not to being sent to a reform school – I mean you could probably get a lot of adults to consent to that, so many you’d have to queue around the block, but that’s not the point) then there’s no issue. Students can have affairs with teachers, and in fact it’s encouraged as long as the teachers are firmly in charge to continue disciplining the girls.

Hence the School of Discipline series was born.

I incorporated a lot of added ideas into this series, giving it structure.

Uniform – the school has a dress code, although being in the tropics the uniform is necessarily brief because of the heat! So those short skirts we tried to get away with when we were in our late teens are now mandatory…

Orgasm Denial – the girls are compelled to wear chastity belts unless given permission not to. They get no relief save once a week when the belts are removed for hygiene reasons for a short period. Naturally this keeps the girls in a state of frustration, and if they get angry, even this privilege can be revoked. Hence the school encourages self-control, but also gives the girls a powerful incentive to, ah, “suck up” to staff!

Corporal Punishment – the other option for punishment is spanking, caning, and such. Usually administered publicly, spankings are an immediate punishment that reinforces discipline, but avoids the student losing out on privileges. It hurts, it’s humiliating, but when it’s done it’s done.

BDSM – the teachers are in charge of any relationships that develop, and that means a BDSM relationship. The girl’s may be satisfied, but it’s with the teacher’s in charge and training them to higher standards with more extreme rewards and punishments.

Then there were the characters to include. Obviously this Reform School is one kids are sent to in order to avoid a conventional criminal record. So while you may get a few from the official courts, most would be sent as an option and may not even know where they are going. So from this I drew my four lead characters for the four stories:

The Afluenza Girl – this is the spoiled brat who throws a fit because she was given the wrong make of sports-car for her birthday, the queen bee who makes other girl’s lives’ hell at school because she can, and has not the slightest clue about consequences. She thinks that she’s going on a special holiday…

The Neglected Girl – this is the child of wealthy parents who is effectively sidelined and passed off to au pairs to be raised, and seeks attention from her parents. Low self-esteem hidden behind an attitude marks this one out. She’s cried for attention one time too often and is now packed off to yet another place to “fix” her.

The Tough Cookie – this is the streetwise girl who’s genuinely trouble. She knows it all and how to play the system, or she thinks she does.

The Mistake/Set-Up – this girl really shouldn’t be sent to a Reform School, she’s not malicious for attention, spoiled, or criminal – she’s just a mistake, and someone has set her up.

Now with my characters I can write…


School of Discipline #1School of Discipline #2

School of Discipline #3School of Discipline #4


Excerpt from Obediently Schooled:

Mr. Adcock reached into his desk without his gaze moving from Ava’s face, and took out an object. A moment later something cool slipped around Ava’s throat and drew tight. It was not so tight it restricted her, but she could feel its presence and its weight.

A collar.

“From now on, you are to obey me to the letter, to the best of your ability, Ava,” Mr. Adcock told Ava firmly. She shivered, feeling the weight of the collar increase. “You will address me in private as Master Dominic. Do you understand?”

How did I just agree to this? Ava wondered, and why does it feel so good?

“Yes, Master Dominic,” she said aloud. The name rolled off her tongue. Rather than feeling humiliated, or oppressed, she had a tremendous sense of liberation.

“We’ll make more inroads against your lack of self-control, Ava, now we know how to relax you,” Master Dominic added. “Now take off your blouse and your bra.”

Ava shivered with excitement and her fingers fumbled with her blouse. She could stop. She knew she could stop…she just didn’t want to stop. This situation, stripping for her teacher in an empty classroom, was so incredibly erotic, and she was so horny in spite of her sore cheeks. No, in fact her sore ass was making it even more arousing: Master Dominic was in charge, he was running the show, and her ass knew it.

Her blouse slipped off her shoulders, and a moment later her breasts were released and revealed by her bra as she shrugged it off her shoulders. Master Dominic’s hands moved down, stroking across her skin, cupping her orbs in those warm hands. His thumbs caressed her hard nipples, and they tingled hard and sent a shiver down her spine to rest in her steaming pussy.

“Very nice,” he murmured. Ava leaned into his touch; she was desperate, but at the same time very calm. She’d agreed to do whatever he said, so she simply waited for him to give her instructions. Rather than constrained she was experiencing a sense of freedom: she didn’t need to worry about anything.

“Kneel,” he commanded. “You know what to do.”

Ava’s legs seemed to fold under her of their own accord as she knelt in front of her teacher. Her hands reached toward the bulge in his pants, easing the zip down, her slender fingers slipping inside. She shivered as they brushed the silky skin and firm flesh of his cock as she liberated it. His dick was warm, pulsing and firm, standing out straight and proud. She inhaled, the scent of his musk with a hint of a bitter tang as his foreskin rolled back to reveal the dark red-purple of his cockhead.

You know what to do.

His words echoed in her mind as she leaned forward to place a kiss on the tip of his prick. Her soft lips met his most sensitive skin, and she tasted his slightly musty, salty taste as her tongue darted out to tickle the little opening there. Then she swirled her tongue slowly around the head, spreading a mixture of his pre-cum and her saliva over it. Her mouth opened wider as she drew the whole of his cockhead into her mouth and she started to suck him slowly. Her eyes closed, she felt even more tension drain out of her body and mind.

This was relaxing, blissful, and fulfilling all on its own: she would please her Master, and he would please her later. Ava had no idea how she knew this, it just seemed right. It was like blowing a boyfriend; it made them yours, showed them what she could do, and put them in her debt. But while normally doing so gave her a sense of power, in this case it was an act of submission – and for some reason she found this an even more powerful turn-on.

Her hand wrapped around his shaft and squeezed it firmly, and started moving back and forth in time with her head. Her other hand gripped his hip and steadied her against him as she sucked his cock.

“Oh yes…not bad…” Master Dominic sighed blissfully. “Now, clasp your hands behind your back, and just use your mouth.”

Ava’s eyes popped open wide and she looked up at her Master. She’d never deep-throated before, but that was what it seemed he wanted. Her hands released him, and she clasped them tight behind her back. Ava sucked and drew his firm cock deeper into her mouth, as deep as she could, before easing back. She sucked hard and deep on each stroke, and his hand rested on the back of her neck, sending a prickle down her back. As she sucked him in, his hand pressed a little, making her take just a little more cock than she had planned.

She gave a meek little sound, feeling her body quiver delightfully. He was taking control, pushing her limit. As her head bobbed back and forth he took control of the rhythm and depth. Before long his cockhead was touching the back of her throat, and she fought the urge to gag – successfully. She felt a rush of pride that she was taking his cock all the way into her mouth.


School of Discipline the Collection


The Collection:


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School of Discipline Montage


Sophie’s Mischoice


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Charlotte’s Net


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Emily’s Shock


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Obediently Schooled


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Bear Country!

I’m visiting my folks for a few days down in Gloucestershire, but I’ll be back by Wednesday when normal service or what passes for it) will be resumed. In the meantime, I’m near bear country, the Forest of Dean. Not real bears, they’ve been extinct in Britain for centuries, the nearest you get in the Forest is Winnie-the-Pooh – seeing as it was here that A.A. Milne wrote his famous books about the bear of little brain (but surprising common sense).

It’s also a really beautiful place.


If you ever visit, I recomend the open-air sculpture trail as worth walking around! Also handy for some al fresco nookie 😉

Outside the Comfort Zone

We all have it, that little area in our heads that we like to stay in, because it’s predictable and safe: the comfort zone. For some people it’s big, and for some people it’s small. For one person walking on stage in front of a crowd of fifty thousand is nothing, while another gets the creeps walking into a room with a few strangers in it. Our comfort zones are varied and different, just like us, but they have huge effects.

Cognitive dissonance is one aspect of our comfort zones. It’s the uncomfortable feeling that we get when we realise that we were wrong about something, when something we believed and trusted to be true turns out not to be. It’s amazing the lengths people will go to in order to avoid that feeling, and you can see it all the time around you. People refuse to believe things that are proven if they clash with their beliefs, for example, giving rise to some popular movements that on the face of it deny reason – like climate denial, creationism, 9/11 “truthers” and so on. The acknowledgement of reality becomes a step too far out of the comfort zone, and people find creative reasons not to do that.

Now there are good reasons for staying in our comfort zones at times: the world is a dangerous place, and when you mess with what you do not understand you can get hurt. Where you have the most expertise is a good place for you to be in society and contribute the most, you earn the best salary in your field. Don’t take time considering ideas that are outrageous, it’s a waste of energy that will almost certainly not be rewarded.

But there are many reasons to step outside our comfort zones too: if you do not challenge entrenched ideas, how do you know they still hold true? If you don’t try something new, how do you know you aren’t passing up on something good?

Now I will make a confession: I am on the high-functioning end of the autistic spectrum, and I have some serious comfort zones, and major problems stepping outside them. I used to be quite unwilling to get outside my little zones of safety, until I absolutely had to.

But when I did, I found that more often than not I loved it. Every time I have learned something new, done something different, and even if I didn’t like what I did, well I’d tried…

So we should step outside our comfort zones sometimes. We should think outside the box. It does us good whether we are right or wrong. Remember that the next time you reflexively say “no!” to something…you could be missing out on a LOT of fun!

Taking time out

Today I took my friend’s dog for a walk in a riverside park. It was absolutely beautiful out there, and the Lesser Spotted Water Hound enjoyed romping in the water. There were some scultpures from felled and fallen trees nearby…


This wise owl watched us go by…and I LOVED this bench:


It came with built in books! Down by the river was another bench…the pictures aren’t so stable because my arm was being yanked out of it’s socket by a German shepherd…

DSC_0023 DSC_0021 DSC_0022

It was a fallen tree, re-carved as the river, with fish, and with several places to sit. Really enjoyed walking the crazy mutt, but was glad to hand him back afterwards!

Lydia’s Path, the series

Slave Girl: the Lydia’s Path series…

This series has become my biggest seller, and if you like it in BDSM, it’s somewhere in here – be it spanking, rope bondage, chains, human ponies, sex in every combination…yes, OK, I have a dirty mind. There’s no collection (yet) but it’s all still reduced to 99c a story…

Extremely Adult Content

“Tell me, dear,” she says, her hand resting on my knee, concealed from the rest of the clientele by the table, “what did you choose to wear under than skirt?”

A little thrill goes through me. She told me to wear my corset, as well as the rest of the ensemble I’m wearing, but she hadn’t specified panties. I swallow hard. This is a test, I think to myself.

“Well, Mistress, you didn’t specify panties so … I’m not wearing any,” I reply softly and breathlessly. I can feel my pussy grow moist and my nipples erect, so hard they are visible. All of a sudden, the chemistry between us has become very sexual.

“Truly?” Her smile widens, and my heart skips a beat. She likes what I did! Her hand slides up to the top of my stockings, under the hem of my skirt. Our eyes lock; I cannot look away.

“Yes, Miss,” I confirm. “I thought that if you intended me to wear panties you would have said so.”

“Oh, I would have, and I like that you understood.” Her hand slips higher, and her long-nailed fingers probe the soft curls around my sex. “You have lovely silky hair, my dear.” She strokes my ponytail with her other hand, and to any onlooker she is merely commenting on the hair on my head when she says, “Very nice hair for such a dirty slut, walking in here with no panties on.”

I gasp at her casual delivery. I’m not used to using such language outside the bedroom. Maybe it’s also the way she is teasing me under the table, as my wetness flows and my nipples harden.

“Th-thank you, Miss,” I reply, concentrating on sitting still as she plays with my pussy. “Yours is very beautiful, too,” I add with genuine admiration.

“Thank you, my dear, although I do shave. I insist on it with my slaves, as well,” she purrs to me. I catch the hint — she will want me to shave myself, or she will shave me. That’s something I have not done before.

Now her fingertips gently strum my clit. “And you moisturize,” she adds as her fingers dip into my slickness. “What a nice wet cunt.”

“Y-yes,” I pant softly. Her language is only turning me on more! “A girl should always moisturize.” I realize that her nipples are also erect; she is turned on by teasing me.

“How good is your self-control?”

Slave Girl Montage


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When Your Mind Betrays You

I don’t write full-time, like many other writers I know. What I do full-time isn’t a day-job, though. What I do full-time is look after a friend of mine. She has had some problems over the last few years, and it’s that kind of thing I’d like to talk about.

It’s not an easy subject though.

If she’d had cancer, or been in a severe accident, it’d be no problem people understanding the problem. But it’s not, it’s mental illness, and that’s a very different thing, at least as far as people’s reactions to it are concerned. You see, when you are mentally ill you very often do not look ill. You look normal, you just don’t act normal. People have a tendency to think that you are doing it deliberately, or are crying for attention, and it’s not that at all.

What happens with mental illness is that your brain, the most complicated organ in your body – in fact, the most complex thing we know of in the universe at large, barring none – is not working properly. It’s broken, not working properly. The worst thing is,  you may not realise that anything is wrong; after all, what you use to recognise changes in things is your brain, and that’s not working properly. You think everything is fine, or at least that the way you are behaving is reasonable in the circumstances.

You literally are not yourself when you are mentally ill, but a lot of the time people do not see it. That’s perhaps why we shun the mentally ill, or don’t treat mental illness the same as “real” illness. It is real, it can kill people, but there are not many easy cures and few truly effective treatments.

In my friend’s case it was severe depression. She came out of a bad relationship after putting everything she had into it, only for the asshole to dump her. She was shattered, she had nothing, and she was heartbroken; emotional pain is the worst kind of pain, because you can’t take a painkiller for it or do anything to alleviate it. Being low after something like that is natural, but the depression can be self-perpetuating: when you are low for a long period of time, it seems to change something in the brain’s chemistry that means you stay depressed, locking it into a kind of vicious descending spiral. I’m not a doctor, but I understand from what I’ve read that clinical depression isn’t just being down, which is natural, but an imbalance in the brain chemistry.

At any rate, my friend made a very real attempt at suicide.

That shook up a lot of people, me especially – I was the one who called the ambulance. What shocked me were the reactions of people.

“How selfish.”

“Why didn’t she think of her children?”

“She’s just crying for attention.”

This about a dedicated mother who always put other people ahead of herself, and never wanted the limelight. They knew that, they knew her, but the condemnation still came. It was easier to condemn than see that she was in so much pain that death seemed like the only way to make it stop, that her self-esteem was so low that she believed her children would be better off without her. Maybe it was easier to condemn than realise that maybe for things to get that bad, they’d let her down.

I’ve had my own brush with mental illness, some years ago; I knew that the person who was trying to swallow a bottle of pills was not my best friend but someone else. I knew she needed help, and all the condemnation would only make her feel worse – and I knew that I’d let her down to let things go this far.

So of her friends, some turned their nose up and left, some couldn’t handle it and had the decency to say so, and left, and I gave up on full-time writing and claimed carer’s allowance to look after my best friend, and a few other friends rallied around and lent their support.

It’s been a long, hard slog. I’m not the best mental health nurse, to put it mildly, but I could be there, I could listen, I could not condemn and I could take all the pills out of the house and get her to the doctor and ensure she took her medication and only her medication. I could take her food-shopping and try to  make sure she ate properly, and I could hug her when she cried. I could work with her other remaining friends to get her out of the house and doing things. But mostly, I listened as she talked herself out on every subject that was hurting her. Eventually, after many ups and downs, she started talking herself out of being down. She started asking why she’d invested so much time and energy in a man who was a self-hating jerk, why she loved someone who essentially didn’t love themselves and had probably never truly loved anyone else in their life.

And she started getting better.

She started acting like my friend again, and better than before as she found herself once more and living again. There are still bad days now and then, and there are times when she feels low, but these are less and less common. She has new interests, and has started her own business (which I’m helping out in), and while it isn’t making money yet might grow into something, who knows? She isn’t fully out of the woods, but the light is streaming in at the end of the tunnel.

I’m sharing this to say something to everyone out there: when someone you know isn’t acting like themselves,  it may be because there is something wrong. If they try suicide, it could be that they are in so much pain that death seems like the only way out. So try and be there for them, if you care about them. You don’t have to have a medical qualification to listen, after all, you just have to be prepared to give up a little time. It really can happen to anyone, weak or strong, and it could happen to you too.

Inspiration versus Perspiration

There is a saying that writing is he easiest job in the world: you just load up your word processing program, and stare at the blank screen until your eyes bleed.

Well, it’s not always that hard, but sometimes I wish it was that easy.

When I get inspired, writing is so easy. The words just seem to write themselves, and I can pour out four or five thousand words a day without even trying. Indeed, that’s how I started writing, with so many ideas coming out I didn’t know what to do with them. That’s why the Lydia’s Path series, my first major project, is such a smorgasbord of kinks: so many ideas, so little time!

Then it got hard.

My first dose of writer’s block was awful; I just ran out of ideas and found myself staring at the page…and nothing. It’s the most terrible feeling, like you are empty and can’t find anything to fill that void. You wrack your brains, but even when you know where you want the story to go, getting that bridge between what’s already on the page and what’s in your head eludes you.

Hot on the heels of running out of creativity came the procrastination: I have this to do, that to do. I should go on Facebook and promote my earlier works. I should tweet about what’s coming. Clean the house (anyone knowing me knows I have to be really desperate for THAT excuse to rear it’s head, or else my living room is about to spontaneously combust from the mess). Sign an on-line petition. Go check up on a sick friend. Trust me, if there is something I really don’t want to face, I’ll find a way to avoid it.

Then you finally have to get your shoulder to the grindstone and you have to force those words out. You have to beat yourself (I can’t get someone else to do it, I’d like it to much) into sitting down and writing just a dozen words…however many you can, every day.

Then, eventually, it clicks and suddenly you are flying again!

There’s no inspiration without perspiration, it doesn’t happen. But if you invest the perspiration, the inspiration is worth it. I wouldn’t do anything else in the world.

A World of “What if…”

A question I have been asked a lot is “How and why did you start writing erotica?”

Well, simply put, a friend asked me. I’ve always wanted to write, but never quite had the incentive to put it all together. I’d tried collaborating with another wannabe writer once on a Gothic horror project, but we ran out of impetus and he moved off to the USA and I am still fixing computers. Then out of the blue a few years back, he pops back up and tells me about an e-publishing company he’s setting up, and asks me if I’d like to try writing erotica…

That was how I started.

My first project, I sat down at my word processor and stared at a blank screen for a moment. So I am writing about BDSM, my personal little kink. I want to write a series of stories all interconnected, but where do I start?

Lydia popped into my head: She’s pretty, but a little shy, she likes being dominated but has had some bad experiences. She knows what she wants, but not how to get it. What does she do? Well these days if you are looking for someone to connect with there’s always the internet. But she’s had bad experiences, will she trust a man? Well, she might trust a woman, if she’s bisexual, but she’ll take precautions just the same.

Just like that, I had episode one of the Slave Girl series: Lydia meeting Mistress Trudy in a pub, and getting coolly seduced and controlled.

That was my first story, and the last in the series is still waiting to be finished!

Slave Girl #1

Slave Girl: the Lydia’s Path series…

It all started with an e-mail:

Dear Shysweet,

My husband and I are lifestyle Dominants who have Switched with one another but would both rather own slaves of our own. My husband’s secretary has become his slave and now lives with us, and I am looking to acquire a submissive of my own to satisfy my needs when they are travelling on business. Naturally, there will be an interview process and trial period, and the depth of the final relationship is open to circumstances and need. I am ultimately seeking a girl for a live-in position here at our home in the Home Counties, a full-time slave. Such a slave would, of course, be available to my husband as well as myself and would be required to have a good relationship with our other acquisitions. On occasion she may be required to entertain guests, with due consideration for safety and taste.

There will be dress codes, ranging from nudity to fetish-wear. Restraints will be used often, as will corporal punishment. Limits will be tested, but respected.

If you are interested in applying for interview to this position, please reply with a resume of your experiences to date and your potential expectations. Tell me your reactions to the outline of duties above and what you can offer to satisfy these requirements.

Yours faithfully,

Mistress Trudy

It led into a whole new world.


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