Thinking Over Coffee

Waking up, he stretches, bones popping and cracking as he slowly slides from the bed. His mind is already firing on all cylinders, like an electrical current of thoughts and images flowing seamlessly from one thing to another. It is a chaos he is comfortable with, and he doesn’t know how to be any other way. Deep inside, he knows If the chaos were to ever grow quiet and be stilled…he would cease to exist. He would no longer being the person that he is.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and runs his hand over his head, feeling his close cropped hair. It’s always short, and cut once a month, shaved almost down to the skin. For the last twenty-five plus years it hasn’t changed much. It is still just as dark as it was when he was in his late teens. Although, he has to admit, there is a just a little bit more grey showing these days.

There’s even more when his beard has grown out, and what that thought, he lathers his face with cream. Running the razor along his cheek, jaw and throat. It is a straight razor. One that once belonged to his grandfather, but still in excellent condition. He only started using it a year or two back, when he picked it up from the old home place. He smiles to himself, remembering the old man trying to teach him how to use one…and the bloody mess afterwards.

His mind continues to flow, going from one image to the next as he showers and dresses for the day. To an outsider, it would seem his thoughts were haphazard with no rhyme or reason to them. But, to him, it is a sense of organized chaos, compartments of information where everything is tied together by even the smallest of strands.

Making his way to the kitchen, careful not to wake the sleeping household, he pours himself his morning cup of coffee. It’s always one cup, every morning, over ice with a few drops of cream and a dash of sweetener. Then, content, he sits down at the breakfast table for a quick bite. Sipping his coffee, he continues to think and slips into an all too familiar compartment…

He can see her in his mind’s eye, soft body bared and exposed before his eyes. The beauty of her curves never ceases to amaze him, and the longing she evokes within him is almost overwhelming. He can feel the hunger for her burning him up inside, threatening to consume him completely. Does she realize just how much he hungers for her touch, and to have her body beneath him, responding to his touch?

Flexing his hand, he thinks about having her over his knee, ass raised and at the ready. He can almost feel the sting in his hand as he imagines bringing it down on her cheek. He can almost hear her yelp of pain and pleasure, at the first smack, as she tightens…anticipating more. He can see her legs, kicking slightly, as he alternates between each cheek, her yelps of pain turning into moans of pleasure. All the while, he’s holding her against his body with his other hand, letting her feel his arousal pressed into her side.

He snaps out of it just a bit, taking another sip of coffee as his thoughts shift to the concept of “impact play”. Does enjoying impact play make the one giving it a “sadist”? Does it make the one on the receiving end a masochist?

He doesn’t think so, because he isn’t a “sadist” in the strict sense of the term. He’s not into giving pain, strictly to give pain and doesn’t derive pleasure from inflicting pain or humiliation upon others. Impact play is interesting that way, and everyone is different. Some are into it because they are true sadists that take joy in being mean and brutal. While others…have a different outlook…knowing that there’s a time and place for everything. Knowing when too far is too far.

Though he has been known to use a paddle, or a brush, he doesn’t typically like to use implements in impact play. He prefers the feel of her flesh beneath hand and the pleasurable sting of his own flesh. This is a control issue for him, he likes to know just how hard he is striking and control the amount of force behind the impact.

He’s not opposed to open palm smacking her thighs, clit, ass and even breasts, savoring the intense look in her eyes. He’s also not opposed to marking her flesh, leaving her little reminders that make her smile later. But, he draws the line at permanent markings and damaging her beautiful flesh beyond repair. He will push her to her limits, and even beyond, but never hurt her for the sake of hurting her. And, striking her face is always out of the question.

His morning coffee finished, he makes his way out the door to greet the day…. the final thought on his mind as the door closes, “Even I have my hard limits.”

© AC Elliott, 19-Jul-18


My Offering

Meet me beneath a shade tree
Your eyes alight with primal desire
Once you’re there and close to me
Feel the flames of the smoldering fire
Fiercely beginning to ignite, burning bright
Embers of passion flowing from me to you
Radiating, carressing you soft and light
Illicit meetings with mutual moans and sighs
Needing your touch while you look in my eyes
Get down on your knees and drink my offering

©AC Elliott, 17-Jul-18

Soft Serve Ice Cream

Have you ever had soft serve ice cream? I’m sure you know the kind I am talking about. There is a machine in a restaurant with three little levers on it, side-by-side. The lever on the left serves vanilla, the one on the right serves chocolate and the center is a swirl of the two together. It comes out slowly, softly, spiraling as you turn either your cup or your cone until you have your sweet treat.

I was reading lil’Rabbit’s post the other day, and the analogy of swirled, soft serve ice cream came to mind. I don’t know, perhaps I was just craving something sweet on my tongue, lol. But, the analogy seemed to fit how I was feeling…

“…as to my opinion, vanilla and kink are a part of everyday life in the lifestyle. It’s like those soft serve cones, where the chocolate and vanilla are mixed. Both touch one another and taste good, either together or separate.”

Although, it would be nice to aspire to be in a 24×7 BDSM lifestyle, let’s face it…life gets in the way. Not only does life get in the way, it is all intricately connected. Vanilla and kink. You can’t have one without the other, and each touch upon the other in some way. In fact, there are times that you need to focus more on the vanilla (or the normalcy of life). Why? There are multiple reasons. (Keep in mind, these are just my opinions and you may/may not agree with them. That is OK too.)

First off, there needs to be a healthy balance in life. Too much of one creates an imbalance. Even when something is good for you, too much of it can be unhealthy. For example, water is obviously good for you, we need water intake daily and we’re made up of primarily…water. At the same time, too much water in one sitting can lead to water intoxication (which can be fatal). The same can be said (although hopefully not fatal) of vanilla and kink. Too much creates an imbalance, whether mentally or physically.

Secondly, sometimes we need to do vanilla “stuff” in order to appreciate what we have. It allows us to remember the reason we are who we are, it gives us a break physically (if we need it) and mentally as well. It allows us to look at our significant others with a fresh outlook and appreciation.

Lastly, everyone is different, as are their needs. Sometimes…we just need a little normalcy in our lives, a little vanilla. After all, when you look at ice cream…vanilla is the base for most of them to begin with.

I guess I am just in one of those rare moods this week and looking to share my thoughts. Anyways, thank you lil’Rabbit for bringing that analogy to mind. It’s always good when I am made to think a little bit.

Take care,

AC Elliott, 12-Jul-18

On Servitude

Recently I was asked to share my thoughts on “Servitude”. At first, I was a bit hesitant to broach this subject, because I have strong feelings about the topic and I didn’t want to come off as judgmental. On top of that, I was challenged to write this as a prose piece, over a poetic piece. Which, honestly, made me even more hesitant. However, I also realized that I was being pushed, that my requester had their reasons behind asking me to write my thoughts out in prose (rather than poetry). I respect that, and so…here you go:


What is “Servitude”?

Not that I didn’t know what the term meant. However, in preparation for this, I decided to look up the actual definition of “Servitude” and found multiple definitions. These are the two that chose to go with:

1. a condition in which an individual lacks liberty, especially to determine his or her course of action or way of life; specifically: the state of being a slave.

  1. the state of being a slave or completely subject to someone more powerful.

synonyms: slavery, enslavement, bondage, subjugation, subjection, domination

Hmmm…right out of the gates a negative tone has been set. Slavery, enslavement… those are two major trigger words to insight a riot, especially in today’s culture and climate. All I could see was the negative connotation behind the words. Slavery…as in the shackling of a person’s free will? That is unheard of and not a part of my vocabulary. At the same time, I began thinking about the concept of servitude, separate from the concept of slavery.

Now, please keep in mind… I am not a Master. I do not ascribe to the label of Master, nor the dynamic of Master/slave. Also, none of this is meant to attack anyone that does practice that lifestyle either. To each their own, and whatever suits their needs…well, is what suits their needs. I’m not here to judge or be judgmental. I say all that, to explain that I approach the idea of “servitude” differently.

The question at hand is… what is “servitude” in the BDSM lifestyle? I’ve seen it further defined as “performing personal tasks for their dominant partner, as part of their submissive role in a BDSM relationship.” Therefore, servitude isn’t limited to the M/s lifestyle. Instead, you will find it throughout the various lifestyles, regardless of whatever label you choose to claim (although, I believe we are each more than just a label, but that is a topic for another day).

Just as each submissive and each Dominant are different, so are their needs. Unless they are strictly bedroom submissives limiting their activities mainly to play, many (and perhaps most) submissives have the basic need to serve. That is one of the things that makes them submissive to begin with. They derive pleasure and satisfaction from serving their Dominant in some way, shape or form. Failure to please their dominant in whatever ‘personal task’ he/she is to complete, has an emotional impact on them (even beyond the punishment aspect of BDSM).

So, what does servitude look like to me?

To me, it flows both ways and is only achievable through communication of one’s needs. I believe that the best Doms should have a servant’s heart. I know what you’re thinking… “what are you talking about!? A Dom with a servant’s heart…” Follow along with me. The Dominant should always be aware of the submissive’s needs, and be working to meet their submissive’s needs. Just as the submissive should be working to meet the Dominant’s needs. This isn’t a one-way street. The Dominant isn’t the only one whose needs are to be met. If that is the case, the relationship will crumble and fall apart. That being said, the Dominant should always be serving (hence the servant’s heart) the submissive’s needs, by being aware of what those needs are and meeting them.

Meeting the submissive’s needs for servitude can be achieved in multiple different ways. For example, this can be done through giving “tasks”, or by setting expectations (for something more long-term arrangement). Let me just say, I don’t believe in giving tasks just for the purpose of giving tasks. Whatever is asked, should be done to benefit and build the sub, and/or to meet their needs. Anything else is just a waste of time and nothing more than rote punishment for doing nothing wrong.

Likewise, she should be working to meet my needs, whatever they may be at the time. Most of those kinds of things can be worked out, especially in a long-term, permanent arrangement. Whether it be ironing shirts, pouring a drink, rubbing of shoulders, cooking supper…you name it… every need is different. Here’s the thing though, I don’t want a submissive to do it just because I gave it to her as a task to complete…or else. I want them to do it because they want to do it for me, because they know in return I am working to take care of them and to meet their needs as well. If that makes any sense?

As for me, personally, I need a submissive that will push me, and challenge me. No, not in a bratty way. (Although, don’t get me wrong, that can be fun too.) I’m talking about intellectually. I’m talking about seeing what my needs are instinctively, and serving me, because she knows…that’s what I need.

Well, this has been a fun exercise, and while you may or may not agree with what I have said…I hope I have either enlightened you, or made you think, in some way.

Take care,

AC Elliott, 11-Jul-18

Rambling Thoughts from a Tent

The morning sun rises illuminating the tent, where he lays, thinking, listening to the light rain pelting the fabric above his head. His mind is wandering, still half in a dream state, traversing the byways of his chaotic mind, like interconnected highways leading to everywhere and nowhere all at once. Finally, it settles on its course, and he isn’t surprised at the course it has taken.

In his mind’s eye, he can see two people, she is kneeling in subjugation, ready to worship and be worshipped in return. He is standing before her, stroking her hair as she leans against his upper thigh. It is an intimate moment, where her submission recognizes his dominance. That moment where both know they have found what they’re searching for… the flip side of their own coin. The Master to her slave, the Daddy to her little, the Dom to her sub…and the labels go on and on.

His thoughts continue along this trail, watching this intimate moment blossom even more. Like a voyeur, he watches the man feed the woman, as she hungrily swallows his cock. He watches as she offers herself up to him to be marked, claimed, taken and owned. He watches as they both give in to their primal, carnal needs, his hand around her throat as he exploded deep into her womb, filing her with his seed.

He watches and watches, until the sun is fully risen and it is time to get out of bed. Then, he wonders, is he the only one that has these thoughts?
©AC Elliott, 6-July-18