Visiting my Muse

Foot play and improvisational genius

2009-04-11T16:03:00.000-07:00

After having me spend the day in locked leather ankle cuffs at the workplace, S and I returned to her place and engaged in our usual ritual of her putting on my collar and clipped leather wrist cuffs on me. As we relaxed to wind down from the day, at one point she laid one of her legs across my thigh, and I couldn't help but to start gently rubbing and massaging her foot.

As she was pondering her next move, I slowly brought her foot to my face, and inhaled its sweet, sweet fragrance. I gently started licking the sole of her foot and her toes, and I felt and heard her moan softly to the delicate treatment I was giving her. While I was very focused on her foot, and couldn't really see her at the angle I had, it felt like she lost her train of thought, leaned back, and enjoyed my gentle ministrations.

S exhaled deeply when I started to run my tongue between her toes while holding up her leg in the most comfortable way I could. I continued for a minute or two as I enjoyed the wonderfully delicate taste and smell of my side of the experience, and was completely taken over by the vibe she was emanating, one of relaxation, pleasure, and dominance.

Just a few seconds later, I was lying on the floor, knees up with my feet on the ground, and S had assumed a slighlty reclining position against my thighs while sitting on the lower part of my stomach. At first, I worked on one foot some more... smelling... massaging... licking... caressing... She pushed her toes gently into my mouth, and I struggled a bit to position my mouth in a way that would give me the best access to her toes, and yet, not force her foot into an uncomfortable angle.

Shortly following came the other foot, and I totally got intoxicated on the sweet fragrance overwhelming me from having both of her feet covering my nose and much of my face. I couldn't focus enough at that point to formulate a good plan to continue S' fetish spa treatment.

A whole body shiver overtaking me from the sensations and the dominating energy she was radiating, I let go of her feet for a moment while my cuffed hands moved over head for a brief stretch. As I accidently hit the wall behind me with my hands, not aware of how close I was to it, S used one of her feet and pinned my hands against the wall, maybe 15-18 inches off the ground.

Suddenly I was trapped, and the scene turned from sensual to gently sadistic in the time of a breath. With my arms pinned overhead and behind me, my body was stretched out, making me feel her weight much more significantly (for the record, S has a splendid physique, and she is quite light under other circumstances...). My breathing became significantly more demanding, and in such a vulnerable position, the veil of subspace was quickly covering me.

My mind lost in the sensations of her spur-of-the-moment dominant creativity, it exploded into fireworks as S reached for my nipples and started playing with them. Her exquisite torture of my nipples is always powerfully overwhelming, a incessant crescendo as her pinching brings on the reactions I know S craves. My moans and my gentle squirming escalate as she tortures them harder, and inevitably, the greater intensity of the torment brings on more of the reactions she wants to get out of me.

Partly immobilized in this particularly vulnerable position, my breathing getting more difficult by the minute, the intoxicating pain of my nipples being pinched, scratched, poked, and tortured harder and more intensely without reprieve, the feeling of her lust for my suffering almost palpable, the excitement of her creativity and this instantly improvised predicament ,and the view of her beautiful, sadistically smiling face from the bottom, I don't know if I've ever gotten into such deep subspace in so little time...

Not your regular kind of nap

2009-03-09T06:34:00.000-07:00

The sweet, gentle ecstasy of lying down next to my Goddess for a half-hour nap... that became 45 minutes, and then almost 90 minutes...

The warmth of her body against mine, her head resting gently on my chest and one thigh over my hips and mid-section, I savored every minute of our closeness tight under the covers. She had unclipped my wrist cuffs for us to be more comfortable, and she held my left hand as my right hand went around her back to her waist. I was careful with each movement lest I hurt her or wake her up dragging the buckle of the wrist cuffs, or the small locks that secured them, against her skin.

My legs were still bound by the ankle cuffs clipped together. As she occasionally shifted her position slightly, I could feel the restraints keeping my feet about 6 inches apart. The helplessness was intoxicating as I was not only limited in my movements, but worse, I could not risk moving or such awkwardness would surely wake my Goddess up.

Deep in subspace from earlier activities, and S' wishes to enjoy a nap with me mostly bound at her side, I drifted in and out of sleep. My head was spinning from this gentle and yet powerful situation. I gasped quietly when during her sleep she reached up and took hold of the central D-ring on my collar with one finger. I wasn't sure how conscious that was since her deep breathing barely paused for an instant while she did that, and resumed immediately after. If my submission to her wasn't complete before that point, it was absolutely total when I felt the light tension on the collar, and I felt her asleep in this position. Now even moving my head had a risk of waking her up.

My on-and-off sleep with her, in this strangely immobilizing bondage, with my Goddess right next to me, in fact partly over me, was incredibly overwhelming. My headspace had nowhere to anchor itself, except in my submission to her and my love for her...

Waiting for his Goddess

2009-02-09T06:54:00.000-08:00

The butterflies he had been feeling all morning since he had awakened were now at their most intense as he started climbing the stairs to her apartment. From the moment he started seeing her several weeks back, the anticipation of any kind of meeting with S just overwhelmed him with excitement and nervousness.

He unlocked the front door and walked in looking for his Goddess. As he made his way toward her bedroom, he found her coming out because she had heard him. Her smile never failed to melt his heart, and she looked as radiant as ever, despite the fact that she had slept in a bit and had not yet finished getting ready.

S came up to him for a kiss and a hug, which he so looked forward to every time he saw her. As she pulled away after the renewal of their physical connection, touching again after difficult hours apart from each other, she had that mischievous smile and twinkle in her eyes that he had come to recognize as a sign of her wanting to express her dominance over him.

Whether he was ready to submit to her or not, she had already decided what he was going to be doing while she finished getting ready for her day. She took him to their little dungeon area they had improvised just the day before, and told him he was wearing far too many clothes. As quickly as he could, he removed every piece except for his underwear, and he fell to his knees, assuming a proper submissive she seemed to have found pleasing previously.

After giving him a delicate caress down both sides of his head, and planting a delicate kiss on his lips, she reached back to take the collar lying on the shelf behind her. He bowed his head as she firmly placed the collar around his neck and buckled it. She again reached back to take the leather handcuffs, and without delay, had placed and buckled those around his wrists. Grabbing hold of his hair, she backed him into position under the wire shelf that doubled as an overhead rack to which she clipped the leather handcuffs above his head, a little more than shoulder wide.

Quite satisfied looking down on her work, feeling a rush from seeing her prince helpless and in her power, she reached back once more to pick-up the blindfold. She lifted his chin to look into his eyes one last time, gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, and buckled the blindfold around his head. At that point, she teasingly told him not to go anywhere… she had a few things to take care of. And then she walked away, leaving him alone, bound, deprived of sight, and wondering how long she would be away. He felt himself give out slight whimper as his Goddess left him.

On his knees, wrists locked overhead, his bondage position was not difficult to be in at the start, but it was awkward to maintain for more than a few minutes at a time. He had to shift leg positions fairly regularly, unable to stand on his knees because of the wall behind him pushing his torso out with his hands above and slightly behind him, and unable to kneel and rest on his ankles/forelegs because the rack to which his wrists were attached was too high. He found a position in-between where he could cross his legs and lay his back again the wall that was the most bearable, but even this one was not one he could keep for more than maybe 4 or 5 minutes. In fact, very rapidly he realized he had lost his sense of time. In bondage, in darkness, teased by the scurrying of his Goddess a few rooms away, his shoulders and knees increasingly uncomfortable, he felt his hold on the real world begin to slip, and his submission to S deepen.

After an undetermined amount of time, S did come back to check on him. He had actually lost track of her activities, simply focusing on her in his mind. He could almost see her, almost feel her, and images and emotions from other encounters with her raced through his mind. He only realized she was coming up on him when she came into the room next to where he was bound, the sound of her boots against the carpet the only thing giving her away.

She entered their makeshift dungeon, and asked how he was doing. She was as pleased by his visible discomfort, and quickened and shallow breathing at feeling her there, as she was at him being fine. She crouched down, gave him a kiss, and ran her finger around the edges of his lips. His tongue darted out to find her finger, to feel the softness of her skin and the shape of her beautiful long nails, but she admonished him for the gesture, and as he fell back against his bondage, she resumed her teasing. She told him not to move a all, and then brought her finger into his slightly open mouth. He remained as still as could in order to not disappoint her.

After a few moments of running her finger over his lips, occasionally teasing his tongue with her beautiful long nail, she ran her nails down the front of his body, making sure there was extra pressure on his nipples. Coming back to his nipples, she pinched them, let go a bit, and pinched a little harder, repeatedly, until his moaning reached a level of intensity that sent tremors through her body. S so loved those sounds he made, and his reactions to her ministrations just excited her to a degree that kept surprising her after all these weeks.

S still needed to finish getting ready, and once more she teased him not to go anywhere, and walked away, shutting the closet door behind her. Locked in place, his mind reeling, his body still feeling the after-sensations of her every touch, scratch, pinch, and squeeze of the last few minutes, he was peacefully resigned to fall back into his bondage, to fall back into subspace. Bound, in darkness, sensorially overloaded, and with the door shut closed, unable to make out any more sounds of his Goddess' activities, his mind has reached the nexus he so craved, and the surrender he so wanted to give S.

An undetermined period of time passed... it could have been 2 minutes or 20... when S returned and announced they would have to be leaving soon. His mind was almost too far lost into her to be overwhelmed with the sadness that typically accompanies this moment, but he still felt a whimper come from his chest. But then he heard a familiar sound, one of his favorite, and despite his lack of ability to focus, he realized that she had lit a cigarette.

The smell reached his nose, and once more his breathing grew rapid and shallow in excitement. She drew her lips close to his, and he knew what was expected of him. He met her lips, tried to create as good of seal as possible, and took a deep breath in upon her exhaling into his mouth. Slowly, he took his turn to exhale off to the side, and once more confirmed in his drifting but peaceful mind just how much he enjoyed accepting that from her, how thrilled he was with the powerful symbolism of this simple action.

Before he could quite visualize the amazing scene, S closed in again, and repeated the cycle... several times. Each time, he felt that she was exercising her will over him, that she was enjoying the power that he had surrendered to her. He just could not get enough of what this... He just could not get enough of her...

He knew coming in at the beginning that they had about 40 minutes before they had to leave. At this point, when she put out the cigarette, before she would release him, he would only hope that S enjoyed expressing herself on the canvass of his body and of his mind.

"So... do you actually enjoy pain?"

2009-01-17T07:29:00.000-08:00

Well... for me, it's really a matter of context.

Toothache? No.

Nipple clamps? Yes.

Stub my small toe against a table leg? No.

Paddling/flogging? Yes.

Kidney stone? No.

CBT? Yes.

Accidental paper cut? No.

Paper cut inflicted by beautiful, dominant woman? Yes.

The bottom line is that the pain must be for someone else to enjoy if I'm going to enjoy it. My pain, my discomfort, my putting up with whatever I must endure, my ability to extend myself, must be for the benefit, the enjoyment, the pleasure, or the fulfillment of someone else. Without someone willing or wanting to receive that gift at the other end, it's just pain, and there's nothing erotic about it. It all comes back to the core of what makes BDSM and D/s what they are for me... an exchange of power. A gift. A surrender of control, of will, of being.

As a side note, I guess this also means I'm not a pure masochist. And as a second side note, this is all within, of course, the context of SSC, and RACK.

The person being given the gift of pain, the gift of submission might not even be around. They could physically be somewhere else and have ordered or are expecting the ordeal. They could have left you in bondage for a while, with or without clamps or spikey things. They may not even know about the pain you are enduring for them. They may not even exist... after a while the fantasy and the pain/stimulus can take a life of its own by association to real events or fantasies. But for me, the pain must be for someone else. And then, that makes it possible to enjoy pain, to find pain erotic, to find it fulfilling.

The pain left after someone has inflicted it can also be incredibly erotic, incredibly powerful. It can stay with me long after the actual encounter. It extends the encounter, extends the gift, extends the submission, and it keeps me in subspace nearly the whole time I can still feel it.

So the answer is... yes and no. I do enjoy pain if it is part of a larger gift I make someone. Someone who will enjoy that gift. Someone who wants to receive from me. Someone who may even want to take it from me. I don't enjoy pain outside of a D/s context, outside of a femdom context. I come across that kind of ordinary pain in my everyday life, and there's nothing erotic or intoxicating about it...

Origins (2)

2008-12-30T22:46:00.000-08:00

Childhood, as I've shared previously, holds some fascinating memories for me that have impacted my eventual D/s & BDSM orientation. Recent web discussions opened a drawer of my mind I hadn't looked into for a long time... comic books. As I gave it some thought, it just exploded in my mind that absolutely hands-down, the most significant is the above edition of Superman comics, Superman #261, titled "Slave of Star Sapphire".

Superman was my favorite superhero as a child. I don't know how often I read this story in my teen years (OK, OK... and later). For many years, I didn't understand its appeal, but later, once I had gained a greater awareness and a better understanding of my feelings for D/s, it clicked... big time. Did it contribute? Or does it explain?

With my gratitude going to Cascadian for his amazing post in Captain Comics, here is a synopsis of the comic book, slightly shortened/edited by me. Links to the cover image are provided below the synopsis.

The cover is absolutely amazing. Star Sapphire hovers several inches over the blacktop of Metropolis. Kneeling before her is Superman as she commands: “I command you to kiss my boot, Superman! Let the whole world see you’ve become my slave!” Behind her, Lois, Jimmy, Perry, and a crowd of Metropolitans look on in shock. The Grand Comics Database doesn’t specify who drew the cover so I presume it is Curt Swan with Murphy Anderson, the same wonder duo who provide the interior art.

The splash page for “Slave of Star Sapphire!” (written by Cary Bates and edited, of course, by Julius Schwartz) gives a very brief description of who Carol Ferris & Star Sapphire are. This is just in case the reader had never read an issue of Green Lantern. Which I hadn’t. At this point, my knowledge of Green Lantern came entirely from the Super Friends cartoon so I had no idea who Carol Ferris, much less Star Sapphire, was.

The story starts with Lois Lane at the Metropolis Museum, interviewing the curator about the Star Sapphire exhibit about to open. The exhibit includes the actual gem that provides Star Sapphire with her power. Lois remembers a couple of headlines about Star Sapphire battling Green Lantern and how she wanted to beat him so she could marry him(!). The curator loans Lois a replica costume for her article and recommends that she model it due to her resemblance to the villainess.

The Metropolis airport must be well outside the city, for Clark Kent is riding a helicopter shuttle from the airport to the city. Also on this short flight: Carol Ferris. Using his telescopic vision, Clark sees trouble on the outskirts of the city at a tavern called the Green Lantern. Inside the tavern is a wanted man, Max Fenton, wearing a vest of high explosives that could wipe the entire neighborhood off the map quite easily.

Clark hits an emergency ejection button that fires his seat out the side of the helicopter and then deploys parachutes for a safe landing, his sleeping seat-mate (an business man whose name is not given) is just along for the ride. As the stewardess on the chopper puts it: “They’re quite safe! One of them must’ve accidentally hit their chute-ejector button, that’s all!” Clark uses his super-breath to aim the falling seat to the roof of a skyscraper so he can change clothes without being seen. As Superman flies away, Clark’s seat-mate finally wakes up.

With the blessing of the police, Superman carefully approaches the Green Lantern tavern (which a footnote says appeared previously, in a 1964 Action Comics story). Watching from the helicopter using a handy pair of binoculars, Carol Ferris watches Superman’s actions. She starts feeling odd when she sees the name of the establishment Superman is walking towards. Superman inhales deeply and then blows just enough air into the building to cause it to collapse.

Fenton stands dumbfounded, scarcely able to believe that the building has fallen apart but left him standing unharmed. He threatens Superman with the nitro in his vest. It can’t hurt Superman, of course, but can still damage all the nearby buildings. Superman whips off his indestructible cape and flings it around Fenton. If the nitro detonates now, only Fenton will be harmed by it. The villain starts to collapse and begs Superman to catch him and prevent the explosives from detonating.

Carol Ferris has been watching all this but her fevered mind doesn’t see what is actually happening. Instead of home grown terrorist Max Fenton, Ferris sees Green Lantern. As far as she is concerned, Superman wrapped GL in his cape and used it to squeeze the life out of him. Although Superman’s real opponent has simply fainted in fear, Ferris believes that the Man of Steel has killed the Emerald Gladiator. This completely subverts the Carol Ferris personality, leaving only Star Sapphire. She swears revenge on Superman, vowing to make him her slave. Although currently lacking the power to do so, she can sense that his power gem is nearby. At the Metropolis Museum, the curator discovers that the gem on display isn’t the real one. He surmises that the actual gem was in the replica costume that he loaned Lois. Lois, meanwhile, is needling Clark about disappearing from an in-flight helicopter just prior to Superman appearing. Clark sees the Star Sapphire costume in the package that Lois is carrying and decides it might be fun to turn the tables on her. He lets her become comfortable in her office and then makes a flimsy excuse to go in and see her. He uses x-ray vision to find the costume in her desk and then heat vision to short circuit the transistors in her electronic desk, causing the drawers to burst open. He can’t help but see the costume now and appears shocked by the idea that Lois might be the infamous alien queen. She truthfully denies it and both are shocked as the “fake” gem rises, spinning from the replica costume’s tiara. It flies out the door and down the hall into the waiting had of its true owner, transforming her physically from Carol Ferris to Star Sapphire!

Clark had run down the hall after the flying gem and is the first to see the returned villainess. She blasts him through elevator doors while shouting, “I shall permit nothing to interfere with my hunt for Green Lantern’s killer!” The metal elevator doors would have stopped (and likely killed) a normal man but the Metropolis Marvel goes right through them. He’s unable to stop his fall in the shaft in time and the great force of his impact on the elevator car causes the cable to snap. Grabbing the broken cable, he flies back up and ties the two broken ends together while the terrified passengers escape out onto a safe floor.

As he changes into costume, Superman wonders how Green Lantern could be dead without his fellow Justice League members knowing about it. Already outside the Galaxy Broadcasting building, Star Sapphire has started a reign of terror to draw out her love’s “killer.” Sure enough, Superman finds the destruction on the street and is ambushed by Star Sapphire. “Your hour of judgment has come, super-murderer! Green Lantern’s brutal death will now be avenged!” she yells. Superman holds back because his personal code doesn’t let him strike a woman. Star Sapphire drops down on him from above, placing a chain with the gem of power around his neck. Even off of her body, the gem is still under her power and now Superman’s will is subverted by the gem.

She forbids him to remove the gem or to open his mouth and plead for help. Superman uses super-ventriloquism to call to Lois who is still inside the building. Lois looks out and sees a scene very similar to that on the cover of this issue: Superman kissing the boot of Star Sapphire! The Astral Queen’s next order is for Superman to “Destroy the Galaxy Building and everyone in it!” Superman literally can’t help himself and starts racing to fulfill his dreadful task but emerging from the building is…Star Sapphire?!? This Star Sapphire and the true one start giving Superman contradicting orders. When the second Star Sapphire orders the Man of Tomorrow to fly straight into the air, the real one orders him to fly straight back down. This causes the chain and gem to fall off of Superman’s neck and he regains his freedom. Star Sapphire catches the falling gem and teleports away, vowing vengeance once again.

The second Star Sapphire was Lois. She gambled that the similarity between her and the real McCoy would confuse Superman. It allowed her desperate ploy of having him fly up, only to be ordered down by the woman enslaving him. Lois worries about what Clark will say if he finds out about her being in costume. Superman assures her, “I promise, Lois…he’ll never hear it from me!”

The next day, Carol Ferris is going about her business in Metropolis. She sees the Daily Planet headline proclaiming that Green Lantern has saved an alien world from disaster and feels oddly relieved…although she doesn’t know why...

http://www.comicbookdb.com/graphics/comic_graphics/1/103/55464_20060801174835_large.jpg

http://www.rtsunlimited.com/CoverPages/superman%23261.htm

The perfect life...

2008-12-27T13:39:00.000-08:00

The subject of what would consitute one's "perfect life" came up in a femdom discussion forum, including characteristics such as age, looks, and style, and I found myself giving it a bit of thought...

Perfect? I don't know about "perfect". Life is such that with further travel down one's journey, "perfect" changes. Life is about change. But that leads to the first element of my "perfect", or perhaps "ideal" life, and that is to have someone to grow with, inside a D/s relationship and outside.

Age? My mistress should be old enough to understand that relationships are complex, that they are two-way streets, and that they require some work to be successful. Also, she should be old enough to know that dominance is an integral part of who she is, and that she has a desire, a need to play this out as a significant part of her life. She should be young and fit enough to be physically able to implement whatever her evil mind can conjure.

Looks/appearance? Doesn't really matter. The brain is still the sexiest, most erotic organ of the body, and the key to the beauty and intensity of power exchange. I'll choose a woman with some nipple clamps and a mischevious smile over a super-model any day of the week.

In my perfect life, I can fulfill the needs of my mistress on a variety of levels, from catering to her whims, serving her to make her life more pleasant and easier, to engaging her in discussions and experiences that will give her opportunities to live a richer life and to grow herself. Presumptuous perhaps, but I would feel that I would fall short of the mark if I would not be capable of such an impact in her life.

In my perfect life, every moment I spend outside of work is framed within the context of our D/s relationship. That includes any downtime my mistress requires. I know it's much easier to be submissive 24 hours a day than to be dominant 24 hours a day, and I respect the fact that my mistress might/would need some time on her own, and not be focused on me. I've never believed in many people's expectations of full-time slavery because it isn't realistic to expect to be followed around with a crop constantly. That being said, D/s should be tremendously important to her, and it should permeate our relationship to such an extent that even if we are not engaged directly in BDSM activities for hours/days/weeks, that the D/s under-current is always there.

In my perfect life, the power and influence I exert in the real world is something that my mistress feels empowered in capturing when I surrender to her. It doesn't threaten her, and it doesn't make her uncomfortable to dominate me.

In my perfect life, when I get back to work, I'm left to use my many skills to keep helping make our world a better place, and making the community we're in a richer environment to live and grow in. Those are my talents and abilities, and because I have so much passion for it, and compassion for those in need, I would like to be given some latitude with this, my second most important priority after serving my mistress.

In my perfect life, my mistress moves through spaces as easily as I do. I will always put her first, but she would understand that the community we live in would suffer if my lifestyle would be uncovered, as my accomplishments would be diminished in a world that doesn't understand the beauty and richness of D/s relationships.

In my perfect life, my servitude would extend to the intellectual plane, where I could bring her as much joy in discussing cultural, scientific, or political events with her as I would submitting to some fire play in the dungeon or cleaning the kitchen.

Of course, in my perfect life, my mistress would find power exchange exciting and the surrender of power to her intoxicating. She would also have a love of leather, exotic toys, exotic furniture, exotic places, challenging predicaments, bondage, and many BDSM activities. Finally, she would be as curious and excited about discovering where my limits are as I would be.

Is this all too much to ask? I know, I know...

A bit more than a fetish party: The Room

2008-12-26T13:45:00.000-08:00

The fetish party was something J held at this club pretty much on a monthly basis. The dance floor, with three open sub-sections, was on the first floor along with the bar, restrooms, and two sets of stairs. The first set of stairs was right off the entrance, and led to the cloak room. The second set of stairs was near the back, right off the dance floor. The second floor was not much more than an extended walkway from where one could enjoy viewing the activities happening below. It had a much smaller bar, along with some seats and sofas, and to the back, a small room (perhaps 1000 sq. ft.) that had its own bouncer.If nothing else, the view from up there was absolutely spectacular.

J's fetish parties were probably the hottest in town for the kink-curious mainstream, and a nice crossover opportunity for those more confirmed kinksters that needed an occasional change of scenery. Mainly a 20-30s crowd, but with a few folks in their 40-50s, the main dance floors were a congestion of stunning bodies, short skirts, high heels, bare pecs, so-so leather styling, more PVC than latex, and a few crops or small floggers half-heartedly used in gestures that were more funny than kinky, more naughty than erotic, and more spur-of-the-moment than mood-inducing. The booming techno, dance, and electronica was loud enough to be as tangible to the senses as was the smoke in the air and a slight pungent smell of the humidity that hit whenever somebody dancing was within arm's reach.

A few individuals stood out in the crowd. Of course, there were many gorgeous babes and guys, but a few others were clearly not there primarily to dance or flirt. Some lurkers among them, but a number of the folks that didn't look like they fit in with the dance crowd were there for the small upstairs side-room.

L had been to many parties before, but none where she or her date for the evening had come carrying a bag with BDSM toys. It wasn't a large bag, but it held the essential for an evening away from home. A collection of leather cuffs, ropes, lots of locks and clips, a crop, a paddle, two floggers, and some nipple clamps, among other goodies. A perfect little First Play kit... stuff you need in case of an emergency...

Over the course of the next 20-30 minutes, we enjoyed the dancing and a drink from the main floor, all the while chatting with new people, introducing her to acquaintances, or catching up with older friends. After getting a second drink for each of us, we went upstairs for a little exploration, checking the dance floor from above as we made our way around the walkway. And then we came to "The Room".

The view to The Room was obstructed by two things: a thin curtain and a bouncer. Not just any kind of bouncer, mind you. This bouncer was were over 6' tall without counting the 4-5" heels on his platform shoes. He was wearing an absolutely spectacular latex dress, his make-up and hair were very well done, if not meant to fool anyone, and his boobs, while quite ample and well done, could not quite hide the muscularity of the individual underneath the dress. He turned away many people. most of them curious about what went on in the room, and despite the persona, nobody dared to debate the issue with him.

After a pleasant and short chat, he/she waved us on, and I felt L's whole body shudder when we took our first step past the curtain. The Room had maybe two dozen people in there, most of them standing, watching some of the activities going on. Those activities were happening on a few of the roughly 8-10 BDSM furniture pieces that were in the room, including chairs and seats, kneeling and spanking benches, a St-Andrew's Cross, overhead and side racks, a bondage table, and more. The Room was fairly well-lit in a warm yellow glow from the candle-flame shaped light bulbs that adorned the walls.

A few moans and yelps could be heard as we walked through; L was intensely observing some of the play going on, and I was examining the furniture, looking to see what would inspire me. As we made our way around The Room, I felt L walking ever-closer to me, squeezing my hand a bit more tightly with each step. I was feeling from her this wonderful vibe of discovery and fear, excitement and nervousness, anticipation and resistance. At the same time, we were being watched. She had already made jaws drop downstairs in her black high heel boots (about 4.5" with a 1" platform), tight black shiny pants showing off her now even longer legs and a beautiful ass, and a superb red lace-up corset that highlighted splendidly more of her stunning features. And she wore a beautifully simple leather collar to top it all off.

The moment was perfect... As she had her complete attention on a flogging scene happening on a kneeling bench a bit to our right, I startled her a bit when I whispered in her ear to wait for me. I would be back in just a minute or two. She drew closer to me, her grip on my arm and my ribs firmer, as she looked at me with pleading eyes not to leave her alone. I gave her a hug, lifted her chin, and gently told her I would be right back for her. I just needed her to give me a few minutes, and with a smile, I added, "...and keep out of trouble".As I broke away, I headed to the cloak room. I hadn't planned on carrying the bag any longer than necessary, but it was time. I checked it out, and I went back to The Room with it. When I arrived, she was engrossed in one of the spanking scenes, and I quietly came up to her side. She quickly squeezed in nice and close as soon as I was there, and we enjoyed the next round of spanking that was dished out on one of the participants before us.Maybe two minutes later, I asked her if she was ready. No explanations were necessary. She was nervous but I knew that she was dying to do this. She turned towards me, and moved her eyes down, looking to the ground, and she clasped her hands behind her back. I led her over to the St-Andrew's Cross, which had become open just minutes before.

I told her to remove her shiny black pants, which she did quickly, facing the wall next to the St-Andrew's Cross. I think she kept from facing the crowd because she was made nervous seeing people looking at her. I asked her to move on to the cross, facing it and the wall behind it. I took her hands and gently placed them on the upper part of the cross. I encountered no resistance. Then I pulled out a couple of leather handcuffs, which I looped around her wrist, locked with small padlocks, and clipped to the large O-ring at the top of the cross. Next was the blindfold, as much to help her get away from the crowd as to get her to focus on what she was experiencing. I moved down to her ankles, where I tapped on the inside for her to move her legs into alignment with the cross. Reaching into my bag, I retrieved out two large ankle cuffs, attached those to her ankles over her boots, and clipped them to the O-rings at the bottom of the cross. She was ready, and evidently, so was the small group of people that had started to gather behind me, some looking on with slight smiles on their faces, anticipating something that they would enjoy watching, without being quite sure what or how, and others looking in with an intense, almost nervous expression of wondering what was next.

This public setting was a new experience for her, and knowing there was some tension and emotions not normally present in our play time, I wanted to start a slow, take my time, and be present in her mind the whole time. Reaching in for a soft flogger, I immediately placed it inside the back waistband of my pants. I came right up close to her, covering her bound hands with my own, bringing my hips right up to her backside. There was a slight shudder, and then a release of tension as she opened her hands and reached back with them, gently trying to trap my fingers between her own. L also pushed back and moved up against me, enjoying the cool feel of the leather pants against her backside, covered only partly by lacy red thong panties that matched her corset.

I drew my hands down her arms, over her shoulders, down the sides of her corset, to the front of her hips, just lightly touching the skin, or corset, the whole time. My hands stopped right at that wonderful groove just inside the hip bone, one of the sexiest curves on a woman's body. I brought my hands back up, and down again, several times, slowly, each time taking a different route, making different caressing stops behind her neck, inside her forearms and elbows, on the edge of her upper back, around her breasts and nipples, and around the cheeks of her backside. Then I moved on to the legs for a few moments, again never running my hands twice along the same path, and again, putting a little more emphasis along favorite spots, like behind the knees and the back of the legs (hamstrings region).

Barely breaking contact, I broke into a gentle open-hand slap on the right side of her backside. Still enjoying the gentle skin stimulation that I had started with, she barely reacted when the type of stimulation changed. The next slap was on the left cheek, and then I alternated sides, very gently increasing the intensity over the next 20 or so slaps. With both hands I rubbed her backside gently, starting to feel a nice growing glow of warmth.

I reached behind my back for my soft flogger, and at once gently started to work her backside again. I was a bit more unpredictable in my pattern as I could feel her moving a bit to anticipate my next blow. She was moving towards me to intercept the blow, and I knew that meant I could increase the pace and the intensity. Over the next few minutes, I focused mainly on her backside, which was becoming nicely pink over a fairly large surface, but I also moved on to the back of the legs, and the inside and outside if the thighs, as well as moving up to the back of the shoulders with some gentle strokes.

I went back to some slow, open-hand spanking as I traded my flogger for a flexible leather paddle. Without missing a beat, I came in with a sharper sound as the paddle could impact an area easily twice the size of my hand. I paddled her for the next few minutes, changing the pacing, changing the rhythm, but slowly increasing the intensity impact, sound, and of the color of her cheeks, now well into a nice, deep red.

I came back up against her, and I could feel a sudden exhalation of her breath when my leather pants touched her skin of her backside, cooling, and perhaps soothing the skin. During this brief intermission, I could feel the warmth that came from all over her body, and noticed a few drops of sweat, one of which had just started its way down the side of her neck. I reached over to gently lick it, enjoying the saltiness, but also taking in the spicy fragrance of her skin. I reached around to tease the area around the nipples, and then the hard tips of her nipples, which I could feel through the corset. While I usually keep my fingernails quite short, with what I had available, I scratched tenderly the inside of her biceps in one long stroke, getting as a reaction her biting gently down on her lower lip.

I went back to my floggers, and grabbed once of my favorites, a small flogger with short latex lashes. Despite its length, there's a bit of heft to it, and the strokes feel like hundreds of little pinpricks. From broad, flat-strokes, in the first part, I moved to sharper, more localized sensations, and L moved as she didn't seem to know if she preferred to reach toward me some more or just lay back and enjoy the ride. The short length of the latex flogger allowed me great control, and I worked her backside, legs (back, inside, outside), shoulders and upper-arms.

After a few quick caresses, I moved back to the flexible leather paddle for 2 dozen strokes on her backside, and then came back with the latex flogger for a few minutes. I could tell that the contrast was just driving her to the edge. I finished up with the soft-flogger, but this time with some heavier strokes to the backside. The lashes are nice and soft, but they carry quite a bit a weight when swung with enthusiasm. I had increased the intensity pretty gradually throughout the whole time, with a few quick pauses, and I realized that part way through the last segment, L's moans and movements had become louder and wider, but slowed and somehow became uncoordinated with what I was doing. I realized at that time that she was in her own zone, and that any stroke rhythm I would take would not matter much anymore.

I kept at the soft-flogger for another 60 seconds or so, diminishing the intensity, and then came up next to her. She pressed back against me as much as she could, still bound to the cross. Reaching for our dark-grey fleece blanket, I noticed that almost all the people in the Room had come over to our station to watch us. Nobody else was playing on other furniture. Somewhat suddenly, I noticed a growing din as they started talking among themselves as our scene seemed to end, while still keeping an eye on us. I brought up one finger to my mouth, in a signal to give me just a few more moments of quiet. Not wanting the awareness of the crowd to bring too sudden an end to our scene, I left the blindfold on L, unclipped her hands and her legs from the cross, and wrapped her in the blanket. With one hand around her waist in support, we walked through the small group as they move to the side to get out of our way. The looks on their faces was priceless... and everyone was either smiling or nodding.

Just outside The Room, we found a sofa with space for the two of us. As we sat down, the third person, who was already there, was nice enough to move on, leaving us a bit more space. A waitress came by within a few seconds of us sitting, and I got some water for both of us. L was completely relaxed laying back in the sofa in my arms. As she turned her head to lay it onto my shoulder, I gently removed the blindfold. She kept her eyes closed, and snuggled up, still in a daze.
The water came, and we each had several big gulps. I kept her warm, I told her how well she had done, and slowly, over the next 15-20 minutes, she came back down to the actual moment and place... mostly. After finishing our water, she put back her pants, and I led her through the throng of bodies bouncing to the beat, to the front of the club, and up to the cloak room to get our jackets. As we checked them out, and headed downstairs, a middle-age couple stopped up just as we were about to step out. They told us the scene we had done upstairs had been one of the sexiest and most sensual scenes they had ever witnessed. We both smiled, and I said thank you, that we were just having fun.

On the way to the car, L asked me if they had been watching. I said that I guessed so. She asked, somewhat embarrassed if anyone else had been watching. I replied that a few people had come to watch. "They come and go... you know how it is... station hoping". And then I was glad I had left the blindfold on...

The sensual side of D/s

2008-12-21T12:43:00.000-08:00

I'll be the first one to admit, I've always had a taste for the dramatic: well-equipped dungeons, dark and shiny furniture, low-level lighting, lots of implements...

But I had a reminder recently of just how wonderfully inspiring simple gestures and actions can be.

Quite suddenly, she turned to me, stood up and reached over to pin my hands behind my back. I had barely walked into her office to see how she was doing when she just came upon me. She told me to keep my hands where she had placed them, and reached for my nipples, grasping them firmly through my shirt and undershirt, and leading me away from the office.

The objective had been set. I was going to serve her in showering her. As we stepped into the bedroom, she ordered me to strip naked, as she was getting undressed herself. My gaze upon her splendid body went thankfully unnoticed as she finished removing her own clothing. She came back into the bedroom, took hold of my nipples again, and this time led me next to the shower, where she entered first, and told me to come in right after her.

I knew her routine, but for her trouble, I did want to make this special, and I gave her all the attention and care I could. Washing her hair gently, I reached down to rub and massage her scalp every few passes. Despite the look of enjoyment she had from it, and the relaxed pose her body took, somehow I felt guilty that I was still getting the better of the exchange. As I was sure all of her hair was clean, I moved on to one complete massaging pass over her scalp, gentle enough to be enjoyable, firm enough to ease/relax mental and muscle tension.

Moving on to her face, we used her favorite face-soap, and I gently foamed it up as I delicately covered every surface and angle. For the second pass, I applied just a bit of pressure, relaxing the facial tissues under the skin as I cleaned the surface. I made sure that rinsing was thorough as my fingers once more went over all of her face, just barely touching, the lightest of caresses.

As we moved to the rest of her body, it came upon me that we forget how precious body parts like the grooves inside of the ear, the crevices behind the knee, or the spaces between the toes are when we don't visit often enough.

Truly a woman's body is something to be worshipped. There were so many beautiful and glistening limbs, parts, and surfaces to be washed, and every one of them turned me on to no end under the shiny reflection of the falling water. Each one of them required a different technique to clean and to massage. Long, sweeping strokes for her strong and lean legs. Small, expanding circular movements around her breasts and shoulders. Short, detailed movements inside and outside of her hands and between her fingers. Short, alternating straight and circular movements around her backside. Delicate and reaching around her private regions. There was a tinge of sadness as I left one part and I knew I would not come back to it until the rinse.

The time to rinse off whatever soap was left brought her some very long caresses over most of her body, and some gentle splashing from however much water I could gather in my cupped hands.

Finally, after the water had been turned off, I reached for her bath towel, I dried her off, patting her dry in delicate or small areas, drying her off with broad strokes over large body parts, and massaging dry her hair. She walked away from the shower in the most regal and confident manner, thanked me coldly for my attentive service, stepped in front of the mirror, took hold of her hair drier and brush, and told me I had to be done with my shower and dressed by the time she was done. I thought 15-20 minutes... plenty of time. As she got to work on her hair and make-up, I took in discretely one more glance of the beautiful and erotic sight she was presenting to me, and as I turned to my own shower, I was proud of my work as she looked relaxed, rejuvenated, and quite satisfied, if a bit smug, about the results of her actions.

And I knew that she would be deciding where we'd be having diner too...

Aaah... What spectacular and magical creatures these women are...

PS: lights turned low and candles are optional, but even better.

Wish we had stuff like this when we were growing up...

2008-12-14T10:00:00.000-08:00

An outstanding clip made for... teen sex ed?

http://midwestteensexshow.com/2008/08/04/mtss-18-fetishes/

While they miss the mark slightly with some definitions, the producers more than make up for that in humor and providing a generally warm feeling to something most folks see as very scary.

Enjoy.

Act 4, Scene 2: Of bondage and mind games

2008-11-02T13:25:00.000-08:00

Mistress A ordered him to stand up and to take a step back, positioning him under the winch system, and to raise his hands. After getting him to grab the handles that were part of the leather restraints for his hands, she proceeded to secure his hands to the long bar, likely around 24 inches, that was attached to the winch cable. She reached back to activate the winch and pulled his hands a bit higher. Mistress A then placed a spreader bar between his feet, maybe 30 inches long or so, and cuffed his feet to the bar. Naked and bound in such a manner, he had flashbacks to some of the covers of the old Centurian publications of the late 70s and early 80s. It occurred to him at that moment how far he had come on his journey, held in bondage in a position he had fantasized about for decades. He felt at that moment a warm rush come over his body once more, and ironically, somehow felt liberated as he resigned himself to his situation in the care of his mistress.

Not yet satisfied with her handiwork, Mistress A brought out what had to be the heaviest posture collar he had ever seen, and placed it around his neck. It was very rigid and constraining, and it limited his head movement, and yet, he found it very comfortable and supportive of his head. As he was slowly slipping into a different state of mind, he could not tell anymore if he appreciated the posture collar because of how well it was designed, or if it was that special and secure feeling he had when in bondage at the hand of skilled and irresistible mistress. Edgy as he was when he showed up and the session started, and somewhat unnerved at the beginning by the prospects Mistress A had promised him, there was no tension anymore in his body or his mind. Secure in bondage, intoxicated by her words and her attitude, he could let go completely and let his mind run in a place where submission is freedom and dominance is caring.

Walking around to the other side of him, Mistress A retrieved a flogger from one of the pegs that held so many wonderful implements of torment and pleasure. She started flogging him lightly with what felt to him like a horsehair flogger. The sensation was very fine, very stringy, and occasionally stingy on some strokes. She worked most of his back with this fine flogger, providing somewhat of a warm-up for what was to come.

She switched to what felt to him like a single-tail for a few strokes around his butt and back of thighs, and then Mistress A moved on to a flogger with thicker strands. She worked him over with this one for a while. It’s a good thing he wasn’t asked to count strokes… his eyes closed during the flogging, he had lost his focus on everything but her voice as he was sinking into subspace. He couldn’t really remember how much of each type of flogger she used, or where they landed, although he did remember Mistress A telling him to stick his ass out once or twice. Not that he wasn’t feeling the strokes… but their effects were more general than localized, serving as a rhythmic counterpoint to her voice. Her voice was his only hold on reality at that point, her firm, haughty, condescending voice that was teasing him, making fun of him, making fun of him for some of the things he had done in the past, and making fun of him for what she was still going to do during the course of the evening.

The strokes stopped. The bass line of the flogging to the siren-sound of her voice came to an end, and this jarred him back to closer to reality. Mistress A stepped back closer to him, and temporarily turning her attention to his nipples, tweaked them, and held on to them as she ordered him to turn around to face the other way, in the direction of the bondage bed. Now satisfied that he was in the next position for her to continue, she reached over into one of her drawers of surprises...

Reflections on committed BDSM relationships

2008-11-02T12:23:00.000-08:00

It was with sadness in my heart that I read this morning the latest blog entries for two good friends from the scene that live across the continent, and who have been in a relationship together for the past several years. I can't presume that I know everything (or even much) that there is to know about what is going on, as I've been away from them for almost 4 years now, but I have followed some of their blog entries over that time. The stress that they are going through right now brought me into a mood for a few reflections.

I would say that despite how things may feel like right now, they are undergoing something normal and positive, in a weird kind of way. I realize that this may not be very reassuring on the surface, but the fact that differences come up, differences in frequency, differences in intensity, differences in mood/energy, differences in interests, differences in availability (physical as well as emotional), and that's a good thing. It means that they are still growing, growing as individuals and growing as a couple. Change and growth are the normally state of the universe. Anything that stops changing and growing dies.

The danger with growth for people that are married/collared/or otherwise committed to each other is that sometimes the changes can happen faster than we become aware of them, faster than we can understand them, and inevitably, communications will lag behind. Sometimes people feel/think that when there is commitment of the heart/mind/emotions, the growth curve for both individuals locks-in and will be parallel forever. Life, and people, are so much more complicated...

It does happen that growth and change happens so fast that by the time people realize it, come to terms with it, and talk about it, the differences are irreconciliable. But we all have to focus of what common threads have brought us together, step back emotionally, and talk about where we stand at the moment. From that point, it is possible to see what can be worked out in terms of what I would call "supply-and-demand", especially as it applies to a D/s relationship where dominance and submission are so different in so many ways, and at the same time, such an important part of who we are.

I was having a great discussion recently with Mistress Saskia, for whom I have the upmost respect. Very intelligent, insightful, and amazingly sharp/witty, we got into a discussion on the performance aspect of being a great top. I'll spare you the details of why this came about, but she drew a splendid analogy to the pro-domme as rock star. The analogy was just brilliant in terms of the demands and expectations placed on rock stars, and how it would be impossible for them to be doing it all the time, or in fact, being able to give so much of themselves for anything else beyond that. I'm not doing her monologue justice, but that's the core of it. And going back to my own experience topping, while not anywhere close to what she does, I could certainly see where she was coming from.

But this discussion got me to think much more deeply about the contrasting needs and expectations of dominants and submissives. I think that the elements of frequency, intensity, interests, pacing, and physical/emotional availability not only vary from one person to another, but I would say that there are major differences almost structurally built-in between the role of submissive and that of dominant.

I still get a huge thrill from topping, when the mood, energy, and circumstances are right, but even if this would be my only orientation in BDSM, I could never take it on at a "play" type intensity for hours each day. I don't even think I could have the energy and the creativity to do it each day. Eventually, I would likely want to expand my repertoire or my interests. Would this match up this with those of the submissive I was engaged with? Also, depending on what happens in my real life (RL), I may or may not be physically/emotionally available at certain times.

Taking on a submissive role is something that is much truer to who I am, my desires, and probably, the Freudian bagagge of my life. It's also a much deeper experience for me. Outside of my professional life, I could really see this consuming my every hour of being awake. And since this is not possible for me in my present circumstances, I can say that as a submissive, it's very lonely... just so very lonely. I have this burning desire, this powerful yearning inside of me all the time, and these are answered so rarely. Then, when do I have opportunities to submit come my way, I live through experiences so intense that they only fuel my hunger for more such experiences.

So I find these huge gaps, these huge differences inside myself between my needs and desires as a sub, and my needs and expectations as a top. Of course, allocations must be made for the fact that I clearly feel an affinity in the BDSM scene for surrending power much more than accepting it (a complete reversal of my RL situation), but despite that, I still find that there's something there that can't be neglected. If someone like me can have such differences between "personas" within himself, how can two different individuals match up in a perfect way for eternity and a day? Of course, they can't. They'll have to work and adapt to the changes and differences.

Maintaining a vanilla relationship healthy is already more of a challenge than most people can handle. Considering what I think are the even greater depths and complexities of BDSM or power exchange based relationships, I think none of us can underestimate the incredible obstacles we all face in keeping those relationships alive and well. And it is critically important for each of us, regardless of the roles we take on, be understanding of those who take on opposite roles on the power exchange spectrum.

Act 4, Scene 1: Warming up

2008-10-26T12:36:00.000-07:00

He skipped a breath when she shut the door behind him. It was his first glimpse of Mistress A in person, and she was absolutely stunning... and so tall. Just about as tall as he was in her heels. Edgy and nervous as he was stepping into her studio, a rush came over him as he was contemplating the arresting beauty of her smiling face, her superbly sculpted body, and the rich mezzo voice that was inviting him into her web.

Mistress A led him to her selected playroom for the evening's session. It was quite a fair size for a single room BDSM-play setting, and contained more than enough toys and equipment to provide an eternity of subspace. A fairly large padded chair with spreader, a suspension bar with leather cuffs attached to a winch, and a bondage bed with metal cage bars extending most of the way around it were complemented by thick piles of bondage equipment, toys, and implements stacked on long pegs on one of the walls. On the window sills were a bunch of finer and more prickly tools. Finally, filing cabinets, one tall (perhaps 7-8 drawers) and one short (3-4 drawers), were placed on diagonally opposite corners of the room. He never quite discovered all of what was in those drawers, but for what Mistress A pulled from them, he would know by the time they were done that they held wonderful objects of torture and ecstasy.

The introduction was brief... he had provided her with a fair amount of background, and between what she had read about him and a quick phone conversation the day prior, Mistress A clearly felt like she had all the information she needed to enjoy the next few hours. As she left the space for a few moments, he was expected to strip naked and place his clothes on one of the hooks on the wall that held so much enticing equipment.

He waited for her return kneeling and looking down at the ground. As she returned, and created a warm feeling inside of him by telling him what she would get from him that evening, she didn't quite seem satisfied with his kneeling position. She reached over for a tall glass container full of small, highly polished pebbles, poured out about a third of them from the container, spread them over a small area on the carpeted floor, and ordered him to kneel on them. The discomfort was definitely felt but it was quite bearable. It did increase a notch when she ordered him to straighten up, to stand on his knees and to look at her. She told him that respect was nice but she did not want her beauty to be wasted. In a flash of rationality, as his grasp on reality was already starting to slip, he realized that she would have a better sense of his reactions when he was looking at her rather than looking away. Not that he would mind in the least... he was still in awe of the beauty of her face, and now he would get more of those playfully expressive, mischievous eyes, and her great smile, a smile both enticing and scorning. And her voice... firm, tantalizing, and contemptuous, was a siren call to which he would be unable to resist. And yet, that voice would remain the mental lighthouse which would be his only link to his actual here and now for the next few hours.

Mistress A had already given his nipples a few tweaks from her gloved hands when she reached over to the top of the small cabinet and pulled out a cigarette. She then proceeded to light it in a way that was at once so sexy and contemptuous. Since his youth he had had a huge fetish for beautiful women smoking, and she sent his mind reeling with just this one visual. In fact, the single visual of her smoking would have been powerful enough, but the cross-imagery of this just stunningly gorgeous dominant woman looking down on him, contemplating what to do with his surrendered will, washed a first wave of subspace over him. Mistress A's smile to his reaction was pure enjoyment, and it seemed to him like she was definitely going to hold that against him.

As she stepped back closer to him, she played with and pinched his nipples harder, one at a time, as she let the smoke fill the space around him. Perhaps by that time she realized how pliable he would be to her will and her whims, and then she described how she was going to fuck him that evening. She was going to fuck his mind, fuck his body, and exploit his frustration of not having had release since she had ordered him to restrain.

Once she was done with her cigarette and her verbal tormenting, she came in even closer to him, pushed his chin up and ordered him to open his mouth as she leaned just a bit over him. She very slowly and deliberately spit into his mouth, and as it landed onto his tongue, a wonderfully intense burst of the sweetness of her saliva and the smokiness from the cigarette exploded in his mouth and provided him with a rush that ran from his mouth throughout his whole body.

Enjoying the sun setting...

2008-08-30T10:15:00.000-07:00

Firmly but in the most intoxicating manner, she placed the collar around his neck as she was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was kneeling at her feet, hands behind his back, looking down at her beautiful boots, respectfully not taking in any of her beauty despite the incredible temptation to do so.

She had called him into the bedroom, and as soon as he got a glimpse of her, in knee-length black boots, black panties and bra, and her own collar, he knew what was expected. He went down on all fours, and slowly, deliberately, crawled to her. He removed his jeans, and T-shirt, and assumed the most submissive position he could, feeling the vibe of her mischievousness even before she spoke. The smell of the leather implements on the bed was already making his head spin and his stomach tense, and that was before he picked up on the scent of her fragrance... spicy, understated, deliciously making him hungry for her.

The light trailing of her nails against his skin as she fixed the collar in position, in contrast to the smooth coolness of the collar, was suddenly overwhelming, like there was nothing else in the world. Once the collar in place, she grabbed the leather handcuffs and told him to present his hands. As she was strapping them on, he felt his will give way to hers. With a completely evil, possessive deliberateness, she closed the locks on each of the wrist restraints with a clean "click", as to emphasize that there was no turning back. Placing his hands herself behind his back, she clipped them together, and stood for a while to enjoy both her handiwork and what was to come.

Next came the ankle cuffs, as she gave his ass a slap so he could raise himself from sitting on them. She strapped those in too, and also clipped them in place.

Finally, she reached for the dog leash, clipped it to his collar, and gave it a tug as she told him to follow her. The knee steps were short but quick. As he tried his best to follow her, he got a quick glance at the stunning view that was before him: the beautiful legs half encased in the black material of the boots, the revealing black lacy panties and bra, the leash coming out of her right hand, and the leather riding crop she held in her left hand.

They did a slow walk around the next room before moving on to the dinning area where she turned around one of the chairs and sat down. She pulled him close to the chair facing him, and told him to sit back as she pulled on the leash. His chin right next to the edge of the chair, he was lost in the scent of her body's fragrance even before she was ready to start. She got up, straddling the chair, and started pulling down her panties. She turned to the side a bit as she put a foot on the chair, sliding her panties over the knee and down her leg. As she lifted her foot out, they fell down the other leg, and she just stepped out of them, sitting back onto the chair.

She pulled the leash tighter, until he had no choice but to place his head where she wanted, and he quickly got high on the sweet smell that was engulfing his whole being. She reached back to take hold of the riding crop, and controlled the pace of his service to her, changing his rhythm by short, sharp strokes, and marking changes of technique by single, stronger strokes.

As he was slowly bringing her closer to climax, he felt a regret that he couldn't stretch out the experience longer. He was all hers to do as she pleased, and it was a good place to be. There was an indescribable warmth and comfort inside of him to be be in such a place. He wished that he could extend this for longer, but the pace was clearly dictated by his Goddess, and he wanted nothing more than to bring her pleasure as she wanted.

Then, after an incredibly erotic moment for him where his nose and a much larger area than his lips were covered with fluids from inside her, something wonderfully unexpected happened: she wanted more. While the second round was much shorter, the strokes were faster and sharper, the pace was more furious, and the tugging from the leash harsher. The second release was even more powerful than the first one, and he so wanted to just stay there and enjoy the moment.

But it was not to be. She was sated for now, and leaving the riding crop on the dining table, she let go of the leash and left for an instant to get her bath robe. As she slipped it on, she reached for the leash again, and pulled him close to her, uncoupling his hands from his back, and clipping them in front. Now on all fours, she walked him over to a counter top where her purse was, and grabbed her cigarettes and lighter. She headed toward their balcony, leading him by the leash, and he did his dutiful best not to slow her down.

Once on the balcony, she positioned him on all fours, parallel to the front guard of the balcony. She stood between him and the guard, lifted the back part of the bath robe over him, and she sat on the lower part of his back. She wiggled her bum teasingly as she sat at a bit of an angle, undoubtedly to have a better view of the sun setting from the top floor balcony. She lit her cigarette, took in a deep inhale, and had a quiet exhale as he could smell the smoke coming out. The smell of the smoke was just another part of the sensory overload he was experiencing. While she was very light, his position on hands and knees was somewhat uncomfortable, especially on the latter, because of the hard concrete of the balcony. But this was a mild, exciting discomfort that was barely noticeable in comparison to what he was feeling elsewhere. Her warm naked ass on his back felt like the most erotic thing that had ever happened to him, and then, to excite him even further, he started feeling a little bit of moistness over the back of his kidney area. Between drags, she gently ran her nails down his back, and sometimes she reached up beyond the collar, gently scratching the scalp on the back of his head. Once or twice, she grabbed a handful of hair and gave his head a tug, just as a reminder of her total control over him. But they were loving hard tugs... they felt as much a gesture of appreciation to him as displays of control.

Serving as her seat right then, right there, after what happened a bit earlier, having her enjoy the view of the sun going down as she relaxed, was just the best thing in the entire universe. It could not get any better. And he was in a happy place.

Perceptions and Expectations

2008-07-25T21:08:00.000-07:00

So what does a dominant or submissive look like? How do they behave? What is their personality like? How do all of these match up with the desires in their mind and the longing in their heart?

And is there a difference inside the scene and in real life (RL)?

I enjoy taking people aback a bit. Most of the time, I don't set out to do so. It keeps them wondering. Especially those who know me. But the reaction is not always positive, and sometimes, it can be quite the opposite.

Overwhelmingly, people within the BDSM scene think of me as dominant from the very first meeting (and for the most part, they are right). Either that, or they don't really think about it because they have a hard time reading me. At a distance I'm cold, fairly expressionless, with a low key sense of humour. I'll laugh, but it better be good and witty.

I'm sure size has to much to do with it. Inevitably, there is a certain association of power with size.

Almost as much as size, it's difficult for me to hide my confidence and attitude. I have a lifetime of RL experiences, successes, and challenges that have made me the way I am. And if I do say so myself (please forgive the bragging), I am well-educated, well-read, and a cultured individual, and that tends to be apparent as soon as a I open my mouth.

Unless someone's first encounter with me is one of those rare occasions when I play a submissive role, I don't believe I have ever been perceived as anything else than dominant.

So why is it so much of a shock to those around me when I occasionally do take a submissive role? If not a shock, something they have a hard time accepting? Or in some cases, something they refuse to accept?

I remember a number of discussions or events where this has come up, and I have found dealing with most of the reactions rather challenging.

"B" was a wonderful alpha-sub that I had many sessions with. Over the course of several months, our public and private play went beyond the scene and we developed a wonderful platonic friendship. During the course of conversations about travelling, philosophy, arts, the BDSM scene, and more, she had asked me something along the lines of what I enjoy most about the scene, and what I would like to do more often if I had the chance. I had answered very truthfully that I would enjoy to play a submissive role more often. At that time, I hadn't done so in many years. The sense of betrayal coming back across the table was palpable. I had clearly bumped the vase over the shelf, and the image she had of me had definitely been shattered for a few moments. I can't say whether that statement remained in her mind in a suspended state of disbelief, or whether she decided to ignore my answer altogether, but it was clear in her gaze at the time that something did not compute.

"BS" was a sophisticated, brilliantly smart, and witty sub that I became friends with. It was clear from the start that our playing styles were not suited for each other, but we developed a terrific friendship that lasted for over a year, including going out to fetish events together, even if it was to play with other people. A stunning looking young woman, I was for a while the best friend of every male top that wanted to play with her once they realized that "BS" and I showed up together but did not play together. I always chuckled when I was approached by bold male tops politely inquiring about our status and/or asking permission to play with her.

But "BS" and I had two minor fights or arguments. Both of them when we discussed the concept of switching, and that I enjoyed switching. To be fair, I think she had more of an issue with the very idea of switching than of me doing it, especially since she had never seen me switch or play a submissive role. But again, there was something in what I was saying that seemed quite wrong for her.

In one of the most memorable evenings ever, my Dearly Beloved (DB) and I fulfilled a huge fantasy of ours when she spent over an hour on make-up transforming me into a tiger, and we walked into the dungeon with me on my knees and her as the dominatrix trainer. We are talking orange-and-black face and full-body make-up job, with black latex briefs, black leather collar, and leather handcuffs and ankle cuffs. The weekly regulars to that dungeon, who knew us well, were stunned. For a moment, floggers stopped stinging, paddles stopped warming, and everyone held their breath once they recognized us. Beyond the mind-blowing play we had that evening, the experience was noteworthy for some of the younger submissives that all of sudden found themselves approaching me and chatting with me without the heavy etiquette of dealing with a top. Some of them had fun, while nobody was looking, pulling on my tiger tail to slow me down and get me in trouble, as my lovely dominant mistress for the evening, my DB, was leading me on a leash on all fours toward the racks area.

Still, the reaction in the eyes of those who knew us was one of surprise, disbelief, something wrong or odd, and in some cases, diminishment. In view of the fact that my DB had been seen topping women, men, and sometimes double-topping women with me, clearly, those thoughts and feelings were not directed at her. For all of them, it was the first time they saw me in such a role.

While our fantasy evening was a huge hit, over the years, even my DB has had issues with the part of me that longs for a submissive experience. For her, I've always been a source of strength, of stability, of wisdom, and of sanity. She has seen what role I have played in the community, and in RL. She thinks I'm much bigger than life. I don't think she understands that part of me, despite the fact that it is part of her (she also switches), and somehow, after all these years and many tentative discussions, I'm not sure she will ever accept it. I think there is too much RL baggage there.

* * * * *

I'm very secure intellectually in my feelings about my alternative sexuality. It is an extraordinary world of discovery and sensations I feel privileged to have had a chance to explore. I feel privileged to have gone further in the realm of sexuality than most people are even aware exist. Topping is a very erotic experience for me, and, as I've mentioned before, playing a submissive role is an incredibly intense, powerful, and deep experience for me. Yet it is ironic how challenging it has been to find acceptance for my submissive side in people of the scene, and among those that know me. As secure as I am about myself, about my sexuality, alternative and not, those reactions have left me a little embarrassed, a little ashamed, a little worried. Worried that it will always be difficult to find outlet for those feelings. Ashamed that I'm doing something wrong and of having those feelings. Embarrassed that I'm doing something that doesn't find acceptance in the eyes of those who should know better.

Of course, it takes two to tango, and I don't have to let myself be bothered by the aforementioned reactions. But in the course of letting myself be vulnerable to a certain extent, something I do so rarely in RL, I guess I find it difficult to filter out those reactions, and they have stayed with me.

So what DOES a dominant or submissive look like? How DO they behave? What kind of personality SHOULD they have? Expectations can give those who have them a misguided understanding of reality. Perceptions can be deceiving. And both can hurt a little bit... and not in a good way.

Act 1, Scene1: Symbols

2008-07-21T10:33:00.000-07:00

His very first glimpse of Mistress S took his breath away. With a stunning figure, impeccable fetish clothing, and taller than he had expected, even discounting the height of the heels of her boots, her arrival into the waiting room was the first of many peaks to come.

A few matters of prefered etiquette later, par for the course for such a first meeting, he was collared before being made to sit on the ground before her. A rather pleasant and highly erotic conversation ensued to discuss where the day's session would lead them. It was easy to focus on what Mistress S was saying, despite the intense emotions and the mental states storming within him, because beyond her voice, the rest of the universe had the volume turned down.

The Mistress on a chair with him sitting on the ground before her... the collar she had placed around his neck... the twinkle of her gaze... the mischeviousness in her smile... the shiny black clothing she was wearing, both hiding and revealing the form of a goddess... the long black boots that were level with where he was sitting... the racks, tables, toys, and ropes of the space around them... the stainless steel water dog bowl she had filled for him in case he needed to quench his thirst... The symbols around him evoked some of the most powerful imagery his mind had come across and compiled. And yet, here he was, in an environment that would create a brand new set of some of the most vivid experiences, emotions, and images he would ever live through. And here she was, ready to start creating on a new canvass he had brought in just for her.

She was visibly satisfied at the fact that he had few expectations. Likes and dislikes of both parties had already been exchanged, and within the very wide range of possibilities left, he made it clear, in the appropriately humble manner, that he was there to serve, and he was there for her BDSM pleasure and enjoyment. There would be no other purpose to his presence than to have the opportunity to submit to her, whatever she was in the mood for.

* * * * *
The symbols were, and are, ultimately, powerful accessories to the experience. Some of them more important, some of them less; some of them are interchangeable, others are not. All of them can be intoxicatingly erotic in their own way. But it remains that BDSM is about individuals, and that interaction is at the core of what the power exchange is about. In this case, Mistress S' personality, her skills, her experience, her will, her love for what she does, is the real fabric of such an encounter. And power exchange is the pattern. Everthing else is there to accessorize the experience.

Origins (1)

2008-06-22T11:37:00.000-07:00

8 years old. Third grade. Small kid. Youngest in the class. Exceedingly shy. A favorite target of bullies.

During rec break, most of us in the class, boys and girls, were involved in a major snowball fight. Forts... prisoners... snowballs stockpiled in advance... the whole thing. One clean shot made you a POW... until members of your team overwhelmed the fort where you were held and rescued you.

For some reason that I wasn't really conscious of, in the middle of the action, I started daydreaming that two cute girls from the opposing camp, P and S, would be the ones to capture me. After nailing me with a snowball that would make a satisfying WHAP! against my snowsuit, they would call me out, and subdued, I would be marched over to their fort. Imagining myself held captive by them, I felt a warm feeling inside of me, a sense of relief that I was no longer on the run from other assaillants, I wouldn't get hit in the face by a snowball, or bullied by the class meanies as a sideshow to the actual snowball war. At the same time, I would be in the company of two pretty young girls that I evidently liked, without knowing or understanding why, and I would not have to go through the incredibly challenging task (and without doubt, embarassing task) of having to ask them to be their friend.

Some time later, maybe weeks, but more likely months, on a family trip, I found myself extending the daydream/fantasy when playing in the back of the car. Probably because my father braked suddenly, I rolled off the backseat and I was awkwardly trapped on the floor between the front seat and the backseat of the car. I stayed there for a while. I found my mind straying to a different place, again with an unexplicable warm feeling inside of me, as I found myself captured once more by P and S. I had been bound by rope, in that Cowboys & Indians type binding, with the rope coiled two dozen times around my upper body, in a cartoony kind of way. I was lying on the floor before the backseat of the car, at their feet, and they placed their feet over me to keep me still, looking down smiling in satisfaction at the captive they had in their possession.

This vision/fantasy was a re-occuring one for me over the course of the next 6 years or so. I remember that it often came back when on long car trips, or when a freshly-made bed had had the covers tucked tightly under the mattress, either because I slipped into it while it was like that, which happened occasionally at home, or because, during a stay at a hospital for a rather late incidence of a childhood disease (11 years old), the nurse would tuck us into bed each evening and create nearly immobilizing bondage by placing the sheets so far under the mattress.

The "captured" vision/fantasy took a back seat to other ones when, in my mid-teens, I came across my first novel about a dominant woman teacher forcibly seducing one of her young male students... in a strict but non-abusive way. This book led me to the discovery of a whole variety literature dealing with dominant women and their shy, younger male objects of passion...

Freud, anyone?

Favorite Things... a View From the Bottom

2008-06-16T12:07:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a post by morningstar (May 20th, 2008), I thought I provide my own list of my favorite things. Of course, a second list, a view from the top, will eventually be necessary... Two disclaimers: first, not all of these are appropriate for newcomers, ans second, this is a personal list, so it may not work for everyone.

As a submissive, in no particular order, some of my favorite things are:
A caring sadist: someone that will accept the gift of submission with respect and honor. And who will be absolutely giddy at the prospect of what she can do with her new toy...
Bondage: nothing drives the point home that you are at the mercy of someone else like bondage does. Being bound is the signature on the contract of the power exchange...
Floggers/whips: the iconic beautiful, dominant woman wielding a flogger or a whip is a syren song that cannot be resisted. It will bring about altered states of mind if she can use them safely and competently.
Spanking/paddles: as appetizer, as desert, or as the main course, there is something just really satisfying about spanking and/or the use of paddles. Interestingly, it never seems like there's enough of it until there is too much...
Nipple torture: seriously now... is it really BDSM if nipple clamps aren't used? There are few body parts that can provide as a high a ROA (reward on abuse) as the nipples.
Puppy/pony play: makes one feel almost as submissive are one can get without being tied up. The head trip is directly proportional to how much the mistress enjoys it, and how obedient the pet is willing to be.
CBT: about the only thing that can make one more mentally vulnerable than being naked. Funny how CBT is the one type of bondage that no one struggles against or tries to break free from... the less movement, the better...
Servitude: is a room ever cleaned as fast, as well, or with as much enthusiasm as when it is part of a BDSM scene? All of a sudden, keeping chores isn't so boring when wearing fetish clothing, having hurtful implements hanging, or having someone with a crop watching over.
Piercing: within the wide range of possibilities that may come about when making the gift of submission, few things are as intoxicatingly erotic and sensual as offering one's body as a canvas. The needles may form the pattern, but the shades, hues, and colors are all created in one's mind.
Electric play: the combination of the wide range of sensations provided by electric toys and the huge surface of the body they can be applied to are second to none in competent hands. Just try not to think of Luke Skywalker being tortured by the Emperor in Episode 6...
Fire play: the ultimate in the sheer intensity and beauty of the scene, and for the synergy between the players. The nearer to the side of the cliff, the more extraordinary the view is...

There is so much more... but this should keep you busy for a while...

Quirky Observations

2008-06-16T11:59:00.000-07:00

Recent car commercial by Nissan featuring high-performance CBT transmission...
Vanity license plate in a parking lot that read "UBN BAD"
Found on a youtube-type website where a trampling video was playing: an advertisement and link for a (vanilla) dating website that said "Have you found your crush?"

The Beauty of Punishment

2008-06-07T09:47:00.000-07:00

My Dearly Beloved asked me about a little over a week ago how I would describe the beauty of punishment to someone outside the scene. Hmmmm...

I'm not sure it's that easy to describe in words that flash of images/emotions/sensations to someone that's involved in the scene, even if many would know what it means. Never mind someone outside the scene.

So does it have to do with the aesthetics of the scene? Like a passage out of The Beauty Trilogy, perhaps it has to do with the scenery around those giving/receiving it. It's the walls, the pool, the equipment, the field, the implements, the house, the lighting, the music, etc...

Maybe it has to do with how people look, both the principals involved and the observers. Ranging from fetish clothing like leather or latex to wearing nothing at all, or maybe just a collar, what people wear may be part of the beauty of punishment, primarily in a visual sense, but also on the level of smells, sounds, and touch.

What about the kind of session going on? Which is the more beautiful punishment? More sensual play or something more physical? Corporal punishment or fire play? A puppy-play scene or a piercing scene?

For me, those three factors contribute to it, but ultimately, the beauty of punishment is in the synergy that results from the exchange of power. There is something just magical that can be felt when a submissive surrenders to the dominant, and the dominant will, in return, take the submissive into a different dimension of sensations and mindspaces, enjoying the trip just as much, intoxicated by the power and the trust turned over by the submissive. You intensely feel it when you are part of it, and you can even feel it when you observe it.

It's not just the eroticism that is an implicit part of a beautiful punishment, but the joy, the trust, the caring, the intimacy. The beautiful punishment has both sides giving... the submissive makes the gift of submission and the dominant gives the submissive the gift of their skills, their imagination, their care, their experience... on a journey of mutual exploration and discovery.

A beautiful punishment is one of those things that you can't really make a checklist for. You know it when you see it, when you live it. It has an infinite number of possible variations, but at the same time, it is limited by innumerable contrainsts. It's pleasure from pain, it's receiving when giving up, it's a journey while immobilized, it's being the center of attention when relinquishing control, it's receiving everything we want when offering someone else to do whatever they want, it's realizing one's own fantasy when submitting to another's.

Part of the complexity of describing what a beautiful punishment is that is it so richly contextualized, so intensely personal. And at the end of the day, it would remain a tremendous challenge to explain or describe the beauty of punishment to someone who had never felt the visceral urge to submit or had been intoxicated by the high of dominance.

New Beginnings: Part 3

2008-05-18T10:05:00.000-07:00

This is an immediate follow-up to New Beginnings: Part 2

It was perhaps not even half-an-hour before C had recovered and had already tired of the conversation. Rekindling the spark in her eyes that she had talking with him earlier that evening, she turned to the newcomer, and without hesitation, asked R if he'd be interested in playing. While somewhat taken aback ever so slightly as he was pulled out of his observational mode, where he had been just enjoying his time as a voyeur and engaging his new found acquaintances in scene-based discussions, he could not suppress a smile that meant "of course", even before he said it.

She stood up, took his hand, and happily sauntered to the middle of the space that had all the benches and racks. He almost missed the handle to his bag of implements when she pulled him off the sofa.

He reversed abruptly the flow of energy when he reached for her collar and grabbed the D-ring with his finger, leading C to a kneeling bench. He had felt from far away her energy during her previous session with H, and he surmised that it would be easier for her to let go if, in fact, she had nowhere to go. In addition, he preferred her tightly restrained as he would take her measure during this first session. New partners deserved a certain level of caution and attention as different body proportions and reactions could lead to inaccurately placed strikes, something he held himself to high-standards about, and despised in careless tops.

C was in her knee-high boots, black nylons, garters, black panties, and a black bra. He had her face-down on the kneeling bench, with her ankles and wrists cuffed and clipped to the bench. He was always very demanding of his bondage gear, and the cuffs he used were among his favorite...

TO BE CONTINUED

* * * * *

It has always been a thrill to play with C. Her enthusiasm and energy as a bottom brought every scene up a notch (or several). In addition to some fantastic solo scenes with C, I must say that one of my most memorable scenes ever was a double-topping session of C in the company of my Dearly Beloved. An incredible aura engulfed us as this unbelievable eroticism and energy just flowed through the three of us. Watching sessions between C and my Dearly Beloved was beyond hot, and often crowd-stoppers. Overall, a special connection was forged between C and us.

I remember several late winter nights (early mornings?), driving C to her home, with my Dearly Beloved by my side, and so enjoying our post-scene conversations as we were virtually alone on the roads at that time of the night, and large snowflakes falling on the car, some so large they reflect ed part of the light of the car's headlights back to us in a myriad of tiny flashes. As the tires crunched over the freshly fallen snow, it would create a singular set of tracks on the street, and as I got out of the car to chivalrously open C's door for her and help her out of the car, I would look back at the path of the car in the snow, and realize that both for myself, and for my Dearly Beloved and me, we had made more inroads into our own respective BDSM realms, in the companionship of a wonderful play partner.

New Beginnings: Part 2

2008-05-18T09:17:00.000-07:00

This is the immediate follow-up to New Beginnings: Part 1

He had met C at the movie earlier that afternoon. Not tall, but very pretty and curvaceous, he had immediately noticed the beautiful leather boots she was wearing. They probably had a 3-inch spike heel, and came up to just below her knee-caps. She had on some black nylons that bridged the gap to a mid-thigh black skirt. She had a very open and straight-forward manner of expressing herself, and she was not shy about her feelings about anything. This went double for her BDSM lifestyle. She clearly lived her submission on a daily basis, both with her master of many years, and several play partners, some of which she met weekly.

He was immediately fascinated by C and her energy. The discussions throughout the evening had been entertaining and enriching, and she had much of what he enjoyed in a submissive: a strong woman who was comfortable with her kinks, who had a lot of energy, and who genuinely enjoyed getting lost in a sea of sensations and stimulations.

The strength part was very important to him. He had always had the attitude that there could be no power exchange if there was no power to be be surrendered, even if just for a while. C did so with trusted play partners in a fun and flirtatious way, and everyone liked her for what she brought to whatever space she was in.

C was spotted by one of her regular play partners, a very experienced and respected male dominant of the local scene. It was truly impressive to see how fast and how smoothly they slipped into their routine. There was definitely a sense of the familiar, perhaps even of the predictable. But there was no doubt about how much they enjoyed their 15-20 minute skit. H was a busy worker, and this pleased C to no-end as the crescendo of her moaning, as he increased the intensity of his scene, got the attention of pretty much everyone in the room that wasn't at least already part-way into subspace. Even for observers that had "been there, done that", there was a remarkable synergy between these two, and in the counterpoint of percussion sounds coming from their area of the dungeon, C was contributing a melody-line of moans, exhalations, and the occasional scream that was hard ignore. That evening, if BDSM had a porn star, C was it.

Their little scene came to an abrupt halt at a change of striking instrument. Among the several toys he pulled out over the course of their play, H grabbed a recently acquired flicker whip that struck fear in the heart of every bottom that saw it in action. C struggled against her restraints when she saw H come toward her with it. We could even hear some rather uneven negotiations happening at a distance. But H was rather unsympathetic to her pleas, and with the skill and accuracy for which he was famous, he changed the mood of their little session completely. After the unmistakable swish-and-hit of the flicker whip, C emitted a short but loud cry, immediately followed by an audible inspiration that sounded like a reaction to a burning pain. H only put her through less than a dozen of those strikes, but that radical change of pace left her exhausted and sweaty, and we made plenty of room for her on the sofa when H came back with her.

New Beginnings: Part 1

2008-05-13T08:58:00.001-07:00

The invitation to the movie was innocent enough… as innocent as any announcement posted online to a BDSM brunch might be… An opportunity to meet people from the scene, and a chance to return to that local scene after several years of absence.

The movie? The opening weekend of “The Secretary”. If that post wouldn’t draw out the right kind of folks on an early Saturday afternoon, he didn’t know what would.

He showed up in a nice pair of black leather jeans and a black sweater, perhaps a little stereotypical but classic and elegant, and fetishy enough for those looking for it. He was among the first ones to arrive, and discreetly found a seat outside the theater area from where he could observe the developing scene. Within a few minutes, it was quite apparent, watching the demeanor of some of the people arriving, who the members of the “Computer Group” were.

He went over to introduce himself to a middle age lady that evidently was one of the organizers of this particular outing, and well-recognized by the group. It was his first meeting of ms and her master, and unknowingly, the beginning of a friendship that would make an impact on both sides for many years to come.

He was then introduced to several members to the group, without too many details being exchanged, and he enjoyed the feeling that he was carefully being scoped out.

The movie was a surprising success, and the enjoyment of it was amplified by the indiscreet comments, not to say the heckling, from the leather gallery, which outnumbered the rest of the audience at this early mid-afternoon showing. The feeling after the movie was one of satisfaction, especially since so many mainstream efforts at capturing any real kink so often falls flat, either turning into any excuse for vanilla sex or just demonstrating how little society understands of kink.

The group left the movie together to enjoy an early dinner at a nearby restaurant, and plans were made to meet later on at what was then the most active underground BDSM club in the city. The group segmented into teams of anywhere between two and five, and his particular group made its way over the apartment of one of the younger women as she wanted to change clothes. This mix of old play partners and new acquaintances enjoyed a round of drinks while M put on something a more in the mood for an evening over at LJ’s club.

They drove over to the club in a poorer part of the city, quite the stereotypical warehouse with lots of space, a decent enough exterior, but with clear signs on the inside that this building had seen better days.

A brief check at the entrance to make sure one of the regulars could vouch for his presence at the club, and he made his way up some stairs, past walls with the occasional holes in them. The actual entrance to the main room was on his right, and he kept one of the double doors open to gallantly let in his new-found friends. He met LJ, who had a pretty good reputation, as far as BDSM club owners go. His commitment to the local scene was beyond question.

Entering the actual playspace, the feelings that overtook him were quickly overwhelming. The smell of leather was intoxicating, mixed as it was with the smell of smoke and a not-so-faint hint of sweat from those who had already started the action. A BYOB bar was straight in front of the entrance doors, with a refrigerator on the side. On the left of the bar, beyond the fridge, was a mix of chairs and sofas, around a large coffee table, where several individuals, most of them in leather, all of them in black, were enjoying some drinks and chatting rather informally with play partners, friends, and strangers, about play that had happened, was happening, or was to come. Most were seated, but a few subs were sitting on the floor, next to their tops, for at least that moment.

On the right side of the entrance, there were a few more chairs, placed around circular tables that could have been found outside any sidewalk café, and then, in the space that opened up behind these, a collection of benches, racks, and pulley systems that were strategically positioned to take full advantage of the roughly 3000 square feet area that made up LJ’s dungeon.

The lighting was appropriately subdued, with a mix of candles, red light bulbs, and warm yellowish lights that gave the dungeon an authentic feel for the occasion.

The arrival of the different groups that attended the movie more than doubled the number of people in the club, and the anticipation of what might unfold over the course of the night, even if he had come without expectations, provided him for a few seconds a rush that combined adrenaline and a bit of light-headedness.

He took his place at one of the empty sofas on his left, placing his modest toy bag on the outside edge of the sofa. He always believed in being prepared, and one can never know what opportunity can come up at such events. He watched intently as his companions hooked up with people they knew, and as they broke into social niceties, the unmistakable sounds of people playing on the other side of the room punctuated everyone’s conversation. Many of the people he saw in those first few minutes would remain regulars in his interactions with the scene for the next two years, a few even longer.

Rant: Reckless First Encounters

2008-05-04T18:13:00.000-07:00

I’m still troubled by a post on my good friend morningstar’s blog from a few months ago.

She had had a discussion with an friend that had a dominant rather infatuated with him, and he had asked her friend to drop everything in his life to come join him in Florida (Risk Takers, Jan. 18th, 2008, http://wtsubbie.blogspot.com/). To morningstar’s great shock, her friend indicated that if he had been younger, he would have done it.

While I’m not familiar with the details of that relationship, or the individuals involved, it brought back memories and thoughts of one of the areas of the scene I feel strongest about, and that makes me the most uncomfortable. I’ll call it reckless first meetings, and it is truly the BDSM scene at its worst.
Let me start with a disclaimer: despite some generalizations, this in no way applies to everyone. Nothing in life does. So even when I forget the appropriate nuances, I may be talking about a few, some, or many, but never about all. Am I making myself clear?

In many conversations with a number of female submissives, the fantasy of the first encounter or meeting with a top is something that makes their head spin, their knees weak, and their privates wet. Not that this is a bad thing, or something any bottom anticipating an encounter with a new top is unfamiliar with.

However, this particular fantasy has a few twists. The scene is often held in a secluded or private place, like a McMotel. The stranger, almost always male, is unknown by anyone in the local BDSM scene. He has years of experience from unspecified sources. He says that no one must know what is going on. Instead of raising red flags, each condition seems to enrapture the female submissive even further. The ultimate fantasy of meeting a strong dominant stranger that will bend them to his will in a mysterious place, and provide the power exchange experience of a lifetime is a powerful syren song in the mind of these submissives.

But reality is sometimes much less romance novel-like. Often, the dominant stranger is, at best, unskilled. At worst, he never had any intention of engaging in BDSM play. These predators know enough about the scene to be able to charm their way into such a situation, preying on vulnerable submissives that are searching for answers, for companionship, for release. The results of this scene may range assault to rape, or worst.

* * * * *

I had a close friend in the scene at one point, with whom I have lost contact years ago. We'll call her B. She had been a very experienced submissive hidding behind the facade of a strong, confident, well-accomplished woman. It was difficult to miss B, even in a crowd, and if you caught her eye, you were going to have a hard time not having a discussion with her.

B and I played occasionally together over a period of about 5 or 6 months, in public and in private. She was a woman who lived her submissiveness deeply, and she lived life at its fullest. This was a smart woman, a well-travelled woman, a woman who had seen much happen in her years, now a bit past middle-age.

But one day, I went to see her, somewhat of a surprise visit, strictly social, and I found her with a bruise near one eye, and other injuries inconsistent with what could ever happen in typical corporal punishment session.

She confessed that she had not shared with me her plan, since I would not have approved, and I probably would have gotten angry at her. But she had had an opportunity to live out her ultimate fantasy (once more...), the description above based on the specifics of what she told me (but par for the course for so many), and she just needed to live it so badly... so badly.

It turns out the stranger had no leather implements, no latex clothing, no kinky toys beyond some handcuffs, some ropes, and some unidentified cloth items to use as a gag. Her session? Forced oral sex. And not a consensual one at that. I guess the intimidation beating served as the warm-up.

She had no safecall, no one waiting for her, no one looking for her, no idea who the stranger was, or what he looked like. She could not bring herself to make a police report, even if it was probably useless to think that the predator might have forgotten to use a fake name in a motel that took cash payments only.

At that time, she needed support, not a tirade for her neglicence and lack of precaution. I was thinking of a few other words at the time, but she needed those even less. So I let it pass, and tried to be as supportive as possible. Strong woman as she was, she was back in action in a few months. Strong-headed woman that she was, I'm not convinced she would not try that again, perhaps (or not) with a few extra precautions. But would they be enough?

* * * * *

This is not an isolated case. This is not an extreme case either. Even with all the reasonable precautions in place, things can go bad. But as with much of life, it is our responsibility to do what we can to minimize those risks. Prior to such encoubters, face-to-face meetings are important, within the context of the scene (munches, public play) or not. I do recommend within the scene... fakes, incompetents, or individuals with problem-pasts are soon identified. Safecalls are essential. I've been the safecall for about a dozen first BDSM dates, and two of those turned out badly. Play hard, but play safe.

* * * * *

Already understanding something about this fantasy, I did have opportunities many years ago to indulge some submissives that I had had some great email exchanges with. I know, I know... that was many years ago, at a time the cynicism we have today wasn't quite at the same level, and there was hope that with a little scratching below the surface, we'd find the good folks.

But the ethics of it were clear to me. Regardless of what I did, I was perpetuating a dangerous tradition. Even if the submissives in question had their "first encounter" fantasy with me, and we had a great play session, it would encourage them to look for more of those. I couldn't accept that. I had to discourage the habit, and apart from informal discussions that I was pulled into, the best way I could do that was to not engage in them.

At the end of the day, like many other things we do, or don't do, it's difficult to say whether we've made a difference. People will do what their hearts want them to do. But I do hope that my online rants, discussions with individual submissives, and my lack of participating in this particular facet of the BDSM scene has made an impact on someone, and has kept them from harms way. My efforts will be worth it if I know that just one person was spared the danger of this not-so-uncommon fantasy. Or at least prepared adequately for it.

Act 1 Scene 3: Shibari

2008-05-03T07:52:00.000-07:00

Mistress S could just not wait to put him in ropes. She had told him so within the first few minutes of the preliminary conversation, and during some early warm-up play. For his part, he was just as impatient for them, as he had been awaiting this moment of surrender with anticipation for days, as important stage in the further offering of his submission to her.

She ordered him over to the suspension rack where he was to remain still as she carefully considered her options in ropes. Once the decision was made, he experienced his first taste of shibari as she expertly weaved her web of bindings over his upper body. She started at his mid-section and worked her way up, pointing out the "man-boobs" she created that would leave his nipples vulnerable to the delicious tortures to come.

Once she completed in the intricate pattern over his torso, she paused to admire her artwork before moving on to binding his arms to his sides. While he could only get a partial perspective of the design she had created, he saw in her eyes the satisfaction she felt, and that engulfed him in a wave of warmth and lightness simultaneously. How beautiful the bondage must have been!

Bound as he was, he was helpless to avoid her next move, a gentle kiss on his lips, a delicate, teasing kiss, that had him slip further into subspace. Already feeling his tenuous hold on the moment sliding from his observational and analytical consciousness, the softness of her lips on his, the smell of the herbal/flowery fragance of her skin, was intoxicating.

As physically vulnerable to her whims as he had dreamed he could be over the course of the past several days, there was no turning back. Not that he would have wanted to. This was another staircase to take him into the depths of his submissive consciousness, and he knew that she would be the perfect guide to this particular journey.

* * * * *

At the end of the session, as he came out of the shower and started drying off with the towel she had left him, his fingers brushed against an unfamiliar texture on his skin. As he looked down, he saw the rope marks still present from the bondage. The pattern sculpted into his skin was absolutely beautiful, moving him deeply, and as he already longed to have her bind his body once more, he experience their fanthom presence for a few fleeting moments as he closed his eyes and travelled back through a kaleidoscope of scenes and images where he served as the canvass for Mistress S' shibari artistry.

* * * * *

Later, a fascinating, and unexpected, realization washed over him as he visually and kinesthically relived the experiences of the evening in his mind. A transformation had happened. It was difficult to say when it had happened, or what had triggered it. Perhaps it was only the progression of events that Mistress S had conjured up in her wickedly creative mind that lead him there. Busy with a multitude of sensations, sights, sounds, and smells, some of them new, the others at an intensity he had never experienced before, Mistress S' bondage had moved him from one destination to another without him noticing the transitional change of emotional scenery. The shibari she had weaved him in left him excitedly powerless in the anticipation of what may come. But the catharsis was that the feeling of helplessness at the hands of Mistress S' had somehow morphed into a deep sense of security, of caring, that engulfed him in an overwhelming feeling of release. The chains and weights of the world outside their space had been removed and left behind. And he could truly, finally, express his submissive self, and offer it for the taking to his muse.

Act 1 Scene 6: Fire Play

2008-05-01T06:56:00.000-07:00

Still bound on the bench, lying face down, the slotted headpiece at the top allowed for easy breathing but also acted as a blinfold that would magnify every sensation he felt a thousand-fold. Mistress S knew that, and she had already taken advantage of it, taking him into new lands full of undiscovered sensations and mental imagery with the help of her deliciously wicked electrosim tools.

Clearly, the joy of popping one more of his cherries was not going to be denied her. Not now, powerless as he was lying on his front, with his hands tied behind his back. And not now, after he had trusted her with leading him down whatever path she desired.

The feel of the alcohol-based gel hand sanitizer had a soothing effect on the skin of his back after the electrosim play. But the feeling was short-lived as the gel was ignited by the electrical spark of the device Mistress S held in her beautiful hands. The coolness of the gel, as it started evaporating after a few seconds, turned into warmth in a fraction of a second, and rapidly became a much deeper warmth over the gelled surface and through his body. Ever vigilant about his reaction to her ministrations, and attentive to how his skin responded, she blew out the flame before the heat damaged his skin or overwhelmed him with sensations he could not handle... yet.

She moved from spot-to-spot on his back, describing both the beautiful forms and colors that the flames would take depending on the relief of the specific area she chose, and the feeling of excitement that grew within her.

The playful sound of her voice, firm but reassuring, was the safety rope that held him steady through the waves of sensations that the flames brought as the waves crashed in, and the waves receeded as she blew out the flames with her breath. Her vivid descriptions reached deep into his mind as he visualized the flames dancing on his back, moving up, down, and across, akin the notes moving across the screen in Walt Disney's Fantasia.

As he released what little was left of his tension, helped by the breathing techniques she had taught him before play started, she pushed the edges of his sensations and his mind by varying the quantity and the pattern of the gel she spread, extending the time of exposure of the flames, and occasionally moving to more sensitive areas on the canvass of his body. Each new pattern and each new location was an unexpected treasure, like a diver coming upon a more spectacular coral reef each time he turns around. Each extension of the duration of the flames, before she blew them out, was driving him deeper in the sea of sensations she was creating for him.

In an unexpected turn she had warned him about beforehand, she revealed the mounting excitement she felt at what she was doing, what she was seeing, what she was feeling from the play. Deep within him, an incredible joy rose up, temporarily disrupting the complex and beautiful imagery that her web of sensations had created. The source of the joy was the feeling that the gift of his submission to her will, to her skills, to her creativity, and to her wishes, had not only been accepted but enjoyed.

In this moment of acceptance, a connection was made, and his surrender was complete. He knew that he had found his Muse and his Guide for his journey through this deepest of realms.