| ***NEWS FLASH*** Please join me on March 10th and March 24th at Central Station in Kings Cross for "COLLARED", the Masters and Slaves night. Great people and great action in a safe environment. Message me for more details if you're interested in coming along. And there's some more details on our site at collaredevents.com
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Hi all. I'm Simon, an imaginative, exploratory gay 47 year old dom living in central London. I'm very interested in sharing ideas and experiences and expanding my horizons. Despite being an experienced dom and master, I'm extremely sensitive and patient and so I work very well with novices and newcomers. I have never been into domination for the sake of domination. There must be a point to the whole exercise. My subs are always powerful, independent and trusted people. I wouldn't have it any other way. Please do contact me and say hello. Here's one of my recent poems. It says lots about what I look for and what I try to create. Hope you like it. He stares, naked, at the cold blank old damp wall, On tender knees, wrists and legs immovable, Focused on the ordeal to come, but he must wait. Behind him, the master decides his fate. Closer now, breath quickens, heart beats faster, Tummy trembles for fear of the torture master, What exquisite pain will befall his shivering skin? He waits for the torment to begin. Breathless for hours, then comes the flame, And then commences the torture game. Too late now, too enthralled and excited to forestall, As he waits, staring again at that cold blank old damp wall. The flame's glow dances in the darkened cell, he smells the wax, wincing as the droplets fell. Sizzling gently on the tender flesh, Groaning, writhing, pain and pleasure mesh. His skin now alive and tingling red, The torturer's strong arms carry him to the bed. Hot torment continues on his most tender places, His hard cock reflects the pain he embraces. With each fiery droplet he writhes and convulses, Deeper they plunge in their rampant impulses, The master deftly flips his twitching young man, To begin the next part of his torturous plan. Selecting a paddle from the pleasure rack, He caresses the leather across the boy's back. Then slaps the taut buttocks and makes the lad moan, They know that the bond between them had grown. Faster and faster the passion peaks, As the paddle danced loudly on the lad's reddened cheeks, On hands and knees, with his body alive, The paddle sliced hot sweaty air like a scythe. As the music reached deep to the lad's tortured being, Pain and fear of past minutes are rapidly fleeing, Then he arches and rears as his manhood explodes, In the tormentor's embrace his passion re-loads. Simon. 2007 |
