Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven 17

Posted on March 29, 2015 by jaime

This is episode 17 of a series that evolved and expanded to become that very erotic and engrossing ebook, Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven.

In this episode, the house resounds with the pistol-shot sound of leather on skin, and Charmie squeals. Jack enjoys delivering that flogging, as Charmie is her complicated way both hates and loves it. But Jack lectures her, as well: she must use this punishment as a reason for starting forgiving herself.

Unfortunately, I’ve had to remove the actual text, because this excellent and very sexy book is being submitted for sale through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple Books, 24symbols, Angus and Robinson, tolino, Rakuten Kobo and Vivlio. Very soon there’ll be a page where you can choose your favoured book supplier. As soon as it’s up I’ll put the link here!

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven: what’s it about?

Troubled young Charmayanne Else is a former member of a neo-Nazi gang, who had come to her senses at least and left. She agrees to be interviewed by journalist Jack Molay. They soon realize that despite their differences they’re attracted to each other. Soon after that they discover that Jack is a Dom and Charmayanne is submissive. And she has much to atone for.

They head for her bedroom, but stop on the stairs. Charmayanne begins her atonement, and their sexual games become steadily more intense. Until there is a sudden and surprising interruption…

A review:

“This is beautifully written erotica, incredibly hot, about people who feel like real, three-dimensional people. Some of the BDSM events are harsh, but the atmosphere is always loving. JJ Mortimer turns human details and erotic details into pure steamy sexiness. Reading it is like being there, on a wonderful sensual ride!” – Isadora Druse, reviewer.

Get your copy!

Charmayanne seems to be enjoying her transition into submission. But can she let herself surrender as deeply as she desires? To find out, get yourself a copy of Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven!

A link will (soon) be here!

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven 16

Posted on March 26, 2015 by jaime

This is episode 16 of a series that evolved and expanded to become that very erotic and engrossing ebook, Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven.

In this episode, Charmie remembers – though she was speeding at the time – that she punched two people outside a party, and that one of them must have been the man she is now calling “sir”. That flogging with the razor strop is getting closer, but Charmie is certain, now, that she deserves it.

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven: what’s it about?

They head for her bedroom, but stop on the stairs. Charmayanne begins her atonement, and their sexual games become steadily more intense. Until there is a sudden and surprising interruption…

A review:

“This is beautifully written erotica, incredibly hot, about people who feel like real, three-dimensional people. Some of the BDSM events are harsh, but the atmosphere is always loving.

JJ Mortimer turns human details and erotic details into pure steamy sexiness. Reading it is like being there, on a wonderful sensual ride!”

– Isadora Druse, reviewer.

Get your copy!

A link will (soon) be here!

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven 15

Posted on March 24, 2015 by jaime

This is episode 15 of a series that evolved and expanded to become that very erotic and engrossing ebook, Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven.

In this episode, Jack reminds Charmie that they have met before. She and her gang crashed a party he was at, and as he left, Charmie attacked his girlfriend. Charmie was not at her best, or thinking clearly at the time. But she remembers. She’s appalled. And wants to atone.

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven: what’s it about?

They head for her bedroom, but stop on the stairs. Charmayanne begins her atonement, and their sexual games become steadily more intense. Until there is a sudden and surprising interruption…

A review:

Get your copy!

A link will (soon) be here!

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven 14

Posted on March 21, 2015 by jaime

This is episode 14 of a series that evolved and expanded to become that very erotic and engrossing ebook, Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven.

In this episode, Jack has a moment of self doubt: does he really have the right to take a razor strop to Charmie’s absolutely delicious ass. Charmie waits. For her, all tension is good. Jack realises he’s doing what they both want, and he begins.

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven: what’s it about?

They head for her bedroom, but stop on the stairs. Charmayanne begins her atonement, and their sexual games become steadily more intense. Until there is a sudden and surprising interruption…

A review:

Get your copy!

A link will (soon) be here!

The illustrious e[lust]: e[lust] 68 is here!

Posted on March 20, 2015 by jaime

e[lust] – your source for lust in the electronic form

Elust #68

Photo courtesy of Molly’s Daily Kiss

Welcome to Elust #68 –

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 #69? Start with the rules, come back April 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

For our UK readers, we would like to make a special request that you take a moment and fill out this petition to repeal the new censorship laws.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

A Misunderstanding With My Clitoris

BDSM Doesn’t Magically Fix Your Life

Discussing Consent, Culture, and What We Do

Falling off horses, and gate-keeping at bdsm meetings

Posted on March 17, 2015 by jaime

Falling off horses

Even bad holidays are holidays, and holidays end. So I stood on the road with my suitcase waiting for the country bus that would, eventually, take to the airport that would take me home. My uncle and aunt waited with me, not overwhelmed with grief that I was going. Samantha was there too, not grieving either, but giving me the full force of her disdain. She was good at disdain. She wished me a good trip, going home.

So I was sadder, though not much wiser. Still, I had two new pieces of knowledge.

The first was that girls didn’t pick guys for their niceness or their intelligence or whatever. It was something subtler, that Greg had and I didn’t. He was a shit, and he was sexy. I could whine about that, or I could try to work out ways of being sexy myself, while still being me.

“Thou wilt never come for pity;

Thou mayest come for pleasure.”

If I really liked girls, and it was clear that I did, then I’d have to be someone girls enjoyed hanging around with. I had no idea how to go about that, but at least the project was clear.

Ruth is stranger than Richard.

The other thing I learnt was even more depressing, because there seemed to be nothing much I could do about it. It was that there was no reason to think that even I met a a submissive girl, or woman, and we got on well, she’d want the same things as me.

Bdsm is a big tent, and it includes all sorts of tastes, desires and practices. They’re not always going to be compatible.

At the time that seemed like bad news.

Of course, as you know, you can almost always find common ground with a lover, and you can pervert them in your direction, and they can teach you a few of their own favourite things. I just didn’t know that yet.

Bdsm meetings

Girl in fishnets

So – and now I’m going back to something I said in those posts about running bdsm meetings, especially this one – the fact that bdsm is a big tent also means that it’s hard to draw lines about who is and who isn’t into bdsm. And that woman Ruby, who came to my bdsm meet’n’greet wearing a fishing net, and who got dissed for only being interested in getting spanked and fucked, is definitely inside the tent and under the umbrella.

If anyone wants to identify with us, it seems to me that (except for people who advocate non-consensual practices) we don’t need gatekeepers to keep them out.

Falling off horses and bdsm 3

Posted on March 15, 2015 by jaime

So up in that hiding place on the upper floor I read, “But Henry never understood about gloves. He’ll give a swift beating followed by sex, but nothing kinky.”

I liked that line, mostly for the outrageousness of the goes-without-saying assumption that there’s nothing kinky about “a swift beating followed by sex”. It was an insouciant joke, and though I didn’t know the word I knew I liked the style.

But there was also some bad news in it, for me. The woman narrating the story was submissive, but she dismissed her husband as an unsatisfactory lover because he wasn’t sexually responsive to gloves.

Bond effortlessly established his dominance with his purple mink glove.

I wasn’t a gloves man either, nor even a glove-fancying eleven-year old. These days I have a pair of leather gloves that I use for spanking and stroking girls who like the feel of leather a lot. But that’s more to indulge a submissive than because of any strong interest in gloves or leather on my part.

But in that shed the gloves reference made me suspect that life was going to be even harder for me than I’d come to expect.

At the time I wanted a girlfriend, who I imagined as a girl prepared to cuddle me, and to talk about important things with.

I also wanted to discover all that newly appeared girl stuff, like breasts and amazing phenomena like Samantha’s arse in tight Jodhpurs. And then I wanted to feel myself in the body of that girl who liked me enough to want to take me on board.

Those were my main ambitions, and they spent a lot of time haunting my waking and sleeping dreams. They seemed hard enough to achieve. I’d just failed spectacularly with Samantha, where a completely unworthy rival – I thought – had succeeded.

It didn’t seem much to ask.

But then there were the other things I wanted. I was a dom, though I didn’t know the word. (The only word I knew was “sadist”, which didn’t really capture what I was like or what I wanted. I’d read some Sade, and I was – and am – no admirer of the Marquis.) But I wanted to find a submissive girl, who wanted the things I wanted to do with and to her. She’d want to be spanked, that dream girl, and tied, and to kneel with her hands and ankles tied together. Waiting for me to decide what I’d do with her.

So I’d somehow have to meet a submissive girl. There had to be at least one, somewhere in the world. I hoped so, anyway.

But the gloves line taught me, suddenly, that finding a submissive girl was only half of my task, though that seemed impossible enough. But what if I found that submissive girl and what she wanted was to be dressed in tight corsets and long black gloves, or wrapped in plastic, and tied in amazingly complicated ways? I’d seen images of that sort of thing, and they’d puzzled more than excited me. What if it turned out that the submissive girl I finally met didn’t want any of the relatively simple things I wanted? What if I didn’t enjoy the things she liked?

I had to re-define my goal. I didn’t just need to find a submissive girl, which was more than hard enough: I’d have to find the specific submissive girl who wanted what I wanted, and also wanted me.

The odds against me seemed high. Quite a bit too high. Life looked, from my rickety vantage point on the mezzanine floor of an abandoned shearing shed, likely to be grim.

Falling off horses and bdsm 2

Posted on March 13, 2015 by jaime

Farmers don’t knock old buildings down. If a farmer builds a new family home on top of the hill, then the old house near the road is used for travelling workers like shearing gangs and fruit pickers. It’ll stay there until the floor caves in and the roof sags, and the younger son starts cannibalising it for wood and corrugated iron.

So on my uncle’s farm there was a newish shearing shed, and a little further off there was the skeleton structure of the old shed, which was so ancient there were no electrical fittings for the clippers. There were manual, non-powered clippers on the bench, with other antique equipment that was probably worth a fortune, even then.

And there was about half an upper floor, where there was a press like a giant vice, with handles for two men, that compressed the wool into bales. They stored the bales up on that platform until they were taken away for auction.

Greg and Samantha were off riding somewhere. I didn’t want to think about that. The climb to the upper floor looked dangerous. Good. I’d been disappointed in lust, and I didn’t care if I was dead. And so forth.

Anyway, up on that rickety platform there was half a bale of wool still left in the press, some fleeces, a pile of woolsacks and some hay bales, stored and forgotten. So I went over to the hay bales, and found that they concealed a sort of nest. For shirkers and lovers.

And, as it turned out, wankers, because when I climbed down into this hiding place I discovered, under a sack, a small but select pile of ancient magazines, some Playboys, a few issues from the original British run of Penthouse, and some issues of something called Mayfair, which I’d never seen or heard of before.

The Penthouses were so old that the models didn’t show their pink bits, and often had a carefully placed hand or prop to cover their nipples. They made up for that with a Penthouse Forum section that seemed more explicit than in the later, more gynaecological issues. (I have no idea what Penthouse is like now. I haven’t seen one, or a Playboy, in the last twenty-odd years.)

So people claiming to be office girls wrote to Penthouse to share their experience with being spanked in the office, which they agreed to because the pay was good. Eventually, after some terrible mistake, they’d have to strip quite naked before going over the boss’s knee, and as the spanking wore on they’d have an intense, screaming orgasm. After which, as it did in Penthouse Forum letters, “one thing led to another”.

I read the best of those letters so often I memorised them. Then I moved on to the Mayfairs. It was more cheaply produced, and so the girls in the pictorials looked like girls next door who might take their clothes off because they fancied you, rather than looking like models. They were still pretty, and there was something endearing about their tiny imperfections.

The Mayfairs were twenty or thirty years old when I discovered them. The newer ones had only pictures, and headings like “Thirty tits-out, daks-down bathing babes – AND THEY’RE STARKERS!” So something had gone badly wrong with Mayfair. The older issues were more up-market, with fiction, and articles on serious topics, competing with Playboy.

There was a story in one of the older issues, called “The Inner Room”, or “The Saddle”, or something. It contained two sentences I still remember. The heroine and narrator, a devastatingly heartless and aristocratic submissive woman, puts on her gloves, and reflects ruefully about her unsatisfactory husband:

“But Henry never understood about gloves. He’ll give a swift beating followed by sex, but nothing kinky.”

Falling off horses, and bdsm 1

Posted on March 9, 2015 by jaime

I stayed on my uncle and aunt’s farm one Christmas vacation, when I was eleven. I learned a lot about falling off horses, and I learned two things about sex.

What I learned about falling off horses was that although you seem to be very far from the ground up there on horseback, hitting the ground doesn’t actually hurt that much. In fact it struck me as quite a bit less uncomfortable than staying aboard a trotting or galloping horse, at least until I learned to move with the horse and got used to the saddle.

The first thing I discovered about sex involved my horse-riding, spray-on jodhpur-wearing cousin Samantha, who was sullen, moon-faced in a pretty way, and thirteen. She was an older woman. Eleven year old boys mostly don’t go after thirteen year old girls, and I knew that it was unlikely that she’d see me as a serious sexual contender.

But lust drove me to try, and ignorance drove me to try by hanging around gazing at her, trying to find ways of being “helpful”, and being too tongue-tied to say anything amusing. So I dropped, in her esteem, from irrelevant to irritating to revolting. I told myself, once I understood that, that the age gap, in that direction, made the whole thing impossible.

That saved my pride until Greg, a boy from the nearest city, also turned up to stay. He was eleven too, but a couple of months younger than me. These things matter when you’re eleven. Anyway, he started going riding with Samantha, and I smirked to myself about how much his failure was going to embarrass him, because I’d be there to see it.

It was at this moment that my heart made a little “nk” sound.

So I came in from swimming a couple of days later, and there was Greg, sitting on the old couch on the veranda, with Samantha curled up on his lap. They were kissing. I noted with the precision of jealousy that he didn’t have his hand under her shirt.

But I knew better than to hang any remnant of my pride or hopes on that. It was only a matter of time.

My heart and pride snapping was the quietest and least important sound in the world. I’d got too close to back out without being seen so I came up, pretended not to notice their position, and enthused about my swim. I was as cheerful as anyone might seem to be, under the circumstances. There was, after all, nowhere else for me to go.

But Greg was a terrible person. He was in trouble at school for bullying, and he used to beat up his younger brother. He crept around the neighbourhood after dark and peered in the windows of women living alone. He stole things and blamed others. I found it hard to believe that he was good to Samantha. I, on the other hand, was a reasonably good person. I was gentle with people smaller than me, though I stood my ground with bullies. I had a lot to learn about riding, but at least I’d been brave about falling off horses, and got on again. I liked helping people. So clearly, being good, gentle and brave, I deserved Samantha more than Greg.

So I learned that the desire and affection of girls is not something you get as a prize, by “deserving” it. I had more to learn than that, but it was a start.

The second thing I learned about sex will have to wait till the next post.

Hosting a bdsm meet’n’greet group 4

Posted on March 6, 2015 by jaime

So Ruby left, with a flash of pink knicker, trailing her fishing net behind her. The moment she’d gone, there was a burst of conversation.

Woman in corset, with black lipstick: Well, thank god for that.

Woman in corset, with red lipstick: Fucking bitch.

Me: Huh? Ruby? She seems … harmless. What’s wrong with her?

Woman with collar, in short tartan skirt: She’s always fucking showing off.

Woman in corset, with black lipstick: I don’t know why she bothers coming to kink events. She’s not into kink. She just wants to fuck lots of guys.

Woman in corset with red lipstick: Yeah. She likes a spanking, but she never takes more than that. Just wants to be spanked and fucked.

Woman with collar, in short tartan skirt: Yeah, she should just go to polyamory groups. Leave us out of it.

Trio: Fucking bitch.

Me: Unhhh…

So I went and hung out with the football fans for a bit, because football might be as boring as half a ton of batshit, but at least it’s better than being nasty.

Matisse: Young woman in a net dress

It struck me as odd, because you might expect that if Ruby had been too spectacularly pretty, or snagged someone’s boyfriend or girlfriend, or got all the male (or female) attention. But Ruby hadn’t been or done any of those things.

She’d snagged my attention, but there were plenty of other bdsm guys in the bar, including a guy who was not only vastly better looking than me, but who managed to wear leather pants without looking like a total goose. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen it done. By a guy, I mean.

And the attention I paid Ruby was only conversational. It never occurred to me, at the time, that she might have been interested in me and hoping I’d make a move. (It’s only just occurred to me now. If she made any signals I missed them, as guys tend to do.)

But if she had signalled me and I’d noticed, I’d have pretended not to, because I liked her but didn’t fancy her enough to want to spend a night with her. She looked fine, but I knew I’d find the eccentricity harder and harder to take as the night wore on.

So she was conspicuously the least successful woman there. She’d made an offer to a cop and been turned down. And whether she’d wanted me or not, I hadn’t even tried. So the female hostility she’d earned seemed a bit over the top.

Eventually, I discovered that there were various factions in the community, which were about personal rivalries rather than about competing ethics or ideas. Ruby was simply seen by some people as being too cheerfully unbothered about sides.

I remembered that sort of thing from my days as a political activist. The less power and influence a group has, the more vicious the in-fighting for power within that group.

The bdsm community had no power whatsoever: therefore the corresponding viciousness of the in-fighting could go up to infinity.

I kept on running the group because I’d volunteered. But after a few months a submissive woman contacted me, and we wound up in her bed within a couple of hours of meeting. After that there was no contest. I preferred to spend time with her, and not the community.

So when someone told me I was running the group wrong, they found I was suspiciously ready to hand over the reins. I never found out if my critic ran the group better than me. I never went back.

A moral

As I say, the group I’m hosting now is refreshingly faction-free. So up in the mountains I can do something useful for people who do that thing we do, and enjoy myself.

The moral, I suppose, is that we expect community to be a good thing, but there are no guarantees that it will be. Communities, or segments of them, can be extremely unwelcoming and no fun at all to be around. If we want “the community” to be a haven, a resource and a pleasure, we have to remember to behave reasonably attractively.

Jerusalem Mortimer: Between the Lines

Jerusalem Mortimer wants a word

Monthly Archives: March 2015

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven 17

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven 16

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven 15

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven 14

The illustrious e[lust]: e[lust] 68 is here!

e[lust] – your source for lust in the electronic form

Elust #68

Welcome to Elust #68 –

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Erotic Non-Fiction

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Poetry

Erotic Fiction

Writing About Writing

Falling off horses, and gate-keeping at bdsm meetings

Falling off horses and bdsm 3

Falling off horses and bdsm 2

Falling off horses, and bdsm 1

Hosting a bdsm meet’n’greet group 4