When I first met him, he scared me. Suited and slightly aloof, I didn’t interact with him much and so I didn’t get to see the man inside the suit.

The man inside the suit took time to tell me the ingredients of his epic curry, to make sure it was gluten free and I could eat it. He did this for the 2 other curries he introduced over time. He wanted to make sure I’d be fed.

I’d only been going to Miss T’s for a few weeks when the demo butt couldn’t make it in for a workshop. I was asked and happily volunteered. Animal was very thorough in communicating what toys he had, how hard he’d go (lightly as it was a demo and I was new) and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience when I was still nervous about asking people to play with me.

And it most assuredly wasn’t the last time. We’d play quite regularly. I’ve written about him a few times,

He was one of the whippers in one of my multi whip scenes, Dripped wax on me for Smut wax play , played at the top end of my tolerances (several times)  and broke me (again several times) but notably on my 40th Birthday.

We would play up to each other. It was a wonderful show for everyone to watch, a stand-off between sadist and masochist. Animal always won.  But oh, we had so much fun playing.  He took run ups. He’d deny it but I could see him in the damn mirror. And He’d use all his most feared implements on me.

The crocodile and alligator tails (yep, totally real) ,a real Sjambok and a heavy tawse were favourites.

And the oak paddle that eventually became a hard limit. After a couple of times where here broke me with it. He was very proud to be on my hard limit’s list because of that oak paddle. He’ll always be on my hard limits list, a tribute to his impact in my life.

There was one item he had, I can’t remember it precisely. I think it was a long, thin and heavy rubber implement. He was very excited to show it off and use it on me. He hit me.

“Oooh, that’s lovely!” I exclaimed. He huffed, looked disgruntled and hit me again, reaaaallly hard.

“Ooooh,” I left a gap, just to see if the sensation would change, “No, no, It’s nice! I really like it!”

He was so annoyed, he growled and threw it across the dungeon then got out the heavy tawse and hit me with that to get the response he really wanted. I couldn’t help laughing then and I laugh now remembering the time this masochist won.

He was on my list of recommended Doms. I’d happily direct people to him for play because he was always respectful, always safe and always diligent. He had a hard outside but such a soft, squidgy inside.

My kid was once quite overwhelmed on only their second visit to Miss T’s. Animal showed them dog pics to calm them down and make sure they were okay.

Animal was a big fan of our Smut tombola. Many a time winning (and often putting back) most of the prizes just to get that one thing he really wanted. He put together our tombola drum for us and fixed it twice, without any pay. In fact, when I gave him a bottle of red for his work putting it together, he pretty much gave it me back until I told him I didn’t drink wine.

He helped at every one of our smut events, along with Miss T and Jay. He was always ready to lend a hand and was always on the look out to make sure everyone was safe and happy.

He had so many wonderful stories he’d gleefully share. He was witty and he was charming. I could sit for hours chatting to that man. And it breaks my heart to think I’ll never be involved in long, in depth conversations with him anymore.

The social room at Miss T’s will be quiet without him.

I’ll miss the eager hellos and tight, suited hugs. I’ll miss him moaning about the length of Miss T’s to do list, and the number of anal toys he won on our tombola. I’ll miss his crazy cocktails when drunk. His eye sparkle and hand rub when I’d agree to play and the sadistic smile which would spread across his face whenever he was being mean.

The fun mean. He was never nasty. Not once.

I’ll miss his teasing of Jay, his fierce protectiveness of his mug and the way he’d eat all the mint matchmakers.  I’ll miss him handing me a note (a tenner, sometimes twenty) for the tombola.

“Want any change?” I’d always ask.

“Nah, you’ll only take it of me eventually anyway.”

And the way he’d try and get a prize for the 452 every time.  That was his army number, his lucky number *his* number. We never gave him a prize. But he kept the 452 ticket once.

So when we can have tombolas again, there will be a special 452 prize. A mean, wicked, evil hitty thing which Animal would approve of. When people ask us why 452 is a winner, we’ll be able to tell them all about Animal. And his legend will live on.

He was a legend.

A meanie.

A friend.

I will miss him and his run ups.



TW: Blood







Animal’s impact on my arse, 40th Birthday Devil with horns made by that damn oak paddle!