e[lust] 99

Elust 99

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Welcome to Elust 99

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #100 Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Private Eyes
Brittle
Lust Highway

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

I love a man in a suit
Church Smells, Beliefs and Fornication

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

The House Next Door

 

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Feelings about bisexuality
On scheduling sex
Reasons I Didn’t Orgasm That Aren’t About You

Erotic Non-Fiction

Wet on the Washer
Smack
Alice Takes a Spanking
The GP – Part Two

Erotic Fiction

Rope Tattoo
Poseidon
Taking the Lead
Rites of Passage ~ Part 4
Home
Spanking Desires
How Could I Resist
Summer Smoke
Angel on My Shoulder

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Marks are Memories on the Skin
Him. His cane
Being Naked
A Prickly Situation
Collars in bdsm: Where did they come from?

Poetry

Secret
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Sex News ,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

“What Were You Wearing?”

 

Elust 88

Sinful Sunday: Settling in for the long haul

We’re settling in for a long, disciplinary session, Arethusa and I. This is a later view of the scene introduced here

She’d been late with a university essay, and it was the third time. I’d finished up helping her to write the thing. But I was sick of past-the-last-second panics, where it took serious intervention from me to get anything handed in at all. So I decided it was also necessary to take severer measures. So I’d told her what to expect, and to be waiting, naked and bent over my table until I got home. 

Once I arrived I fixed her cuffs to the table, and after that it was simply her job to endure. We started with the lighter cane, and at the time this shot was taken there was still the tawse, the birch and the heavier cane to go.

And then, before uncuffing her, there would be the fuck that tells her she’s a good girl again, and that her Master can’t keep his hands off her or his cock out of her. Not for long. 

But the whole process, from discipline to expiation in sex, took nearly three hours.

Note the cushion she’s bent over, and the box of tissues. That’s one of the ironies about punishing a girl you love. You want to be considerate. 

 

 

Q: Who gets to speak, politically? A: Everyone!

I’m white, het and such. I’m sometimes mildly embarrassed by my complete failure to fancy men, but only in the sense that it’s a limitation and no one should have one of those. But I like what I like, sexually, and I’m not going to change it. In fact I can’t. If the Christian Right has made one contribution to the World of Knowledge, it’s that sexual orientation “therapies” don’t work. 

I also sometimes think that there’s a significant number of people who I agree with on most things, who are likely to discount, or at least be suspicious of, any opinion I express on sexual orientation, race, etc. Because it comes from a position of het white male privilege.

It’s absolutely the case that I get privileged status from being born straight, white and male. I’m also lucky to be physically … well, not disabled. I mean, I need glasses and my hearing’s pretty shit, but basically I can get around and get by. There are people of colour who have more power and money than me, and there are women of any colour who also have that. But I’ve always had the freedom to know I’ll be ok.

It’s not the most fun you can have while naked…

I won’t lose my home. I’ll always be able to afford food and water. At the moment I can even afford to fly round the world, drink champagne, and if I liked the stuff (I don’t) snort cocaine.

I can walk into a room full of rich, powerful white men, and pass. Not just by looking like them; I know how to act. I can make a deal. That’s very privileged, and it has a lot to do with being straight, white and male.

I don’t believe I’m being silenced by the presence of other voices. What’s changed is that I’m more likely to be called out for talking bullshit than my equivalent was, 100 years ago. There are more voices. Rupert Murdoch hates that reality, but I like it a lot. 

Anyway, I was thinking about this because I read someone straight and white, like me, said they wanted to speak out and support Bi-Sexual Awareness Week, and they did, but they felt embarrassed about speaking out at all. I understand that feeling. But if we want to live in a better world, it’s wrong. 

I don’t care if someone saying nasty things about bisexual people is het, exclusively gay or lesbian, asexual, or bisexual with a dash of self-hate. It’s the nasty that matters, not who they are.

Similarly, it doesn’t matter what someone’s privilege check points are, if they express support for bi-sexual awareness, and bi-sexual people.

…sex and politics have always mixed. This is a demonstration in support of same-sex marriage in Australia. This male sex blogger, sadly, isn’t quite this photogenic

No movement, or group of people, has too many allies. Justice issues even need allies to the extent of including het white male sex-bloggers like me.

The same applies to supporting Rose McGowan and other women speaking out about sex predators in Hollywood, which is just another workplace. If something’s unacceptable in a Distribution Manager at a kitchen appliances firm, then it’s also unacceptable in a senior Hollywood bureaucrat.

So I joined the Friday 13 protest against Twitter for silencing Rose McGowan’s account. (She’s been reinstated, so good.) You can even be an ally by shutting the fuck up, sometimes. Life is full of ironies. 

Vinceremos! And wankeremos! We can always do both.

Wicked Wednesday! Maddie, meet the cane!

I stepped forward, avoiding Lucy’s gaze, and bent over Sir’s desk. Lucy’s skirt lay folded on the desk beside me, where she’d taken it off to receive her spanking. I put my hands forward, and lowered the upper half of my body slowly down to the desktop. 

The desk was cold. I could feel my own goosebumps, then the cold, hard surface when my nipples touched the wood and I let myself all the way down.

I knew I was helpless now. I felt absolutely powerless. It was going to happen. 

I felt his hand pressing down on the small of my back. “Bottom up, Maddie. You know what presentation means.” So, under the force of his hand I arched my back, so that all of my body pressed tight on the desk, while my bottom jutted up. For him, and Lucy, to watch. 

“Good girl. Keep it up. Even when the cane’s hurting. You get one warning on that, Maddie, then I start issuing extra strokes.” 

There was a gasp from Lucy, a suppressed protest on my behalf. “Come here, Lucy.” I supposed she must have crossed the carpet behind me, because the next thing I heard was the the unmistakeable sound of Sir’s hand landing on Lucy’s bottom. She got a dozen, and she was wailing quietly for the last four of spanks.

He spoke quietly, so I guessed she was in his arms. “Maddie needs to learn discipline,” he said to her. “If she knows she gets extra strokes if she moves out of position, will that help her stay in position?” 

There was a silence. Lucy had to be thinking. To answer “Yes”, would be to approve of me getting extra strokes, and she didn’t want to say that. Then there was another loud smack. Lucy cried out, “Sir! Sorry, Sir! Yes, Sir, it’s kinder to warn her.” 

“Good. Now, Lucy, would you like to do Maddie a favour, while I cane her?” 

There was another silence, while Lucy considered what on earth that might mean. But finally she said, “Yes, Sir.” As I would have in her position. 

“Good girl. Sometimes when a girl is being caned, she has to count each stroke out loud, and thank me for each one. You know that, don’t you?” 

“Yes, Sir.” Her voice was breathy. I wondered, over his desk, eyes looking at at the dark teak below me, if he was doing something to her while they spoke. Or if she found the situation exciting. It was at that thought that I realised that I was getting wet. It was a turn-on, to know that watching me aroused her. And if Sir was stroking her while they talked, I wasn’t even jealous. 

“Good girl. I want you to count the strokes. In a loud, clear voice after each one. And then you can thank me for showing you what a caning looks like. Can you do that, Lucy?” 

“Yes.” She was barely whispering. “Sir.” 

“Then we begin.” And a few seconds later I felt a thin, hard pressure against the fullest part of my bottom. Then it tapped me once, and then it was gone.

I waited, wondering how much it was going to hurt. Then it landed, a straight line of fire across both cheeks of my bottom, exactly where he’d tapped me. It hurt instantly, and then a second later it hurt more than anything I’d felt before. Oh, it burned. 

I screamed, “Yaaaah!”, and my body rocked and writhed on his desk. “Oh! Ah Sir! Sir, that huuuurts!” 

A second later Lucy said, “One, Sir. Thank you for letting me watch, watch what getting caned looks like.” 

I struggled with myself. It took all of my will-power not to get up and run Though where I could have run, stark naked with a fresh cane-stripe across my ass, I’m not sure. Eventually I managed to get my bottom up, the way he’d told me, for the next stroke. 

“Good girl, Maddie. A little faster, next time. Can you manage that?” 

I thought about extra strokes. Then I thought about how much I wanted to please him. “Yes sir, I will stay in position. Or get myself back into position quickly. Sir.” 

“Good girl. But if I have to warn you again, you will get extra.” I nodded into his desk. Of course I was going to earn extra strokes. I was never going to get used to this. 

The cane returned, pressing against my bottom, just a little lower than that first stroke. Then a little tap, then the cane’s terrifying absence. I held my breath.

 

Porn-sharing anecdote: Beware of the knife

I was once moving into a bdsm relationship with a girl who’d always been vanilla. I was in the process of perverting her. Mostly that consisted of my tying her up and spanking her, followed by fucking. We were almost vanilla, by most bdsm people’s standards. I didn’t care. I liked her, and I was perfectly happy to keep things at levels she was comfortable with. 

But as Doms do, and as I think even vanilla girls stepping slightly off the straight and narrow expect, I pushed carefully and not too insistently against those limits. I found some things.

For example, she was interested in being watched by another girl while she was being punished and fucked, and in being tied up and having to watch while I fucked the other girl. One of the reasons I thought I was probably right in reading that from her is that although those things are fine and fun to me, they aren’t central in my own dreams, fantasies and desires.

So my picking it up wasn’t just wishful thinking. 

But I only “knew” those desires of hers because when I had her tied up, and sometimes when we were fucking, I’d tell her stories. The stories were on various themes. But stories on those lines got particularly excited physical responses from her. She never said anything.

I thought it was too early to put her on the spot, and anyway I didn’t have another girl all lined up and ready to drop by into a threesome at the drop of a hat. It could be done but it’d take organising, and I couldn’t do that until she’d indicated she was okay with that. Even I wasn’t dumb enough to spring a Surprise! Threesome!! on her.

But I lent her a book of bdsm porn, and recommended Chapter 9. There was, I remembered, a hot scene with a man and two girls doing the kind of threesome she seemed to be comfortable with.

The heroine spent most of the scene tied and helpless while the other girl was free, and dominant to her. but it was emotionally safe for her: both girls fucked the hero and watched the other girl fucking the hero, but  they weren’t in the bed together at any time. So there was a kind of very close girl-on-girl emotional intimacy, but no actual girl-on-girel cunnilingus or fingering. 

Anyway, a couple of days later I asked her if she’d read it, and she said she had. But she wasn’t at all happy. I asked her what was wrong. 

“I didn’t know you were into knives. I mean, that’s not…”

“What? Knives? There’s no knives in that.”

“There is.”

“Bullshit. There can’t be.”

She passed me the book and I checked it. I must have read that section 50 times at least. And sure enough, there’s a bit where the other girl got the heroine’s attention by holding a knife to her throat.

I just hadn’t ever noticed.

The thing is, I hate knives and blades. It’s to do with a childhood accident; sharps give me the chills, and not the good kind. I’d always read that scene for pleasure, so I’d always just skipped the knife bit without it registering on me at all.

I think in sex men only see what we like, so that we like what we see. That’s me, for sure. 

So that’s a small warning, on using media to make explicit what you want, or to encourage your partner to be explicit about what they want. You see a bit of film, or text, and you think it’s saying something sexy and charming. but there may be a knife in there. The other person doesn’t know what you want them to notice and what to ignore. Keep your eyes open.

Postscript:

The relationship didn’t suffer much damage. My failure to notice the knife was weird but obviously real. So we had fun, and lots of hot sex. 

The threesome didn’t happen, though. 

Sinful Sunday: Dungeon dreaming

Taken to a dungeon. Spanked, whipped, fucked. And… fast asleep. 

It’s one of the most satisfying moments for a dom, I think, when your sub is too tired even to get into the bed. Simply crawls some of her body onto the bed and drops deep asleep. It makes me feel powerfully tender, seeing her like that. It’s a different kind of surrender. It makes me happy.

And if she ever dreamt of being in a dungeon, in her cosy home in Antarctica, what is she dreaming of when she’s in a dungeon?

What it means, to wear a bdsm collar

What does a bdsm collar mean? Generally, the best idea is to ask the person wearing it, and the person who gave it. They can tell you what that collar means. But only that one.

I met her once. In fact, I’ve had the honor, though not the pleasure, of having been turned down by her. Bother. Very nice person, though, and every bit as pretty as the photo suggests. At the time neither of us had any idea how iconic this photo was going to become.

Their meaning won’t be the same as someone else’s. For example, if I see a woman wearing a collar in the local supermarket, I can’t guess what it means. She might be proclaiming that she’s a wild spirit and a bit arty, or she might be a Goth, buying bread, milks and eggs on her way to sack Rome.

She might be involved in bdsm, and wearing it for bdsm reasons. Even then, I can’t know what it means. She might be wearing it to express her membership of the world of bdsm. No one collared her: she bought it and put it on herself.

It doesn’t even mean she’s submissive, necessarily. Plenty of women switches and doms also wear collars for that reason.

(Guys are much, much less likely to wear a collar in public. So I’m writing “she” and “women” for this part.)

It might mean she’s submissive, and the collar helps her to feel submissive, and there’s a small sexual charge from expressing this part of her sexuality out in the open. But that doesn’t necessarily mean she has a master/mistress or a dom.

Again, she’s just quietly expressing her identity, to those who are able to read it.   

And then we have bdsm collars as most people think of them. A couple decided that they fit together well as dominant and submissive, and the dominant offers the submissive a collar. He or she accepts it, and so he or she become a “collared sub”.

Generally, if you make one image in a post black and white, you’re obliged to make the others black and white too. But I like the “just been paddled” blush on her bottom too much to fade it completely.

Even then, their understanding of what it means will be different from another dominant and submissive’s understanding.

It may mean something like, “I am my Master’s/Mistress’s property, in the same way that s/he owns his/her table and chair. My sole purpose, in every moment and aspect of my life, is to obey and please my Owner.”

Or it may mean something like: “I love it when s/he ties me up and spanks me when we’re fucking.”

I looked up “what bdsm collars mean”, and found a hell of a lot of wild claims, generalisations and pure fantasy on this topic.

The only generalisation that I think is true is that it represents some sort of bond and commitment between the couple. Accepting and wearing a collar has powerful emotional significance.

But the reality is: you ascribe the meaning to a bdsm collar. When a collar is given and accepted between a dominant-and-submissive couple, there are no terms and conditions that automatically come with it. You set those for yourself, in negotiation with the person offering or considering accepting the collar, of course.

Next!

I’ll write about what collars mean to me. 

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie and the cane

So I knocked on the headmaster’s door. I didn’t have any plan what I’d say to him. But I had my too-small school uniform on, the one my mother had bought without me, and I figured he’d cane me for looking like a slut. So I wouldn’t have to say much. 

I knocked again. I heard an impact sound, one I’d learned to recognise. My heart sank. The last time I’d heard someone else being punished in his office, that boy had hurt me so badly. It wasn’t just the rape; it was everything. So I wanted to run away, but I’d knocked and I’d be caught if I tried. I was committed now. 

Then that impact sound again, and this time there was a grunt. It was a girl, her first exhalation of pain. So I relaxed a bit. There was another set of impacts, and now there were little cries of distress. They got a little louder and higher pitched with every – paddle stroke? His belt? His hand?

He was spanking her, I thought. I’d heard the impact sound of his hand, his belt, and on that boy, the cane: I’d learned a lot about how discipline sounded. I recognised this as the sound on his hand landing on bare flesh. 

I waited, and the spanking resumed, harder. The girl was crying now, wailing. He ignored her cries: his hand just kept landlng on her bottom, over and over, while she squealed and screamed. It was as though I could see her, kicking her legs, held helpless over his knee. I’d been in her place not so long ago.

At last he stopped. She kept sobbing, her bottom and thighs aching and her mind utterly shocked. And her cunt awake and wanting. Wanton. Yes, I had been there.  

I head his voice, but couldn’t hear the words. But it seemed to me it was only a couple of seconds later that the door opened. Behind him a girl, dark-haired, plump, the kind of not-too-plump plump that men always follow with their eyes, was standing with her hands on her head, her skirt off and her panties round her ankles. He said, “Ah, Maddie. I was expecting you later.” 

“I know, Sir.” I’d lost all my courage. I’d planned how sexy I was going to be, how poised, for this. Instead I was tongue-tied. I hoped the clothes spoke for me.

(This and the image above from Strict Julies Spanks: http://strictjuliespanks.blogspot.com.au/2017/01/schoolgirl-punishment-part-1.html?zx=52c775e378ada53a

He lifted my uniform at the back. I could feel the air on my bottom, and on my thighs.I  held the skit up, knowing he’d want me too. “And I told you you’re not to wear that uniform again. You disobeyed me.” 

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry. I came to show you.” 

He looked at me. The skirt wasn’t much more than a belt (I think I’d grown a little, even since my mom had bought it), and the blouse barely held my breasts. And for a second his eyes met mine and he smiled. To let me know he knew why I was there. I felt so warm when he did that.

“Well, if you want the cane, girl, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Get in.” He pulled me into his office by my shoulder and propelled me forward. The girl and I stood facing each other. Her face was pretty, and bright red, and her eyes and cheeks were wet.

Our eyes met. We understood something about each other. 

He said, “You’re out of uniform, Maddie. As you know. So what do you do?” 

“Take it off, Sir?” 

“Everything, Maddie, before I cane you. Lucy: you’re staying. This is a strict school, but if you’re a good girl you may never knew what the cane feels like. But this girl here’s about to find out. You’re going to watch.” 

Lucy’s face was even redder than it was before. She got out, “Yes, Sir”, but her voice was choked. 

“Maddie, are you naked?” 

I’d been watching Lucy. “Sir, no, Sir. I’m sorry.” I hurried up with buttons, and pealed my shirt off, then slipped my panties down. And off. 

“That’s…” He paused, thinking. “Three extra strokes.” Lucy winced. “Bend over my desk, Maddie.” 

Collars in bdsm: where did they come from?

There were what we’d recognise as bdsm clubs in the Victorian and Edwardian period. They called themselves things like “Miss Primm’s Society of Flagellants”, rather than bdsm clubs, but if we went back a hundred off years in time and visited one, we’d recognise most of what we saw. We’d know our way around.

Now take a couple from that Victorian or Edwardian bdsm club and bring them to a modern bdsm club. They’d also know most of what they see. They’d see dungeon gear, they’d see a school desk with a birch or a cane handy, and they’d know what those things are about. 

But there are also things that would puzzle them.

For example, some of them would be looking for women wearing nosegays (a small bunch of flowers) pinned to the breast of their shirt. Because that was how women in the early Victorian period signalled that they’d be very pleased to birch a naughty boy and teach him to behave.

But bdsm has fashions, and that fashion has gone.

Similarly, other people would be looking at the women and men wearing leather collars round their necks, and wondering what on earth that was about. Because in Victorian times, collars were not part of bdsm.

Historical slave collars

Maybe one reason for that lack of interest in slave collars is that the Victorians were closer to real slavery than most of us now are. So they had an idea of what slavery was like, when it’s impersonal and non-consensual.

Actual slave collars existed but they were usually made out of wood, iron or cord, and they weren’t everyday wear for slaves. Nor were they romantic, or intended as decoration. They were hard things to eroticise, and it doesn’t seem to have occurred to any Victorians to even try. 

Slave collars were for attaching together groups of slaves when they were made to walk from African villages to slaver ports, from which they would be taken to countries that had large-scale slavery, particularly Arabia and the United States.

These collars weren’t the stuff of erotic fantasies: more like brutal nightmares.

Slave collars in pre-Victorian, Victorian and Edwardian bdsm literature

Put simply: there weren’t any.

You can read bdsm erotica from the Victorian and Edwardian period, and you certainly had characters who were willing submissive partners in sexual slavery, because for them it was the best and hottest sex ever. But they don’t wear collars.

If their master, mistress or trainer wants them to feel powerless, they might be made to wear something super-feminine, that exposed more leg or bust than they were comfortable with and presented them sexually.

The image on the left isn’t  Victorian. It’s 1950s. But it shows humiliation by feminisation.

I can’t give an example of a girl being humiliated in this way. It’s a theme in written Victorian and Edwardian porn, but from the descriptions it sounds to a modern reader that the girl’s just wearing a summer dress. A little, flappy summer dress. Nothing, to us; deeply humiliating, to a Victorian lady.

And I should write about why looking feminine was considered to be humiliating in itself, but – the hell with it – not today.

But you’ll look in vain for any reference to collars for those who choose to obey. Collars just weren’t a thing yet. 

Slave collars in Story of O

O is collared, in the 1975 film of Story of O

The earliest reference to collars I’ve been able to find is in Histoire d’O, published in 1954. The submissive women at Roissy wear collars and sometimes blindfolds, and… well, that’s about it. 

So the inventor of collars as a bdsm symbol is probably Anne Desclos, who wrote The Sory of O under the name “Pauline Reage”. 

 One of the interesting things about Descos/Reage is that when she wrote Story of O, she had no bdsm experience and knew very little about bdsm, except that her then boyfriend admired Sade. I’m no fan of the book, and I think that lack of experience and inside knowledge helps explain why the book is so oddly sexless, unsensual (most of the time*) and disembodied.

But it also explains why Declos should have invented bdsm symbols from scratch, since she had nothing much to go on except her imagination.

  • The exception to my “unsensuous” comment is the bit at the beginning where O has to lower her stockings and panties and lift her skirt, so her bare bottom and thighs are directly against the leather of the car she’s in. That be a good sensual detail.

John Norman’s Gor books

But the person whose work brought collars into a central place in bdsm is John Norman. He gives collars enormous significance and power, which isn’t really present in Story of O.

There are all sort of thing wrong with Norman, mainly that he was a terrible writer, comically bad, and also his dodgy sexual politics. He thought women just naturally liked, or at least needed, to be slaves, so consent wasn’t really an issue. Male submissives don’t exist.

But the importance of collars, and collaring ceremonies. I have to give Norman credit for that, because it’s almost entirely his doing.

Fashion

Now collars are so popular that they’ve moved into mainstream fashion. When a Goth girl wears a choker collar, she doesn’t mean she’s a submissive, just that she likes the style. Usually: you just can’t tell.

If you want to find out, you’ll have to talk to her. Conversation is still quite a bit clearer than clothing signs, signals and symbols. Which is fortunate, for us wordy types: ie you.

(If you do do talk to her, “Hey! Is that a slave collar?” probably shouldn’t be your opening line. It may lead to a loud clash of symbols.) 

Bdsm culture

You can laugh. But we’ll all be wearing these in 2117

Bdsm culture isn’t fixed. We affect mainstream culture, and mainstream culture affects bdsm culture.

We use different symbols from the Edwardians, only 100 years ago.

In 100 years time, I have no idea what bdsm will look like.

But bdsm definitely will have a visual style, partly based on the old, and partly on new things we can’t begin to guess.

 

 

Next!

There’s a Wicked Wednesday episode of the Adventures of Maddie coming up. But after that, I want to write about collaring ceremonies.