Still single, just sayin’

I’ve been getting cute little congratulations about this very misleading post.

It’s super sweet and I do appreciate that people are happy about my apparent coupledom.


In case you missed it, Drew is gay. Like Double Gold Star gay, as gay as the day is long (and I mean days-at-the-North-Pole-in-the-middle-of-summer kind of long). Still, I’m putting together a registry for cute couples gifts. Because yes :P.

All that to say: Come at me, amazing submissive men. I’m still single.

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My fabulous American boyfriend

We don’t get to see each other often, and we never have enough time together.

But he reminds me of all the good things in the world. And every moment we spend together is a gift.

Champagne and hugs and intimate chat.

More of all of those please.

Edited to add: More about my (gay!) American boyfriend here and here

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You can

We are all scared, I said.

I know but I’m really scared.

Of what?

Everything. I’m scared of everything.

Well cut that shit out. A short laugh. Not unkind.

I can’t.

You can. Pick them out one at a time, those fears. A small one first. Take out your sword and your shield and brandish them like a warrior in full flight. Run at it hard. Like your life depends on it. When you get closer you’ll see: it’s not so big. Then pick the next one. Fight those battles.

I can’t.

You can. Here, take my sword. It is old and worn, but sharp like a razor. Straight and true.

I can’t.

You can. You will get stronger after the first one, and the next one, and the one after that. I’m right here. I’ll back you up. You can do this.

I can?

You can.

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Sharyn Ferns: Femdom Author

Here’s a preview of what I’ve* been doing in the silence: A dedicated web page for the books I’m not writing :P. It’s so pretty!

*and by ‘I’, I mean ‘me and My Fabulous Man Who Knows Everything’ (MFMWKE just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?) who found a solution for every problem for me, even (especially) the ones I created myself with my exuberance and lack of skill.

Launching soon with champagne and glitter and maybe free stuff *smile*.

The underlying truth of it is that having projects to work on helps me to heal, to feel better, more positive, to get outside of my own head. Achieving things is fun and having challenges is distracting. All of those things are good for me right now.

That vs moping around feeling sorry for myself (the temptation is there, trust me).

This weekend, I will catch up with Drew, my gorgeous American boyfriend: we will have drinks and food and whisper secrets to each other. After that I will travel to visit family, which will also be full of drinks and food and (much less interesting) secrets.

And then maybe, MAYBE, I will be in a better frame of mind to write more of substance. I can’t promise anything, but I’m hopeful.

I’m sending the web address to the lovely folks on my mailing list so they can have a sneak peek: are you on it yet? Why not?

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Exhausted and angry

I’m tired of expecting people to do the right thing.

Even more, I’m tired of feeling like I can’t expect them to do the right thing.

It’s utterly exhausting and depressing to expect the worst of people.

I don’t want to. Truly I don’t. And I try really hard to keep it at bay, to hang onto that smiling wide-eyed optimism that I used to have in droves.

I think it makes me an uglier person when I let it in, that bone-wearying cynicism. It makes me feel like a lesser person, a weaker person. Walking around in the world being suspicious of people, of their words, of their intent, of their motives. It makes me feel like a small scaly creature that scuttles from shadow to shadow hissing at anything that comes close.

I don’t feel like that’s me. Not really.

But you know what, sometimes that’s exactly me.

I want to believe the best of people. Always.

But those times when I do that, and I’m let down over and again make me feel like I am foolish for trying. That sharp voice niggles in the back of my mind, chuckling quietly, going ‘I told you so’. And above all I feel foolish for having believed.

And I’m not going to talk politics because that’s not what I do here, but it feels like I am watching the world burn while I am mired in my petty issues.

It’s exhausting and I’m so tired.

Maybe we should just burn it all to the ground and start again.

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e[lust] #92

Welcome to Elust 92

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #93 Start with the rules, come back April 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Feeling Forced

NEEDY – a black obsession


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

“One Man Is Not Enough For You.”

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Safewords in Kink Life and in Kink Fiction

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Continue Reading

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Happy Femdom Story: Mundane Brilliance

I am so excited! A happy femdom story. YAAAASSSS!!

I haven’t had one on the blog for ages, and this story is a complete delight and I’m so happy to share it. We all have different paths and sometimes they are difficult and drawn out, but when you end up where you are supposed to be, you know it all played out as it needed to.


Author: Mundane Brilliance

I can’t tell you when I first knew I wanted to dominate my partners. I’m sure I always did. Looking back, I was often the one “on top.” In charge. On top physically and mentally and all of that. I didn’t equate it to whips and chains and handcuffs — if anything, I toyed with the idea of being sexually submissive, because that just seemed to be the sort of thing open to women. Female dominants were whip-wielding, latex-wearing harridans, and I certainly didn’t feel like I fit that mold.

Fast forward to a long marriage, sometimes good, sometimes bad, but in the end, bad enough that I needed to get out of it.

Shortly after that…


My boy.

He’s not what I ever might have thought I wanted, if you’d asked me to make a list, and yet he’s everything I need and want, and I am overjoyed to have met him. We were friends first, for a good long time. Never talked about sex, or D/S, or what we liked in a partner. We joked and teased and supported each other in our work, and built a friendship that, if not supremely intimate (I was married, after all) was definitely a foundation.

And now, here we are, two people amazed that we didn’t know, when we met, how we would fit together. How we could possibly have managed to figure out a way to make this work, not just on a friends-to-lovers scale, but also on the D/S spectrum.

For him, I am Ma’am. I’ve been Ma’am from the start, from when we changed from friends to lovers. He is my wolf, my loyal partner, my boy, my love. He is protective and obedient and loyal, and we have played with ways of exploring that and figuring out how it all works in our daily lives, not just the bedroom.

I am Ma’am. He is Mine.

Beyond the sex play, the toys and positions and exploring new things. We work together on an intimate and consistently fruitful level. We work together. We are partners. He is not “less than” because he submits; if anything, his constant willingness to serve me has made him more equal to me than any partner I’ve ever had.

We fit together and we work together, because it’s important to us to keep moving forward.

Oh, yeah, and the sex is volcanic.

I never thought I’d have this with anyone, much less a permanent partner who was as much invested in it as I was.

I’m really, really lucky.



This post is part of an ongoing project to share happy, positive femdom relationship stories.  If you have a story and are willing to share it, please email it to me (ferns -at- domme-chronicles -dot- com).

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There is more, of course, there is a story. There is always a story.

I make my choices, even if the choices aren’t so healthy for me, or for others. I make them, I own them.

I am not surprised by how it played out, and I am grateful for that lack of surprise: my instincts are sound and they serve me well.

There is some hurt, some anger. But mostly I am sad.

Feeling a little lonely if I’m honest. It’s rare for me to feel lonely. Even though I am most often alone.


I might write about it soon.

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The new normal

I believe that prolonged exposure to a lot of things can normalise them. Over time, we internalise them as ‘the new normal’, and we just get on with it. The ramifications of this idea are huge in general, but I’m only thinking about it on a tiny scale based on how I’ve been feeling recently.

(And the reason I’m thinking about this is entirely not kink related: Kink?! On a kink blog? DON’T BE RIDICULOUS!)

I used to work in a very stressful job. Other than ridiculous hours, lots of long-haul travel, heavy responsibilities, complicated problems, and huge budgets, it was especially stressful for an introvert like me because it involved a lot of ‘schmoozing’. You know schmoozing: when you have to socialise with clients so that they like you and want to do business with your company. Ugh. I was good at it (I’m very likeable you know!), but it was hateful.

My ‘normal’ was just a big pile of stress, all of it, all the time. No big deal.

Now I have pretty much no stress in my life. It’s completely lovely. That’s ‘the new normal’.

But the downside of that is that now when I have some relatively minor stress in my life, it feels like a behemoth and my entire body reacts like it’s the end of the world. I’m a bucket of jangly nerves and distraction. I can’t think about anything else, I can’t sleep, I can’t relax, I just turn it over in my head: over and over and over. It loops round and round, showing slightly different variations each time. And then because I can’t sleep, my tired cranky brain cycles it up. It is fucking exhausting. And wow, does it ever make me boring. Because I can’t think about anything else.

My ‘new normal’ has robbed me of whatever coping skills I had that enabled me to deal with stress. It’s like how muscles atrophy if you don’t use them and after a while, you struggle to lift even the lightest things.

So the catalyst for this post: I’ve been having some turmoil around my living situation. Hopefully it will all be sorted by tomorrow.

But in the meantime, I have been feeling like a spiky self obsessed mess. Those close to me have had a running litany of random blurting and an utter lack of interest in anything to do with anything else. It’s like a rude and distracted and (even more) selfish version of me has been stalking around demanding attention.

I’m lucky, it happens rarely, but boy is it ever a wake up call when it does. I probably need to find ways to exercise those skills or one day I’ll find myself curled up in the foetal position in the corner because I forgot to buy coffee*.


*This, by the way, is a bad example because that seems an entirely reasonable reaction to not having coffee in the house.



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How great would it be if…

… the accounts with a label of ‘dominant woman’ that have obviously stolen super-hot pictures and wank-text would all hook up with the mindless horny idiots who drool over them.

Online-only, of course, because duh.

Those dudes could wank away together forever with the hot sexy chat and stupidity and be perfectly happy and leave the rest of us alone.

Case in point:

*’Woman’ posts hot pictures that are easily verified as ‘not her’ via google image search*

‘Her’ profile/ads/multiple postings: “Looking for a slave I love ALL THE FETISHES especially yours yes you with your hard dripping cock get on your knees NOW bitch you will give me total control because I’m a powerful mistress and you will be my slave and lick my hot wet pussy all day long because I love that too let me explicitly explain how much I want your eager tongue in my asshole and how we will do all the fetishes that you love because I love them too and… etc etc…”

Drooling brainless en masse: “Oh Mistress u r so dominate pick me pleease my cock is so hard for u…” 

*they skip off and mutually do their wankery happily every after*


Oh what a wonderful world that would be… *dreamy sigh*.

But nooooo… what happens is that the dudes come back and whine when ‘she’ inevitably asks for money, which is, of course 100% entirely predictable. They’ll be all “THERE ARE NO DOMINANT WOMEN ALL OF THEM ARE FAKES AND SCAMMERS AND AND… WAAAAHHHH…’

Rinse and repeat.

It’s just…


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