We have Moved

Hello people who follow us here.

After much deliberation, mainly about the name. We are now self hosted over at www.DomAndCub.com Please update your links etc and remember to turn the lights out when you leave.

Thanks HD and Cub

Moving boxes

So it seems I have a kink. Part Four

My next relationship lasted almost a decade. It was… safe. Everything about it. I resigned myself to the idea that I was one of those people who just couldn’t have orgasms. After a few years, I started reading erotica online, and once again I was drawn to the BDSM stories, but they were mostly about slaves and pain and humiliation, things that I found intimidating (and still do, to some extent). I found some more sites with more floggers and fewer cages, and that old flutter returned. A whim at an Ann Summers party had furnished me with a vibrator that gave me my first ever orgasm. Things were looking up.

The trouble is, he just wasn’t very good in bed. The hurried eruptions that had been quite flattering initially had revealed themselves to be all there was on offer. Suggestions of focussing on foreplay came to nothing. He’d made it abundantly clear he didn’t like going down on me, and wouldn’t use the vibe on me because ‘the buzzing made his hand feel funny’. When your sex life consists of fumblefumblepokepokewhoops and then he falls asleep while you get business done alone, is there any point bringing up any of your kinky fantasies? I tried; the handcuffs came out again, but he wasn’t really interested. We got a bit of spanking in there, but he kept stopping to apologise every time he left a mark. Sweet, but not really what I was hoping for.
I spent my twenties with a secret erotica habit and a husband who kept wondering where all the batteries are going. It all came to a head when I realised I’d had enough of being disregarded, and I embarked on life as a single mum

So I’m in my thirties single, with a head full of ideas and no clue what I’m doing. Erotica isn’t getting it done for me, and my faithful vibrator is on it’s last legs. Time to be brave and venture out into the world of BDSM, I guess…

So it seems I have a kink. Part Three

My next relationship started when I was 18. Initially long-distance, we quickly got engaged and moved in together. It was a relationship of highs and lows, and looking back on it now, I can see the warning signs I missed. He had a lot more experience than me, and I naïvely assumed that meant he knew what he was doing. We introduced a bit more kink into our sex life; handcuffs and a riding crop I still had from my pre-teen horsey phase. I now understand the value of doing proper research, because that hurt like a motherfucker, something he found highly amusing. He was a bully, even towards the dogs. He would pinch and twist my nipples too hard, something he knew I hated. He did it so much they went numb, and then complained when I didn’t want him touching them. Every time we had sex, he’d nag me for anal. We’d tried it once and I hadn’t liked it, but he kept going on about it, to the point I dreaded sex with him. When I broke up with him, he threw me across the kitchen and wouldn’t let me leave the house. I shouted for help until the neighbours called the police.

So, I’m twenty years old, I’ve just been rescued from my fiancé by the police, I have nowhere to live and I can’t feel my nipples. I asked for the things I thought I wanted, but it just hurt, and not the good way. And still no orgasms. Clearly, I thought, this BDSM thing isn’t right for me after all.

So it seems I have a kink. Part Two

My first boyfriend was dull as wallpaper paste. No idea what my 15-year-old self saw in him, except that at 21 he seemed a little more sophisticated than my peers. Losing our virginities was anti-climactic, as was every encounter we had afterwards. He seemed remarkably uninterested in sex, I’m not sure if that was with me or just in general.
We broke up when he returned from a holiday to Southeast Asia, announcing he’d met someone out there. As had each and every one of his friends who had gone out there with him. My friends all declared that he’d been taken in by one of the infamous bar girls, and ‘was he aware that his new girlfriend had a penis’. Sweet of them to try to make me feel better, but I think he just liked the culture of demure, submissive girls he found there. I had told him when I thought he was wrong, and he felt I embarrassed him.

So I’m sixteen, entirely underwhelmed with sex, and just lost my first boyfriend because I wasn’t enough of a doormat. Clearly, I thought, I’m not actually particularly submissive.

So it seems I have a kink. Part One

This isn’t really a surprise to me. I’ve been fascinated by BDSM since I first stole my mother’s New Woman magazines and read the clumsy exposés of life inside the Dominatrix dungeons.
Even at the age of ten or so, I was intrigued by the dynamic, the balance of power. The story they told was cliched; men with powerful jobs paying women to indulge foot fetishes and humiliate them, to assume the responsibility for them for an hour before they went back to offices and boardrooms. I couldn’t really understand either side of it, but I wanted to know more.
A few years later, I would read more magazines. This time they belonged to my brothers. Typical ‘lad’s mags’ I suppose, but I stumbled across an article about pet play. That part of my brain that wanted to understand sat up and took notice. From what I can remember, the female reporter had spent the day being a pony. Not something that appealed to me as a concept at the time, but the way she described the attention she received from her handler stayed with me. Gentle hands running over her, petting her, telling her what a good girl she had been. That made me go all fluttery. I wanted some of that. I started to read a little more, and I knew right away that I was never going to be comfortable in a dominant position, not for any length of time, anyway. But being tied up, being controlled, being spanked… Surrendering to someone who took charge. That was definitely more my thing.
So, I’m barely into my adolescence, never even been kissed and I’m having flutters over being spanked. Clearly, there was something there to be explored at a later date.

Cubs Pants

Crackers for under crackers

Knickers to you. Pants to others, and undercrackers to some oddities. There are many names for one’s undergarments and many styles. I am partial to the jockey shorts; snug fitting and no wedgies. Maximum comfort over style. Others like the full on wedgie and the G-string. They just don’t suit me.

Anyway, this post feels like it has two halves with no apparent link, but I assure you there is a link and not just pants. Hopefully it will be apparent by the end of the post because there are many things about the female underwear which I love. Let’s start with the accidental sneak peek.

Part One

You know the score, you are out and about in the supermarket, looking for the essential spice for your favorite meal. You look over and there is a woman crouched down. Looking at something on the bottom shelf. Her shirt slightly lifted, and her jeans slightly lowered, and her pants exposed for all to see.

Now you don’t want to look. No, that’s wrong. You do want to look but you know you shouldn’t. Seeing her there and her choice of pants, this little disclosure reveals a lot about the person in front of you. You can build a character just on what pants they are wearing. Yet you know it’s wrong and borderline voyeurism to look and it wasn’t what you expect in Tesco today, so you continue your shop.

However, you reach the artisan coffees and she is there. You now have a face to the pants. A person to your naughty view. Does she match the pants. This is a little awkward… well just for you, as she has no idea the sights you have seen.

Part Two

There is one thing with pants which I have yet to do. Well two, but I am rolling them up together… oh wait, it is literally rolling them up. I have always want to roll them up and use them as a gag.

There is a scenario in my head, where I yank down her underwear and force them into her mouth to keep her moans muffled while I have my wicked way. The idea that her used musky pants are now all she can taste and smell. There is something so delicious and filthy about the idea and the pants. It gives the dom in me a warm glow.

The other scenario is very similar, again we have rolled up pants but this time they are not heading to the mouth… well not just yet. This time they are heading for her wet pussy to be covered in her juices before she has no choice but to taste her own wetness on the thin material.


I will be honest, pants turn me on. I think the reason I like the above ideas and thoughts is that knickers are so personal and despite the supermarket adventure, rarely seen. They live so close to the most sexual of organs, that they are always going to be tied to sex in my head. I mean, my first wanks were to clothes catalogues and the underwear sections. Clearly I think that’s played a part in what I like as an adult.

It could also explain why I would find it more of a turn-on to see a women in her pants than in the nude. With nudity the full form is there. There is no imagination on what might be hiding behind the cotton white knickers and that takes some of the fun away for me. Then you have the G-String/thong which covers the front and accentuate the ass. (I will not say Ass-entuate)

While I am not into lingerie as such, I am certainly into pants and I don’t just mean getting into them and I won’t even start with my love of #Lingeanuary when pants turn up.

Who else is talking knickers? Why not take a look via the link below


Fail 404

Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.

Winston Churchill

This is a tough post for me. On Sunday I failed at being the person cub needed, and I failed at being the person I thought I was. It’s still raw and hard to process but I hope by writing about it, that it helps all involved and possibly others. Let’s start at the beginning.

Sunday was date number three with our potential third, who we shall call honey. (You can read about the first date if you want to get up to speed). As part of the date we had also arranged to attend a new play event for cub and I. Honey had been before and we believed she would be bringing her main partner. Turns out that misunderstanding was not to be the last.

It transpires that it was going to be just us and her, so this automatically seemed to heap more pressure on this date. Not only were we on date three but we were going to this new event where it kinda felt like we had to look after her. While a third wheel is not the right term, there was concern about how she would be with us playing. Would she just sit and watch?

This prompted Cub and I to speak at length about limits and rules before the event. Cub requesting things should be taken slowly and carefully and had concerns for what honey would do if we played. I think here is a good time to mention that we haven’t played in public before.

The event we usually go to, I see as social event above a play event. That’s without mentioning how the venue is set out, making the pay equipment almost feet like a stage. While I know cub would enjoy our time playing, the feeling of being watched is not something I would enjoy.

At Twisted it seems like there were places to play in every nook and cranny. You would turn a corner and find a soft bench or large bed. As the place is usually used for swingers events, nowhere was private but then nowhere felt like a stage. There was no feeling that you were being spied on and importantly, no one stood or sat and watched.  

The other reason I haven’t played with cub in public the fear I would miss things. When we play at home my concentration is 100% on her. There are no distractions, no having to move out the way of others. No noise of other people. Just us and it works.

At the event there is a St Andrews cross which cub has always wanted to try. We arrived early and it was still quiet so seemed like the perfect time to play and push myself and cub a little.

I fastened cub to the top of the cross and checked she was ok before I proceed to start our usual play routine. After a few minutes of a warm bottom from the flogging, I invited honey to come over and feel how warm it was. This was meant to be a small gesture to keep her involved and help cub get over her fears. What happened next was not part of the script. (sorry that sounds very clickbait)

While she was feeling cubs bottom, she proceeded to rub and stroke cub in other places. All over her thighs and sides, then moving on to kissing her body. I checked in with cub to see if this was ok and continued to flog her, while trying not to hit honey. Over the next ten minutes things went beyond what was agreed between cub and I. There was kissing on all sides, there was licking and there was finger fucking. Things which should not have happened, or at the very least not as quickly as they did.

This is where I failed. I got caught up in the moment and in the entire scene, and failed to stop or at least slow everything down. I failed to follow what we had agreed. I failed to understand what cub needed, including failing to spot moments when she needed me the most. The small gestures I would have picked up if my concentration was not all over the place, were sadly missed.

Even when checking in on cub, I should have known things were not going well from how she said it.  I was lost, and ultimately cub called a halt to everything and it was clear she was upset. I feel I failed on so many levels that it hung over the rest of the day.

I am not happy with how things happened and I am especially not happy with how I handled the situation. There were many times I should have called a halt to the events taking place. It will stay with me for a long time to come and serve as a reminder of how not great things can be.

Since then I have felt terrible about what took place. I’m trying not to beat myself up about what happened as we all make mistakes, but there is something else. There is massive amounts of guilt.

I feel guilty for making cub feel bad. I think that’s clear, but what I didn’t expect is the guilt for enjoying parts of what happened. In isolation, there were parts I thought were hot. Parts I literally had to stand back from as my tiny mind was blown. These moments I think made cub feel worse. So double up on the guilt.

On the positive side, cub did go beyond what she thought she could, and broke some new ground with her exploration. We have since talked about what took place and have both learned from the experience. This is the first time in our relationship that we have had any major kind of issue like this and I hope it serves as a reminder for us that while being human we might not get things right all the time. Each time you do mess up, you need to learn from it and I think cub and I have learned a lot from what happened.

I know we’ll be ok but I wonder if I’ve broken cub. Have I tainted this experience for her because she said stop or that things move so darn fast. I don’t know, but we’ll talk about this a lot over the coming weeks and months. We will overcome this and we will be more aware if anything like this happens again.

Cub’s thoughts on the event can be found here.