Sinful Sunday: Something simple

 

This always feels right, to me. 

Beneath the sexiness of spanking, which I’ve discussed here, there’s something very comforting in being spanked, for many submissives. 

I read somewhere that one of the reasons it’s so emotionally soothing is that it has sensual links to something that human, chimp and bonobo mothers all do. A common form of comforting is when the mother holds the baby against their body, and almost absent-mindedly smacks the baby’s bottom. Gently, while swaying or rocking back abd forwards, up and down. 

The meaning of this gesture, it’s been suggested, is:

Hand on bottom: It’s okay, I’ve got you.

Hand away: But there’s no emergency, you’re safe, so I don’t have to hold you tight.

Hand back on bottom: But if there were danger, I’d hold you tight and protect you.

Hand away: But there’s no need.

Hand back on bottom: Still, I’m here.

And so on. Not quite forever, but it can go on for quite a while.

 

So this kind of comforting still carries a sort of physical memory for the submissive. He or she is being looked after, and they’re ok.

Anyway, my girl will be back in this position as fast as possible, once she’s cleared Customs.

And the collared girls go, doop de-doop de-doop…

I am going to collar a girl I love. 

I haven’t a lot to say about that. First, in general, when writing about anyone on this blog I apply a five-year rule, so that nothing gets on this blog before five years have passed. This is mainly for confidentiality, so that even if someone works out my secret identity as a policy advice guy for governments, they won’t be able to tell which woman any particular story concerns. 

And second, I give false names and make sure key details are misleading. So if someone is a lab technician, for example, I’ll say here that she’s a chemist. If she’s short I might say she’s tall, or not mention it. Mentions of hair colour is usually incorrect, but not reliably so.

So what I’m about to say feels very strange to me. I’m going to collar the beautiful and clever Zoe, who blogs here. Never think the simple truth is simple: it took a real internal fight to make myself give that correct information. Out loud. 

The only other thing to say is that she’s somewhat nervous. But my pledge to my readers, especially one of them, is that I’ll go slow, gentle, and only fierce when I’m sure the mood wants to be fierce. 

And giving a collar may present itself as a kind of ownership, but that’s largely rhetoric, to help intensify the emotional intimacy between the collar-giver and the collar-wearer. The fact that we consciously know it’s rhetorical doesn’t prevent that rhetoric from having its desired emotional and erotic effect. 

What a collar definitely is, is a symbol of love: both giving and accepting the collar are huge and powerful statements and admissions of love. 

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: Juniper’s Adventures 48

The cane  tapped, twice, against my lower bottom, just above the crease of my thighs. Where the skin was softest and most sensitive, and it would hurt me most when I sat down afterwards. Then the cane swept down, and the loud crack of the bamboo on my flesh, and that line of pure pain reached my brain at the same time. I forced my body to stay down, the desk so cold and hard under my belly and breasts. Lucy said, “That’s two, sir. And thank you for showing me what getting the cane looks like.”

 

But I’m going to have to cut here, though. This has been published and my publishers don’t want free competition from me. You can read it here

What giving a collar means to me

I’m going to collar a girl in a few weeks’ time.

Squee!

Er, in a manly, dommy, voice, of course. Ahem.

There are a few minor issues that have to be dealt with first, like her giving me enthusiastic consent. Which is half-given, but I consider that it’s still subject to conditions at present. But once those trifling formalities are over, she shall be given and wear my collar. 

So what does that collar mean, when I give it to this very specific person? 

Commitment and love

A standard slave collar. Note that the designer provided rings for three leashes! The Bible says you can’t serve two Masters. Obviously,  three’s all right though

The first thing it means is that I love her and I trust, to the state of knowledge, that she loves me. And I commit to her. I’m no longer looking. And whether she likes it or not, I consider it my duty, as a dom with a collared sub, to look after her, and to work to achieve her safety and happiness. She affirms the equivalent. We are a dominant and a submissive, and each of us is focussed on the other.

This is simple enough, and it’s the reciprocal aspect of a collar, the part that means roughly the same to the dominant and the submissive. 

Submission

The second thing it means is that she’s my submissive. But that status, “my collared submissive”, can mean a range of things, on a continuum. 

At one end of that scale it would mean she would address me as Master, and have to obey any command I give her, concerning any aspect of her life. I would have an absolute right to discipline her, for my pleasure or because she has displeased me. (The three things that I’m most likely to punish memorably for are self-destructive behaviour, which can include inaction, disobedience and disrespect other than playful cheekiness.

In that version of submission, she is my property. An owned girl. 

At the other end of the continuum, it means she retains her own decision-making, independent of me for most of her life, but she is submissive to me in and around the bedroom. Her submission is sexual, and not anything else. 

The rhetoric of lovers

These two styles aren’t in practice so different. There are some practical differences, but in reality the major difference is the intensity of the rhetoric.

All lovers use rhetoric when they speak to each other. Two people, having just fucked, may look each other in the eye and swear that they will love the other forever, till the day they die.

There are some tacky slave collars out there. This one could actually be worse than jazz…

In reality they may part within the year, because one of them eats mandarins in bed and the other wants to listen to jazz on the radio when they wake up in the morning.

Jazz would be a deal-breaker for me, by the way. I’d never swear undying love to someone who listened to jazz in the bedroom. Once I discovered that horrible jazz thing, it’d be a one-off, a one-night stand. Um, all right, this might be a digression. 

But the fact that they parted doesn’t mean they were insincere when they swore undying love. And if you understood the rhetoric, it doesn’t even make what they said untrue. They were looking for words to express how enchanted and wonderful they felt, and they used those words.

The literal meaning of their words wasn’t the point; the meaning was the emotion they expressed.

Bdsm lovers’ rhetoric

So I might say to a submissive, “I own you; you are my property, to do with as I choose.” And she might say, “Oh god yes, I am yours, Master.” Then we sign a contract to that effect.

But if she feels bad in the relationship, and she no longer loves and respects me, she doesn’t really transgress that agreement if she leaves.

I could take her to Court, showing the contract in which she agreed that she was my property and my slave. “Look!” I’d say, “it’s signed in blood!” And the Court would laugh its fool ass off at me. A bdsm slave contract is worth the the paper it’s written on, in reality. Less, actually, because that sheet of paper’s got words scribbled all over it. 

So in a sense, the rhetoric of ownership, of a collared submissive, really means: “I feel this passionate urge to be your dominant, to take and enjoy your submission, and I feel it very intensely. And I want to go on feeling it intensely, with you.”

It’s emotionally real. It’s never practically or legally real; a submissive cannot really give up direction and control over her life, except voluntarily while she wants to.

Love, again

The day collar. Something that can be worn in public, with some discretion. I’ll be looking for something on these lines…

So to me, the collar mainly represents loving commitment between a dominant and submissive. Beyond that it means a subtly moving bdsm commitment, with boundaries that extend and recede from day to day and moment to moment, under which the submissive commits to a presumption towards submission when the dominant evokes the bdsm or D/s part of the relationship. 

That means, if I say, “girl, take your clothes off and kneel”, I expect to get obedience.

But if I said, “you will tell your mother about us, so she understands that you are my submissive, and that if she has any requests of you she must direct them through me,” I expect to get, at least, discussion. Or a flat, “fuck off”. 

So I see the gift and acceptance of the collar not as an end-point but at a stage in a process. A declaration of love and commitment, and presumption towards submission when I flash out my dominant side: those are good starting points.  

The collar is the outward sign of the commitment that allows us to find the right level of bdsm for us, and work our ways to the sweet level that best suits us both. 

Sinful Sunday: Bound and paddled on a Sunday lie-in

To wait is to have arrived. To be bound is to be free. 

It’s Sunday morning, and luckily there’s nothing much to do. Except wait.

There will be the sound and the bite of the leather paddle. And eventually he will fuck her. Sometyimes he lets her hands free, when they fuck, so she can caress him. Sometimes he doesn’t. Both are good, and she couldn’t say which is her favorite.

But she does like not having the choice.

 

 

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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

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Rope Tattoo
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Taking the Lead
Rites of Passage ~ Part 4
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How Could I Resist
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Angel on My Shoulder

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

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“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! Juniper’s Adventures 47

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. 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 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. 

 

But I’m going to have to cut here, though. This has been published and my publishers don’t want free competition from me. You can read it here

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.