O Non-Fiction

Rants, scene write ups, reviews, basically everything that isn’t erotica.

Light BDSM With A Lover

by

“If you wanted to torment me, blindfold me and tie me to the bed and force me to have an orgasm with the (Hitachi Knockoff) vibrator, I wouldn’t mind,” the request is made as coyly and casually as he can manage, couched in terms that let him pretend he’s not asking for a very specific scenario.

He doesn’t like to ask for things- but then again, neither do I. For me, I deal with it by hinting, coaxing or just flat out taking. He’d been toying with trying to seduce me, little misbehaviours and touches for the last day or so. I’d noticed, but I’d been careful about the bait- he’s been under the weather and I’ve started to second guess myself, not sure if he’s doing this courting because he’s ready or because he feels like he should be ready because he cares about me. (Holy first world problems, Batman!)

At times like this, my body is at once throbbingly libidinal and jealously guarding that same energy. I certainly wanted sex. I’d spent the morning of that day intermittently wandering out onto the sun warmed back balcony, looking at down at where a pair of young men were pulling apart a brick patio- gloves, t-shirts and well fitted jeans on slender, muscular bodies. They didn’t seem to notice that I noticed them, the handsome one in the grey shirt, kneeling and pulling up red rectangles from the spring damp ground.

I thought about something cliche, taking him for an anonymous fuck that made him feel used, working out the logistics in my head: the condoms, the communication, the nail scratches on his work dirtied skin. Then I put these thoughts out of my head because something, beyond the challenge of the chase, is off. I don’t typically tell Wildcard about these momentary distractions because I don’t know how to convey that when given a sexual choice that doesn’t mean  either/or but also, I still want him more. The presence of attractive men makes me grumpy that they are not him, and I don’t like admitting that. Given free reign to fuck any man I want, I find myself recoiling, not even mustering up the enthusiasm to flirt. Even weirdly resentful.

But that night, after a morning of fuzzy headed domestic productivity and little in the way of writing, I’ve put those thoughts away. I feel, and dismiss, the sort of pressure that suggests a migraine is looming, a throb in my sinuses and behind my right eye. I’ve been moody again, slow moving and prone to looks of introspective sadness that leave him asking: “What’s wrong? is there anything I can do?”

He feels responsible when I look that way, like he has to find out how to take me out of my head and back into the moment. It’s the sort of relationship thing you discover is important when you’re an adult. But my mood is my mood, and I don’t want to deal with that, for the moment, and so I find the wound up cloak of my aggressiveness, the thing that blankets comfortably around me when I dominate. Casually, I select a candle from where it’s resting in the clutter on his bureau and tell him to take off his shirt. White paraffin lit with a red lighter is then tipped over his bare back.

The little drops cast a shadow before they land, making it easy to guess where you’ll see a splat materialize. I test them on the back of my hand, and pepper him with wax drops. I know he likes the sharp, quick and hot pain on his skin. It’s a cheap trick, but all fetishes are cheap tricks and easy shots, the sex version of knowing where someone hides their spare key so you can rifle through their home unmolested.

His back is like leather, for whatever reason, probably just one of those genetic quirks. When we were first discovering each other’s bodies I wanted to hurt him, to see if he could deal with my level of sadism, and sunk my sharp nails next to his spine. He gave a deep sigh and relaxed, his taut shoulders loosening. For Wildcard, that was just the right amount of pressure to deal with his constant knotted state.

Watching the wax fall, it lands clear and hardens in white, fuzzy edged blots. He shifts a little, and I know he’s enjoying it. This is light BDSM, nothing terrible or complicated, no fearsome scourges or complicated rigging. He’s not even tied down at this point, although his arms are held up and well out of the way, but his head’s going to the right place. It is, as it should be.

When he drops, it’s always very subtle and achingly vulnerable. He lets the tightness of his body’s assembled parts relax and folds down, head dipping and nuzzling against me. His large eyes will half lid- decadent, his guard down. I flick and peel most of the wax off his back and make him stand to brush the rest off, and I can feel the lightest pressure of the connection I’ve just built.

If you were into woo, or magic or tantra, there would be some poetic insertion here about energy, or sacredness, or waking the goddess in me. I’m an atheist and left stumbling around with half remembered undergrad psychology lectures and the sort of inaccurate drug metaphors that hint the closest I’ve been to getting high is wrinkling my nose at someone else’s pot smoke.

Nonetheless, I feel in control, and push him back onto the bed, climbing on top, my eyes meeting his as my hands find and capture his wrists to pin him. He doesn’t like meeting my gaze when I get like this, as much as he likes the dominant part of me- it’s like looking directly into a light.

I tease him that I’ve never really hurt him, and he tells me that just my eyes are scary. He knows I can be mean, but I never force him past what he can handle, and yet the way my eyes look are a reminder that this rigidity is always there.

Wildcard’s a switch- he knows what it’s like from the other side. He’s made those eyes at me and dealt with the fact that I don’t look away and I don’t inherently find I want to, not with anyone. We navigate it as a power game. I know from experience with him that one session like this will discharge his submission and he’ll flip the other way, joking about spanking me and possibly doing his best to make that happen. I look forward to the play scraps in the future, but tonight, wriggling up against him, I can feel the hints that he’s aroused by what we’re doing and still hoping for the reward he hinted for before we started.

I tease him, threatening to not carry it out, tasting the power to say no, but I enjoy it, tying my soft red scarf over his eyes and buckling him into dark leather cuffs and clipping those above his head so his cock is mine to tease. We use slippery, cool lube from the pharmacy, Life brand “Intimate Fluid”, less viscous than ordinary KY, trickling it into my palm and in a wet glaze over his penis, pink and shiny like he’s just pulled out of my cunt or he’s breaking a world record for volume in pre-cum. I use my hand first, before I find the toy. I watch him wriggle and tell him I miss seeing his vulnerable eyes, now hidden away under the scarf and he tries to assure me I can still see his mouth.

The strong pulse of the wand works best squashed flat against the middle of his penis, my other hand curved to cup around, so I can feel the tremors and better jerk him up and down. When he comes he utters three sounds, starting with “Oh…” the two other words too garbled to make out.

When we started doing this he used to utter “Oh fuck!” just as semen started to fountain. Like he was holding a particularly awkward and fragile object that just slipped his grip, or he was startled to suddenly be aware he’d came under these circumstances, his whole body jerking forwards. I don’t know if he’s consciously decided to change what he says, but it’s the selfsame ejection of warm cum, three strings spurting, onto his furred stomach and my fingers.

I let him relax, and sort out the business of the cuffs that are holding his wrists. Kleenex blots away the evidence except for a little residue, and I wash my now slimy hands as lube and cum cool and curdle. The icky part of sex- but not a bad part. Sex is not supposed to be sterile or dignified.

He wants to be a good lover, so he does his best to try to make me come, touching and stroking my body, bringing his mouth and tongue to my nipples. He knows how to do this, but I never got rid of the migraine. Instead we talk a bit, and then my headache spikes and it’s his turn to dig into my back, massaging until the stab behind the eyes fades.

Tomorrow, he’ll help make me come, selfless about his own pleasure as the wave pattern of my own orgasm builds and my mind still carrying the lingering traces of the things I did the night before, but right now he gives me what I need in the moment and exactly what I want. The pain in my head fades and in the dimmed lights, bouyed by the warmth and the weight of the blankets, I sleep with him, in his bed, nested like lego bricks.

BDSM can be a lot of things for people: structure, an escape, release or catharsis, a way to be someone or something different. For me, it’s intimacy.

On Being a Femdom Unicorn

by

So, the thing about being a non-pro female dominant, especially one that’s vaguely conventionally attractive or has something approaching a civil personality, is that you are, in effect, a lot of people’s unicorn.

The problem with being a unicorn, is that it often ends up being an unlikely stand in for an actual fully fleshed out human being. For example, if you’re a femdom, some guys go their whole lives dreaming of someone just like you, while trying to convince other kinds of horse to wear a horn for them. Many of them have come to terms with the fact that they’ll probably never meet a ‘real’ femdom, and may even be convinced that the only way they’ll ever touch one is if they pay vast amounts of money to rent time with, or share her. You’re elusive, mysterious and probably, in their minds, just about mythical. They may even have their own personal beliefs that only someone who is true and pure of heart in some way can attract you, or draw your true form, where it was trapped in the body of a normal women, or come up with curious theories about your motivations and powers.

So, it’s not unusual for sub and switch identifying guys to flip their lids on meeting me. Heck,  a lot of these guys, still unable to imagine having me via the limits of geography or age, seem to be brightened just knowing people like me are out there. They’ve caught a glimpse of magic, and that’s enough to help them believe. You’d think it would be endlessly great for the ego. I’m special, right?

But the flip side about that is that you meet a lot of people with big expectations for what it’s going to be like and no ability to deal with the real you. These guys basically have put so much time imagining what unicorns are like, and what they enjoy, and how to make them happy, that when one comes clopping into their reality, said unicorn can find herself simultaneously fawned on… and rejected.

It’s lonely.

You see, with no actual experience with unicorns, theses guys have done a lot of thinking and planning about what it might be like. With all those poor other horses that just couldn’t measure up, any problem that appeared was blamed on the lack of a real horn. Meanwhile their expectations for what unicorns are like has been entirely fed by art, and stories, and poems, and people who do a great job wearing the horn for love or money and know all sorts of pretty tricks. Unicorns are imagined as trip-trapping about on rainbows, milk white and glowing like the moon, magnificent, fierce and deadly. Your average random unicorn chaser is not quite ready to deal with the fact that his unicorn might in fact be a piebald hack with a pointy bit.

And if you are a femdom, that horn just grew there and it’s not like you were trying to be the Twilight Sparkle of sex on purpose. It’s not particularly magical for you- often it’s been a major draw back in relationships where the guy wanted a delicate foal to tame with tenderness or some mane tossing pony or massive and sturdy plough beast. But try as you might, that horn was always poking in ways that couldn’t be ignored- that thirst for submission demands that even a genuinely awesome vanilla boyfriend couldn’t quench it. Quite likely, you’ve tried all sorts of things, from wrapping it in a pillow to filing it down so you could be just a normal kind of horse.

But the unicorn chasers aren’t actually natural unicorn riders- the thing that you are looking for is just as much a unicorn for you. So it’s very easy to find yourself a chaser who gets desperately enamored on the spot and… fizzling out as soon as they actually realize that horns are kinda sharp and ouchy. Or who is so into the fantasy ideas that surrounded their idea of what a unicorn is, that they start dressing you up in a desperate attempt to make you fit- a little glitter here, a little hyperbolic behavioral attributions about your “piercing dominant gaze” there- and you’re left with the guy still asking you to wear a fake horn over your real one.

You also get very familiar with people who have thought long and hard about how they are going to deal with the horn, but have put no thought into the rest of the animal- for example shyly explaining that they’ll try any of the fetishes they think you have, but they can’t promise they’ll like them. They’re just stuff that they heard comes attached along with the horn- yeah, they’ll *try* strapon sex because that’s how every femdom gets her kicks and how else will they end up in women’s panties? They *suppose* they like the idea of being beaten or forced bi- it’s always been hot to masturbate to, so, yaye? You get a lot of people who think that just having a unicorn shaped hole in their life will cause you to embed, like it was a you specific vacuum.

Or they get super into it and then burn out, because they are trying to be the perfect sub… and then poof, the day in, day out aspect of living with a unicorn means that they realize that anything magical was very common place. And being a femdom, in real life, is just like being a regular kind of horse, only stabby. And sometimes you end up feeling that a lot of people would rather want a femdom unicorn they can’t have and imagine the stabbings, than deal with the inevitable hooves, tail and impalement every day.

Teasing Wildcard- Femdom Sex and Lovelife Updates

by

I want him to want me. It’s a powerful ache, indistinguishable from the sort of desire people would think of as “horny”, a straight trip into wet and throbbing, with a scenic view of my ego, made on a road paved with my vulnerabilities.

Usually, it’s easy to make myself happy without another person- anyone with a decent supply of pornography or at least an active imagination and the capacity to orgasm can take the basic pressure off. Desire for desire and power games are why I bother with other people, rather than just fucking myself. Well, that and falling in love, but the body urge that sustains it takes its power out of the first two things.

So I seek and touch and look for cues that my effect is working. I adore grinding up against a man, him feeling the unmistakable roundness of my ass with all those stimulating places on me pressed to his groin, letting the muscles of my thighs work, up-down, pushing against him until I can feel that familiar lurch as his weight starts to shift onto you as he weakens with lust, and the way he reacts when you pull away.

I often dress to please myself by pleasing the eye of person I want to tease. I got lucky with bodies, or at least I think I am blessed, breasts and hips that do as they are bid and few overwhelming hangups- enough of a little of everything like tools in a kit: sharp collar bones, pale nipples, nipped waist, cream soft thick thigh and thin wrist and ankle, enough that’s average and exaggerated to let me play with both. But I like my body best when it is being a lure. I like to feel like I’m hunting and baiting and my skin feels shivery and fitted best to me when I pull his gaze.

Like all things to do with sex with me, it’s unnecessarily complicated and personal. Wildcard reacts best if I initiate sex, but is very coy and careful- tug or pull the wrong way and something tears or breaks and the immaculately self contained facade melts into water, rushing out or becoming un-graspable as he slips away completely into himself. I did not pick a partner who came prepared to surrender, but one who has to be lured there.

He speaks in subtle things, but seldom seems to notice little touches, or prefers to pretend he doesn’t feel the hints in our brushing legs or my fingers on his arm. I can kiss him and still feel a distance. At times, to push past this, I am blatant, outright forcing him to look. Last week, feeling impish, I set him to the task of preparing dinner and then joined him, stripping off my clothes, layer by layer until I was naked except for a line of black jewels down my sternum. It was my pleasure to touch him how I wanted but deny him, and delight in his aggravation when I added high satin pumps to parade my nude self past him, hearing him groan. “Oh come on!” before he followed me around trying to get my denying self to give him some release.

Often, he ends up on his back, my hand circled around his cock. He takes the gentlest stroking, like some sort of fragile creature. It reminds me of holding a snake, the way that it is at once clearly rigid, and alive and able to give and shift and respond to your warmth, but the skin is so velvety, the softest thing I’ve ever touched. I make him beg to cum, sometimes pressing him between my breasts, or adding a palmful of wet and slippery lube or licking and sucking him until I’ve made him wet with me.

And he just can’t resist. And for me, that desperation is downright addictive.

On Scamming Findoms And What They Say About Femdom

by

Money!Brace yourself, I may bloviate a lot here. After a discussion on fetlife about malesubs being irked at all the scammy women demanding money just for declaring themselves to be dominants, or to consider a guy’s submission. If you’ve been living under a rock, this is a thing. It’s a thing far more than the minority of male subs who fetishize handing over cash for whatever reason. So, why is it a thing?

Well, outside of the fact that humans are inherently scammy sometimes, there’s a number of factors going on here, which I’ll do my best to unpack.

The jist of the problem boils down to 3 things.

  1. The popular perception of femdom as a vocation, not a sexual orientation has re-enforced the idea that asking for money is the norm. I talked about this problem already here, regarding the confusion between pro and not pro.
  2. Female desire is being presumed to be either identical to whatever the sub wants, or to be absent from the interaction by default, part of what feeds into cause #1.
  3. There is limited information about kink, so people looking to become active this way have to deal with the challenge of sorting through all sorts of different norms, some of which are based entirely on fiction, and/or contain attitudes that re-enforce cause #2.

I’m not personally opposed to sex work, but the specific problem of findom-as-a-scam thrives because there isn’t really a clear separation of expectations that presume that a female dominant is not serving male desire. The barrage of ‘sex me this way plz’ messages are the other side of the same coin that allows women to announce that they deserve cash for absorbing oxygen- it’s one where female desire has otherwise been taken out of the equation. Or, to be exact, female desire is still there, but a little bit of ‘lifestyle’ polish on a professional is like a porn star having an orgasm- the desire exists only as it conforms to the package-able script.

Precisely speaking, findom scams are also the cousin of the beatings-for-housekeeping deals. By these, I don’t mean people who enjoy service, which is glorious good fun, but the all too common case where men feel like they’re making a trade of service for what they actually want- and I don’t doubt that some of the women are enjoying the inherent power of having a houseboy, but I’ve read all to many accounts from women ending wryly with that they’re going to end a session feeling vaguely used, they can at least get a clean kitchen floor out of it.

Read more

How I Learned Modesty

by

Image by Susan Rosen

So, me, the blogging exhibitionist, developed a sense of physical modesty to enhance my sex life. As an experiment, it not only proved completely possible, but I’m finding I’m enjoying the results.

This may seem like the exact opposite of a positive step for someone who values sexual frankness and freedom- after all, “modesty” tends to be the baliwick of people who are doing it out of religious subcultural affiliation and it tends to have a bunch of unfortunate stereotypes on board about body shame. But modesty is also about control, either artificially imposed on someone or imposed on the self. and when you fetishize power it’s too tempting a toy to pass up.

Besides, there is a certain tension inherent the commonly covered body that makes you keenly aware of bared skin. It sensitizes you to touch, to the the slide of fabric up your thighs and off your shoulders. Whether the brush of air or fingers, it’s part of the sensory buffet that’s part of sex. I do not suggest it for everyone- for some people always being brazen is better.

But, Wildcard and I have one of those complicated dynamics that are inherent in the fact that he’s a switch and I’m a dominant sadomasochist. Asides from adorably awkward attempts to navigate each other’s comfort zones, since he’s the kind of switch that doesn’t prefer to be in one mode in exception to the other, and I balk and get prickly when my sadomasochism moves into more than a temporary defeat, we both seem to keep things in a comfort zone where we both need to feel we effect the other and a lot of the erotic charge comes from the resulting sexual tension.

One of the things Wildcard brought to the relationship is a particular fondness for forced nudity, an exhibitionist thing based on control of gaze. He’s very equal opportunity about this, just as happy to strip or be stripped. It’s nice to get to play with a set of fantasies that I enjoy but are not my main set and he makes them exciting by how they are shared with me.

Yet for me, it provides an extra challenge. A lot of kink related to power has the paradox of wanting something you don’t want (or wanting the person not to want what you are giving them). I am the aforementioned brazen by default- body shame isn’t part of my general makeup. It is not in my nature to be easy to get at, and yet I also enjoy getting attention, especially the kind that makes me feel in control. A reasonably portion of my sexuality thrives from baiting an aggressive and more predatory streak in my partner and watching how that plays out. With Wildcard, nothing faked was going to cut it and he already knew I was happy to lounge around naked.

Nothing by real coyness would do,  and for that I first had to break the assumption on his part that he could take my nudity for granted. I put on clothing on a regular basis, for the first time since I moved out from my family, adopting a regular winter habit of comfy PJs. When I changed for bed, I did it in another room or ordered him to look away, while I changed. It wasn’t about what was wrong with my body, it was about how it was mine. It didn’t take long before I caught him disobeying, and my very real reaction to that proved I was taking it seriously, so of course he began to take it seriously. I like feeling like I can frustrate him, and like I have a means of denial, but also that I can tease and the risk that sometimes that can be exploited.

As a side effect of making sure I was covered, it meant more mindfulness about the subject and more attention about what and when I was on view. Of course Wildcard knew I was doing this all along and why. The results, since I started the experiment, have been very entertaining. Now I want to see what would happen if I put him through the same project.

The Scars That Contain and the Scars That Sustain

by

Today I’m going to talk about scars. Not the flesh kind that give the physical body its unique character and where an injury didn’t quite correct itself on the skin, but where the scar is ripped or worn into your psyche.

Reading based on stereotypes, it’s not a ‘done’ thing to be a dominant and have been an abuse victim- not unless it’s well into the past and you are speaking from a place of power. I’m not old enough that my relationship mistakes are youthful foibles compared with my current conduct. I went through a really, really bad relationship and it ended at the start of last year. The impact of that lives on.

I can’t masturbate while someone fondles and touches me from my right side. That’s the legacy from my Ex. Being touched that way was a typical conclusion of sex I was profoundly not into, and the flashpoint for one of the major sticking points of the relationship, my ability to leave into the inside of my own head. When things soured, I was too pissed off at his mistreatment of me, and him too selfish about my needs for us to work well as a couple, and I was too terrified of dealing with him and how treated me when he was upset to want to address my anger- besides, I fundamentally had lost trust of him and thought he didn’t care about my needs.

So we had a lot of sex based on me being annoyed that my orgasms were slaved to his, and that I had no choice- I had to come to get him to fuck off. It was an earlier trend- when our relationship was mostly cybersex based, when I wanted to sign off and go to bed he would make sad noises at me unless he himself was physically tired enough to sleep and emotionally satiated- and he needed to know I had an orgasm in order to not make noises of distress at me, distress I found almost impossible to respond to. Net result, a bad trend that self replicated through our relationship.

Why I was dealing in defensive mode with him all the time is partially where he had demonstrated himself to be frightening to me, and partially from scars that were cut into myself by earlier relationships. Likewise, the endless need to fix and tend is a part of my personality that seems to be my biggest strength and one of my biggest drawbacks.  I’ve talked about the darker side of caretaking already, but more personally I know damn well that my childhood was the textbook of how to raise someone particularly inclined towards the sort of victimization that happened to me. Getting away from my Ex meant referring back to where I got my first scars, and learning where I’d learned to be helpless.

Because I had a family life that taught me I was needy, undeserving and my feelings didn’t matter, it was easy to accept a relationship that was like that. Living with a parent who was mercurial with their indulgence and gave out affection and attention only with a  heavy toll later in accusations of being demanding; who enabled and modelled accommodating abusers; and who taught, early on that I was only there because I had a need they couldn’t stop themselves from filling, as was everyone else, gave me the sort of scars that teach you to accept abuse, and to try your best to be an every full vessel for others to drink out of.

But getting free also meant escaping another sort of scar, the kind intimacy leaves on everyone.

I don’t feel this gets talked about enough with advice about breaking up, but relationships thrive on comfortingly familiar patterns. The way your bodies fit together, the way you learn to talk beyond words and the way that the other person responds. It builds a bond and in that bond people end up tied together as strong as an addiction. Love is wonderful and terrible, it grows where it shouldn’t, the roots burrowing in and cracking apart what seems like perfectly sensible social constructions, or holding together edifices that have no sensible or sane business being upright or together.

It gets some lip service that breakup advice tells you to take some time off, two weeks being the standard time keeping, to accept that you are not in your right mind in a parting. What popular culture doesn’t tell you about is what to do when a person who is bad for you sucks you in easily. It is mentioned as weak and silly that someone’s words can sway you, but never why you might want to return to something you know to be terrible. My Ex and I developed a cycle- I would get some time away from him and stop feeling so emotionally exhausted I could think again. I would feel better and happier than I had in months, like a weight was taken off my shoulders. Then whatever was keeping him away would end and I’d start feeling a full body sensation of frantic panic, bracing myself for when he’d come back and I’d be smothered again. I’d use the remaining solitude to try to escape…

Only to get sucked back in as soon as he was in my life again. A little bit of contact and I went from solid and upright, to crumpling down into a doll-person who couldn’t do anything but react. The least bit of positive overture from him was like the rush of a drug. I wanted, more than anything else, to be wrong and for him to actually care about me as a person. Since the work of being a relationship with him generally left me with a patchy support network and limited resources, I ended up being hauled back in.

Or I would try to break up and somehow shut down, my head screaming “no, no, what are you doing?” and I folded up where I needed to be strong. I know in hindsight that some of it was that the deck was stacked with abusers tricks- that he would fuck up shared expenses to keep me broke and then arguments would tell me to physically get out of the house, that I had no personal space or room for myself- but that intimacy groove and his ability to maintain a pattern kept me locked closer than if he’d leg shackled me to something.

Meanwhile our fights got less and less rational and his behaviour in the relationship incrementally but steadily worse. Eventually I gave up and hid as much as I could, losing a summer to hiding in fantasy games with strangers where he couldn’t get to me. And we fought, but I was past exhausted and straight into numb- I could no longer perform as he wanted me to and I just lay flat out and cried helplessly while he tried all the tactics to try to get me to do what he wanted. I was pretty much sucked dry- I didn’t even feel miserable anymore as much as numb.

But this complete surrender ended up giving me some space- the online environment give me some friends beyond his reach, Strong became among them. Strong was, to be frank, blanketed in need. Without going into the intimate details of his life, I began to interact with him as a tool to motivate myself- I never really got beyond my base over-nurturing tendency but it was part of getting distracted enough that my ex faded into background noise. Strong was tempting in a way that reminded me that I had alternatives.

So I fixed my life- I found a job, started stockpiling money, started getting exercise every morning and trying to look after myself, and started taking long walks in the evening, talking to Strong to push the walls my Ex had built around me. I tested myself, repeatedly, making myself do physically unpleasant things as a sort of inoculation, telling myself that the actual breakup would mean the same amount of discomfort. Until, eventually I broke away like a person fleeing the country, and I was gone.

But the scars he left remain. Dealing with my Ex was always very unsettling because I was never sure that my backbone would hold. Fortunately for me the fact that I was helpless enough to need him to the degree he could control me was an elaborate fantasy he had built in his head and got me to buy into- independence gives great perspective. He stopped sounding like he had anything positive to offer and started sounding a little unhinged- joking about putting a shock collar on me so I couldn’t run away became an all too real, literal interpretation of what he wanted, while efforts to offer me a loan came out as bald faced bribe that disrespected the fact that I made my own damn money.

But in the most fragile few months of building that solid space, a fair quantity of credit has to go to Strong for being distracting. Simply keeping me busy, alongside preemptively blocking my Ex’s ability to reach me were two things that mattered more than relying on raw willpower. But it was amazingly hard- even though all talking to my Ex meant being unhappy, a part of me stubbornly wished that I could just talk and be friends and it would be okay. Knowing about that means self loathing and guilt- fighting that’s taken many months

It took a long time, about half a year, to get to the point of being able to feel better enough i didn’t tear up anymore. And even now, with Wildcard, I still find little landmines leftover, scars that are rough, echoes of the past. He occasionally ends up asking “Was [Ex’s name] literally an ogre?” He sees me flinch at something, finding a splinter from the past lodged somewhere tender. It can run up against my prickly sense of independence- if the Ex did anything it was re-affirm my early lessons that my needs were my weakness, but now I have to unlearn that, soothing what is hard scars with something to soften them so I can unbend.

I don’t want to be a person who can’t relax and rely on other people, it’s literally insane behaviour and it’s going to take me a long time to let go, if I ever can completely. I might be a dominant by self description, but I’m not some unassailable bastion of good sense.

But all the scars from my experience gave me one other gift. Knowing the hard way, where I was vulnerable and my Ex hurt and held me stuck to him, meant that when the time came to pay it forward I knew how. So there’s that- my escape let me serve in vigil to others who needed the same framework and support- and frankly, distractions. And that is the upside of the scars that never leave you- the lesson you learn doesn’t either.

He’s Been Feeling Submissive Lately

by

Wildcard saw me typing away on a blog post comment the other day, (this one actually), and when I turned and smiled to reach up and touch him from my nest on the couch, he leaned over and mimed typing with two fingers to add random content to my post.

“No! Bad!” I grabbed him by the robe, near the lapel and at the waist below the belt, and tugged him down over my lap, landing then playful spanks through the terrycloth fabric.  He looked amused, but compliantly flopped.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes. I will never write anything ever again,” he announced solemnly, as he rose back up.

I hesitated long enough to give him a look, pulled him back down and flipped his robe up, landing the next series of blows on the thin plaid fabric of his pyjama pants, “No! That’s not it at all!”

After a time I paused my spanking again. “There. Have you learned now?”

“Hunt and peck typing is bad?” He opened his eyes wide and innocent, making a stabbing gesture with his index fingers.

I made a grumbly noise in my throat and hooked my fingers into the band of his pants, pulling them down to expose his ass. My strikes went from pats to swats, and he buried his face in the couch. He’s never a very demonstrative victim- you can never really know for sure if he’s having fun, but if you watch him closely, you can see the way his shoulders move and how he relaxes into it. It’s the same coziness of a hug.

Each time I got a silly answer I intensified the strength of the blows until he conceded that editing my posts was not a positive quality, a surrender made mostly because he’d run out of funny comebacks.

It was one of those happy little moments, like a few days before, when I’d leashed his brown leather collar to the bed with the help of a rope and metal clip, and then bound his wrists with bondage tape so I could tease him.

I made him fuck the rippled, massaging inside of a Tenga Egg, half using it to stroke the length of his shaft, half making him thrust into the slippery channel I’d made with my hand and the toy. He had to beg to come, stretching it out until the orgasm was so intense he got a cramp in his foot, and I’d made him promise a forfeit: I got to take naked pictures of him..

This weekend, I made good on my threat, dragging him, nude except for the brown leather collar around his throat and made him pose, threatening him with all the places I was going to put his pictures while he stroked his cock. It was massively erect near the end, leaking a few drops of shiny precum- and he was absolutely gorgeous in the pictures.

Sexual desire makes  sort of vulnerability, especially when you can make the person pose any way that you like and he knows it. It’s all pouting lips and wide but shadowed eyes. I have a favourite picture in my collection of him, his hand on his cock, and my hand on his neck, shot to show his body and a glorious expression of helpless desire.

So yes, it’s been fun.

Sextoy Review: Tenga Eggs

by

I love toys for men. Maybe it’s the desperate enthusiasm in their faces or the tight, slippery glide of a sleeve teasing a cock, but I’m all about Flesh Lights, ona-cups and finding new uses for vibes and insertables that make him moan and squirm.
eggThe Tenga Egg is one of my favourite introductory, easy toys. It’s a great solo companion for a boy who deserves a rewarding time, or a teasing little extra, and it helps fill an huge fetish of mine- watching a man really get into how he’s being used- or how I’m making him use himself for me.

Wildcard is particularly yummy to watch when he gets himself going. Like most men who grew up on the web, he made the choice of learning to operate either his penis or his mouse with his left hand- and as a result, he’s a southpaw masturbator. This makes it really easy to reverse engineer a hand job for him using all the secrets I get from watching him jerk and play with himself.

He likes to start by gently teasing under the head of his cock with a tickling finger. He’s cut, but super sensitive, and gentle brushing and rubbing him through the fabric of his pants is usually enough to get him started. After that, slowly shifting to stroking the shaft of his cock, hand on bare flesh, is enough to get him swollen and erect. One of his best features is how thick his cock head is, and I love how pink and shiny it looks. Tease him enough and he’s quick to dew up with a drop or two of glistening precum, just right to playfully flick off with the tip of my tongue or smear it in a little circle against the slit with my thumb.

But, what he likes best of all is when he gets all slippery, slicked up with lube or oil until a hand slides around nice and easy. Adding a Tenga Egg to our fun was part of my Valentine’s gift for him. These elastic but yielding, white ona-cups are smooth on the outside and ribbed or textured on the inside to wrap his rock hard cock and let me pull them down, so the ridges inside drive him crazy. You put a little bit of water based lube inside, and it’s so easy to get him just to the edge of coming and watch the white egg stretch tight and translucent and I pull it down from head, along the length of his shaft.

As a soft toy, I can control the pressure and decide when he gets to come, squeezing hard or soft. These toys would also be a great trainer if you have a sub who has made himself a little numb from gripping himself too hard. Tenga makes a wide viarity of toys in different textures, and even among the eggs, you can buy them individually or in a little egg crate to get to try out different designs in one go. Pink Cherry, an online retailer, has a perpetual sale- these will usually run you $15 each in a sex shop, but you can get one for about $8, and a whole set of 6 for less than you’d pay individually.

egg2

If you want to learn more about these, you can also hit up Tenga’s website. For Wildcard these were a hit- he said that they were even better than just a hand job with lube (and he loves to feel me massage and tease his cock!). I know I’m going to buy some more until I’m sure I’ve found just the right fit. Maybe if he’s a good boy I’ll get him a permanent toy like one of their 3D sleeves. 😉

(I will give one caveat- Tenga guarantees their Egg product for one use, but among people who enjoy them, washing with gentle soap and using your own lube for next time will let you enjoy these toys until you’ve got your money’s worth. As a reviewer, I also recommend this toy most of all for guys like Wildcard with high tactile sensitivity- and don’t skip the spot of lube)

Incidentally, am I the only person who likes the look of guys using toys? I know plenty of straight men love it when their partner has a favourite vibe or dildo. If you’re a guy, what’s your favourite toy, or if you’re a person who likes toys, what if your favourite toy for him?

Real Life Femdom Party: Wildcard’s Birthday Spanking

by

Balloons!Last Saturday I helped hold a celebration for my Gentleman Nemesis’s birthday. It was a simple, casual six person dinner-and-company-affair, with two other femdom couples. That’s right guys, a real life femdom party- but maybe not completely like the kinds you see in porn. Also, we had tacos. :9

The founding kernel for this event was organizing a proper, mean birthday spanking for Wildcard. The first misconception to throw out, if you’re trying to imagine this, is something ultra high protocol in a classy mansion or high end loft. Although Wildcard’s residence is plenty homey and tasteful, the reality of secret BDSM is how well we blend in. The subs did not arrive on leashes, and the only fetish-y thing was that I decided to wear my corset, which is a steel bone and satin number in severe black, but this was as much because I don’t have many occasions to have my waist cranked down by 3.5 inches. Everyone else, on the other hand, came in comfortable, casual clothing, the sort of stuff where you won’t feel silly or awkward. None of the female doms or male subs have a thing for cross dressing, so there were no submissive sissy maids simpering over tea. Sorry, I know, trés disappointing for a certain hopeful number of you.

The guest list was some familiar faces: LadyCobra, Vosko, Ballbuster and Mr. Sub, which meant two other couples with solid dynamics. Once again, I really have to say they emphasizes how you can all be technically on the same page but have radically different ways to do things. It’s also possibly one of the best parts of playing with other people because you get such a wide range of dynamics and outcomes.

Powerhouse couple Ballbuster and Mr. Sub have had years to build their dynamic together. They’re real proof that some of the meanest, hardest play is built on a strong foundation of love and mutual support. Their style is also something that developed together, with definite switch tendencies in Mr. Sub that mean that when he’s not otherwise occupied in the sub role he’s eager to give input. With two minds put to the task, a lot of predicaments and pure wanton sadism pops up, and he’s as eager to share it with any and everyone else as his dom. On the flip side, with that sort of regular play partner, in scene Ballbuster runs things hard and fast, with intense cruelty and no warm ups- then again Mr. Sub takes a lot to get him down, and his idea of after care if bouncing around all pumped up, while the dom flops, exhausted in a corner. If you need to imagine them: Think huge toys, heavy pain and hard humiliation. With a sub like Mr. Sub it’s quite clear where Ballbuster learned her confidence- she doesn’t seem to worry about pulling out all the stops and the effect is spectacular. Also she went as a pink pixie fairy last halloween- take that how you will.

Meanwhile, LadyCobra and Vosko’s dynamic is a lot more characterized by LadyCobra’s attentive preciseness to detail. Vosko is a lot more vulnerable in play, and while he’s got a great sense of humour and strong public persona- in kink he’s got a softness there (and incidentally is the baby of our little group of libertines), which is not to say he is a wimp, but rather that there’s much more of an impression of fragility there while he’s being given fierce looking bruises. Paradoxically, by appearance, he’s also the sort of massive Scotsman that gave the ancient Romans second thoughts, and would not be out of place among a line up of metal fans. He’s well matched by LadyCobra who is, as I described before, incredibly technically precise and proper, with impeccable scene control. If anyone’s going to make “traditional” kink look good it’s her. She’s also very, very good at bringing just the right level of pain or strictness the moment needs, and making her approach to a submissive or bottom fit with just what the sub can take, all without making her subtle adjustments obvious.

Organizing an event is mostly complicated by the shyness that’s inherent in trying to get other people up in your sexuality without creeping them out or getting creeped out. Everyone’s needs and desires are intensely personal, so I’m always careful about presuming too much. Suffice to say, these things never happen with any sort of script or expectations beyond good taste and common sense. We agreed to a round robin, each of the guys in the sub role would get beat, birthday style, with each dom, and the implement of her choice, one whack for each year.

Wildcard was perfectly happy to share his day, because he’s one of the least selfish people I know. (Well, perhaps he’s nursing secret grumbles, but I don’t think he’d ever dream of vocalizing them if he did.) He also provided the homemade pork tacos, which sounds dirty, but actually was more that he’s an amazing cook- food which the guest inhaled, and I made a white cake with chocolate ganache and a caramel middle. I mention this because having fun is key, and if you want to organize your own party, keep in mind that you will have more fun if want to spend time with the people you play with outside of being kinky with, and at them. But, back to the beating and the humiliation!

I had Wildcard strip in front of us, piece by piece, folding as he went. He blushed really cutely as I made him remove every single item, except for his socks. Wildcard is ultra-slim in a trim bodied sort of way, and by affect, naturally very reserved and non-demonstrative about his feelings. He generally puts a lot of effort into his appearance- you won’t see him with his hair unseen to, or his beard untrimmed and even his casual clothing is well fitted and flattering. There’s a certain sort of pleasure I get just from mussing that perfect control in how he can present himself.

And it seems like my “take it off and fold it!” approach encouraged the others, because they soon followed suit, and Vosko was all vulnerable and stripped under much the same script, and then in his turn, Mr. Sub shucked clothes with the casualness that belays his long experience. There are not, to be frank, many chances to objectify men properly. I enjoyed it.

The best parts, for me, are always the reactions. Watching the way they take the hits, in this case posed just so, kneeling in an arm chair, with ass raised. My friends had brought their toys: paddles, bamboo canes a rubber baton and other entertaining means to smack flesh into submission. Wildcard had, for the second half of the evening, lost the right to speak unless spoken to or unless given permission. The effort was a practical one- with so many interesting people it was hard for him not to get distracted and interject into what people were saying. Charming conversationalist or not, he has an extremely hard time getting into anything approaching a submissive head state and his play collar was undergoing repairs.

I’m going to be honest and say that getting him in role or close to in role calls upon pretty much every shred of latent telepathic talent I might have in regards to reading subs (or in his case switches)- if his current job fails the guy should take up poker as a career. It’s also somewhat compounded by the sexual etiquette. I knew that he was incredibly excited to get a birthday spanking from multiple people because he told me as much, but the flirting that tends to be involved in BDSM encourages br’er rabbiting, ie other words pretending to be emphatically not into the act that you’re very much craving so the dom can feel like a meany with power over you, which means cultivating an air of reluctance. Since there’s an extra onus on dudes to be reserved in their sexual approach to avoid coming across as pushy, this can lead to kinksters behaving as shyly as a bunch of debutants.

Letting other women beat Wildcard is interesting for me, because it lets me watch how he responds. I gave him a warm up first, a bare skin, bare handed spanking to help him get ready for what was going to happen and passed him off, to go first in the chair. His fate involved his own belt laid hard against his skin, swung by Ballbuster’s hand. Then each man had his own turn following him.

The fact that Vosko was the youngest (and least spanked) did not, in any way, mean people went easy on him. Although he took less hits, it’s Wildcard who has the gentlest limits. Mr Sub, of course, needed a vicious thrashing to even make him do more than go “that’s niiiice” and go to sleep. All three men ended up with deep purple bruises, eagerly photographed and watched over as they faded over the past week.

I liked the fact that Wildcard was gently shaking a little bit, after his first third of his use. I liked that he melted into quiet vulnerability, rolling into a curled up naked ball, and that he would occasionally whisper to me. I liked that LadyCobra caught the vibe I was trying to build and worked well with it, and that Ballbuster, while she didn’t seem as into it, was patient enough to play along.

In any case, the guests seemed happy enough I can be sure there will be a repeat. Hurrah!

33 Things Every Submissive Man Should Know

by

1) We are people too, and all the vanilla courtesies still apply. For you as well as me.

2) Don’t fawn all over us; you will sound like a tool. Don’t call us “Mistress“, “Goddess” or “Lady” unless we tell you to. Don’t try to act like our sub without our consent- anymore than you’d act like a woman’s boyfriend without her say so. We shouldn’t try to pull rank on you either, just ‘cuz. Don’t put up with that shit.

3) That hand kissing thing doesn’t make you a subservient old school gentleman, it makes you a show boater.

4) Your fetishes, needs and desires matter. They are not, however, my problem until I choose to make them my problem by getting into a relationship with you or choosing to address them when we play, and probably anything we do will be a mutually complimentary fusion of both our desires- don’t stand for a relationship where your needs aren’t being met- it doesn’t make you a True Submissive, it makes you a martyr.

5) Getting flogged, spanked, dressed in lingerie, or pretty much all your fetishes are intimate acts, even if they don’t involve your penis. They are therefore as intimate and personal as asking for sex. Govern yourself accordingly.

6) For the love of all that is holy, stop offering me acts of service unless they are your fetish, or I specifically say I want them, and even more so, stop trying to trade acts of service for acts of kink. A house cleaner makes way less per hour than a pro-dom.

7) Not all female dominants are professionals. Not all women are comfortable with you buying them stuff. In fact, if you want to buy them stuff, you still shouldn’t lead with your wallet because we will think you think your money has power over us.

8) Your submissive desires do not define you. They are part of who you are, but not the entirety of who you are, and a dom’s long term interest in you will probably have a lot more to do with the whole person than you being a sub. Also the type of submissive you are is informed by the rest of your personality.

9) Women who demand tribute to talk to you or to prove your seriousness are scammers or naive. Professionals who stay in the business will be trading a real service for money, and will be as explicit and up front about what they do to the extent that the local laws governing solicitation let them. Women who ask for money to dom you are professionals, regardless of skill or sanity.

10) You are no more or less valuable or worthy as a person because you are a male submissive. You are not doomed to only getting your kinks met if you hire a professional. You are not unattractive to all women, even the doms.

11) We probably like looking good and being fantastic as much as the next person, but we can’t sustain a conversation based on how awesome we are. It’s either trying to force a worship dynamic on us, we will perceive it as you discussing your turn ons, or typical human modesty will cause us to blush and deny. Use compliments like pepper with new people- sparingly applied where suited.

12) On the flip side, working on being more hot can’t really hurt your chances, particularly if you want a ‘hot’ dominant woman. Make sure your hair is groomed and flattering, your clothes fit and you otherwise take advantage of the best tools available to your regardless of your subculture memberships. Humans are shallow.

 13) Do not underestimate the ability of supposedly vanilla women to surprise you- not all doms hide out in BDSM environments. But, likewise don’t mash a square peg into a round hole. Your ability to convince a woman is related to your ability to make it seem sexy and inviting, and not like a chore she’s doing for you.

14) When you do hook up, don’t deliberately disobey and do a shitty job of things because you think that’s the only way to get beaten/punished. Make a clear distinction with your dom regarding your needs- if she really cared about what she told you to do she will not want to reward you with your fetish when you fail to do it.

15) You may not meet your true love at a munch, but you probably will meet other kinky people on the same page as you. I can’t promise that you will make friends because you might be shy and socially incompetent, but I can promise if you want a relationship you will have to talk to people somewhere. At least all the people attending should be soem sort of kinky.

16) Not all doms are sadomasochists. Not all doms don’t know not all subs are not sadomasochists. Try to talk about stuff- you don’t have to be pushy to say that you don’t know if you will enjoy being spanked or not.

17) If you tell us that you need 300 levels of secrecy because of your Very Public Job, and you’re not a minor celebrity or living in a small conservative town of gossips, we are going to think you are married. Likewise, ‘discreet‘ is code word for ‘cheater‘.

18) Your wife might not understand you, but we know even if you are awesome, at best you’re going to break our heart  when you try to shield us from some other thing you think we can’t handle, just like her.

19) Safewords are so you can say “no!” and have her ignore it. Ignoring a safeword, on the other hand, is bad news. Discuss in advance what it means to you and do not assume. Hell, never, ever assume.

20) If you act like every female dominant you meet is the last lifeboat off the Titanic or your only chance at a relationship, we are going to run away, because it will make you behave like a nut job. And you will get taken advantage of because you are desperate.

21) If you expect every female dominant to come fully equip with gear, whip skill and a private dungeon, you will be sad. If you expect them to look better than the normal range of attractiveness you will also be sad. If you try to buy us all the accoutrements to turn us into your idealized dom, you will probably also be sad and we will be grumpy because you think we are some sort of fetish paper doll and now our spare bedroom is full of your shit.

22) Courtship overtures that start with a positive comparison of us compared with all other doms, such as that we are prettier, saner, smarter, etc… do not go as well as you think they will. Keep in mind that it is all too easy to project your ideals onto strangers and it’s going to be very awkward if you praise her for something that is not the case.

23) We can’t despise you if we want you to be our sub. We can pretend. We can say all sorts of mean things. But only an emotional masochist will get into a relationship with someone who really makes their skin crawl or really is unsatisfying company.

24) Your penis size is less important than you seem to think. Don’t get me wrong, some of us care- and a lot of us will wanna see, but later and well photographed.

25) This isn’t grindr, so you can’t seduce women with a lousy picture of your anus. Similarly an online persona laced with overtly sexual pictures and stolen porn will make you look only down to fuck.

26) Don’t tell us how our gender or ethnicity makes us naturally dominant. Also, vanilla tip, praising our looks based on ethnicity is going to get frowns. Especially if you get it wrong.

27) Don’t tell us certain sex acts aren’t ‘dominant’ or worry about how subs aren’t supposed to want certain things. You don’t have to be into penetration, but that’s not because you are a sub, but because that’s your preference. Also, accept that satisfying your partner as a sub may mean doing what she wants, not what you wish she wanted. If she wants her tits slapped during sex, she wants her tits slapped. Likewise if you still like blowjobs, you still like blowjobs.

28) On the flip side, pegging, cross dressing, etc… are not inherently submissive. ‘Serve’ is not synonymous with ‘kinky sex act’. Not all doms will do or want to do your fetish. Unfortunately porn files things in clusters, but those clusters don’t always reflect real life. If you just want it up the butt, you don’t need to call a woman ‘Mistress’.

29) You are allowed to have limits. It is not your dom’s job to ‘push’ or ‘expand’ your limits unless you both think that idea of that is sexy. Porn sites like kink.com use that as a cheap trick to make their sex seem more intense and scary.

30) Switches are not inferior dominants or lousy subs. Not all switches are on/off style either- so their desires may be more of a dimmer than a radio button.

31) Don’t trash talk other subs or try to pull rank based on how you are “alpha” or “a true submissive”. Doms don’t like it when you tell us what we want, and you don’t know what we want until you get to know us. Your ranking system is merely self labelling.

32) Target sanely. All your service sub studying in giving manicures and tending to high heels will baffle a gender queer dom women who just wants a nice service sub to help her/them with carpentry projects. Prep is not bad, but there’s no magic bullet and what you did to prepare for us will inform us of who you think we are.

33) Dominant women can be insecure, sad, clueless, make mistakes, need snuggles, love you, have terrible taste in media, get horribly infected ingrown toenails, have body image issues, question their sexuality and self esteem and at the end of the day are just as lost, clueless and fumbling around as you.

(There you go, 33 heteronormative things for F/m minded submissive hopefuls to improve their chance of happiness. – Oh goodness, this list has gotten popular!)