I’m not gonna lie, I absolutely lost my mind at one key moment in this piece. Nearly slid right off my office chair and onto a crumpled, horny heap on the floor. Please welcome back the fabulous Komplicated Kitty, who some of you might remember from her red-hot piece ‘bring it, babe‘ back in November. She’s here today with an account of another intensely sexy BDSM scene, in which her Master orders her into her collar, and then to go clean the kitchen floor. Read on for humiliation, degradation and one very slutty Cinderella…

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This fabulously hot story about kink, ownership, longing and a shirt is written and read by the brilliant JM Seaborn of WrittenInKink. Note that it contains ‘Daddy’ as an honorific, all participants are over 18. 

She doesn’t have to be up yet. She’s still in bed. One leg hanging invitingly outside of the blanket. I have to ignore it because I’m late for work and there is no time to climb back into bed and add to the bruises I gave her last night.

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One of the things I love about kink is the challenge of it, when it’s hard. Being pushed within boundaries by a dominant and feeling that rush of knowing you took something hard. Today’s incredible guest blog, by Komplicated Kitty, is exactly that – a gloriously hot, intense kink scene which made me feel like I was being pushed along with the author. And hurt, satisfied, whipped, beaten, nudged… it’s glorious.

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This incredibly hot fantasy about getting fucked in a wedding veil is written and read by JM Seaborn of Written In Kink. Note that this story uses ‘Daddy’ as an honorific – everyone in this story is a consenting adult. 

I had a notion. A question. A daydream. A fantasy. What if we had known each other before? When we weren’t allowed to know each other – at least not in the way we know each other now. Would you notice me? Would you want me? Would the hidden sub in you be able to spot the dominance in the softly spoken giant in front of you?

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Some men have worried in the past that they’re not able to dispense exactly the kind of love that I crave – i.e. relentless praise, on an almost minute-by-minute basis, lest I wilt like a houseplant you’ve forgotten to water. To be honest, I often find myself worrying about this too. In an ideal world I’d be the recipient of an almost constant stream of written, physical and verbal encouragement – reminders that I’m sexy, fun, valid, wanted, loved. A good girl. I need this kind of thing so much that those I rely on to help me feel loved might think it borderline sarcastic to plough on even during the (frequent) periods when I’m not doing much to deserve it. I understand this. But there are other ways to make me feel loved, and one of the ways I practice love in return is by noticing and mentioning them…

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