Wax (a travel tale)

Posted on June 17, 2012 by jaime

A few years back, in India, I took a girl to a shop specialising in depilation.

Because this is a story about something that happened in India, I guess I should say that she was a woman over thirty with social and economic power.

So why “girl”? When I was growing up, I was taught always to call any female person over 16 a “woman”. I did for a while, because I like girls and I like women, and for slightly different reasons I want both classes of person to be safe and happy. But as soon as I started fucking, many women showed me that they were more pleased with me when I called them girls, whatever they might claim about their preference. (I mean in sexual contexts: not in academia, work, and so on.)

And my powerful girl in India preferred to be called a girl.

Anyway, that day she’d shaved her pubic hair for me. So I pretended I was displeased with her effort.

I took her to a depilator, in a part of town where all the hair-removers had congregated. We taxied through the marketplace, with people looking in to see a girl with her hands on her head and her legs under a blanket. And a man’s hand under the blanket. Once we were out of the taxi I led her through the district with my finger and thumb pinching her ear, taking occasional whacks at her bottom.

There were people who used creams and razors and even in some cases lasers, though they drew the line at tasers, and there were people who used traditional methods involving tightly twisted lengths of string. That looked painful, so I took her to the cleanest one of those, that offered private space.

The woman who ran the shop knew why I insisted on staying to watch, and she seemed to know that the girl on her back on the table, with her knees up and spread, was a girl under discipline. She knew something was up, anyway. If anything it made her more ruthless.

Afterwards my girl was pleasantly subdued. She said she felt very submissive and service-oriented, and very sensitive. I could make her moan just by blowing on her lips.

Later, she made other noises.

And later still, talking about her day, she said the woman’s ministrations, waxing and pulling her, being watched by me, knowing that I’d smack her in front of this stranger if she wasn’t cooperative, made her feel “absolutely violated”.

She said “absolutely violated” with wonder and awe. And she said it three times.

Jet lag

Posted on June 14, 2012 by jaime

I’ve been on the slow plane from Bombay. I slept through some of a Hindi war movie.

I’ve slept 14 hours.

But my feet are on on my home ground.

In the air, flying home with a whip and a chair

Posted on June 12, 2012 by jaime

There’ll be too many leaves in the pool, which’ll be the color of strong tea. The lawn will need mowing. Trees will need felling. I’ll need to build a bigger woodshed. I’ll have to do paid work. Quite a lot of it.

Submissive women will need to be handled with a whip and chair. I haven’t written about my travels while I’ve been having them but I’ve seen tigers at a range where they could have eaten me, a bit, if they were annoyed by the truck I was on. Or the way I looked at them.

When I was young I saw a circus with animals in it. A man with a red jacket, jodphurs and whip (probably a role model, now I think about it), put his head in their mouths, then made then roll over to have their tummies tickled. Well, I can do that. Now.

So I’m sneaking my new whip and chair past Customs.

Victorian lion and tiger tamer in a body stocking and skirt: felines, he’s got felines

Sleeping

Posted on June 11, 2012 by jaime

Watching a woman you own, whose body may be marked, but she sleeps in the aftermath and afterglow, breathing calm, happy and peaceful.

Indian hotel for English gentlewomen

Posted on June 10, 2012 by jaime

In the north of India, where it’s still warm but you can see the mountains, there is an old hotel. It’s not open to the public. It’s full of English women public servants, aged from their late 20s through to, oh, 80 or so. Apart from the hiking and other healthy activities, there are two things the regulars come to do: smoke opium, and, mostly for the younger members, have sex with each other.

I dropped by because a friend of mine’s sister lives there. He’d asked me to drop off some gifts from England. (Gloves, gingerbread, a riding crop, and tampons for her younger girlfriend.) She – my friend’s sister, that is – has retired and intends to stay till she dies. Others, like her girlfriend, just come to spend a few weeks there each year, fucking in the day and dreaming pipe dreams in the night. Or vice versa. Membership’s by invitation only, and they don’t advertise.

My friend gave me the errand partly as a favour, because he knew I’d find the place astonishing. They showed me around, since they don’t dislike men (conditions apply), and they don’t get many visitors. It is an extraordinary place. You may be wondering where older women go, who prefer women, and who don’t have close family connections. I know where about eighty of them went.

I’ve been as specific about the location as I’m going to be.

Ripped

Posted on June 9, 2012 by jaime

I was 16. A girl called Tanner sat on the ground in front of me, with her legs crossed in a little skirt. Her skin showed through the rips in the pantihose, warm ripe golden thighs bursting through black nylon gaps.

Her boyfriend was in jail. I took her on the back of my bike to see him. I wanted those thighs apart, touching my ass, and her breasts against my back on the turns. And I figured I had one sexual advantage over the bad boy in jail: I wasn’t in jail.

I was a dumb 16 year old. I’ve still got traces of the wound her bad boy’s friends gave me. It was the first time I saw a part of one of my own bones. When I looked past the skin and the blood, there it was: living bone, palely yellow. And I never did actually fuck Tanner.

But she looked sexy on that lawn. Affected my tastes to this day.

Yes

Posted on June 8, 2012 by jaime

I’m not sure why torn pantihose is so hot. To me, anyway. But it is.

Equipment

Posted on June 7, 2012 by jaime

In Farewell my Lovely, Robert Mitchum plays the ageing and down-at-heel Philip Marlowe, who realises, to his surprise, that he and Helen Grayle, played by Charlotte Rampllng, want to fuck. So he says, “my place or yours?”

She says, “Why? We got everything we need right here.”

I feel that way about bdsm. Don’t need clothes, let alone costumes. Don’t need ties, or implements of discipline. Don’t need no electricity. All we need, a submissive woman and I, is our bodies and our voices.

Stuff is fun, and I own, oh, boots and vests and tawses and spreader bars and so on these days. Lots of stuff. But I don’t need it. It’s never the point.

Gem thinks about her cunt while waiting to be leathered Part 22

Posted on June 6, 2012 by jaime

And that’s the end of the story.

This experience, conjured up at the end of a very sexual but entirely non-bdsm week, is the reason that Gem decided that there was something for her in bdsm. She liked submission, it had turned out, and she wanted more.

That’s why, a couple of months later, I was going to Rome to meet Gem again.

This time I was going to take her anal virginity. And I was travelling with a tawse. We were going to explore that submissive nature we’d found in her, and see where it might lead us.

I won’t tell the story of what happened in Rome for a while. We’ll have a series of one-off posts and two-parters first. It’s time this blog took a break from sagas.

Gem thinks about her cunt while waiting to be leathered Part 21

Posted on June 5, 2012 by jaime

Jaime: That’s good, darling. Now, you’re about to get leathered. It’ll be a first time, so remember it.

[He presses the length of the belt across her ass, holding it down. Gem opens her thighs again. She smells of sex.]

Gem: Ahhhh…

[Jaime takes a section of the belt and folds it, so there are four layers of leather. He presses this wodge of leather against the lips of her cunt, moving it up and down her wet furrow. Gem rocks on his lap, pleasuring herself against the belt. In a few moments he can get all of that wodge of leather into her.]

Gem: Yes…

Jaime: I’m going to punish you soon, darling, and it’ll hurt, but for now just focus on your cunt. Just move and rock, like a good girl. Or possibly a bad one.

[Gem groans and rocks a little faster, still with a thick section of leather belt inside her. Jaime presses the tail of the belt against her clitoris, and Gem’s yes-yes-ye-ye cry resumes, at high speed and higher pitch. In a few seconds she freezes, body locked in rictus, and screams loudly. Jaime presses and flicks the leather tail against her clit again, and she screams again, louder and longer.]

Gem: Fuck me!

Jaime: Oh yes.

[Jaime turns, half tipping and half pulling her from across his knees to the bed, still face down. While she sprawls, bottom up, he lifts the belt and swings it down, just once, firmly across the fullest part of her buttocks; it makes the satisfyingly sharp and rich sound of leather impacting girl, and it marks her with a bright red band. But Gem seems not to notice.

[Then he has his hands on hers, and he pushes his cock hard and deep into her, without concern for her comfort. Gem screams, coming one more time after he is fully in her. He pauses for a second, his belly tightly pressed against her ass, savouring her. Gem is warm, wet, and she holds him. Then he pumps, sudden and hard, making sure she can feel that he’s only concerned for his own pleasure. He comes in her within a minute or two, growling rather than screaming. They lie together, panting.]