Limits? (I pissed on a girl, and I didn’t like it.) Food for thought #10

Posted on February 17, 2016 by jaime

The Food For Thought team has asked these three questions:

Food for thought #10: Limits questions

Is there something, (or things), that you would absolutely say no to in a sexual context?

What are your limits? Are they hard? Soft?

Have your limits changed over time?

Response

I have a personal ad on Fetlife, and I tell readers that I won’t have anything to do with shit, or urine, or knives or pins or sharps. Or animals. I also mention that I’m only interested in women, sexually, and that I’m a dom and I don’t switch.

All of that’s still true and I feel no need to change any off it. But the edges can get fuzzier than I’d expected when I wrote it.

For example, I’d prefer to have nothing to do with shit, in a sexual context. But I’ve already mentioned cleaning around the asshole of a girl I’d just buggered, because she’d leaked a bit. That’s not scat, because there was no shit-related pleasure in it for me, or her. It was just a job that needed to be done, quietly and discreetly.

I dealt with it by switching off part of my reaction for the duration. I’ve worked on farms, and I’ve cleaned shit from sheep and cattle, where it’s necessary to prevent flies from breeding. And there’s a mental attitude you get where you do what’s necessary, with a kind of detached benevolence until the necessary is done. So I could refine my statement so it reads, “Well, yes: I’ll deal with shit in some sexual contexts, but not for pleasure.”

I’ve found that I will do things that don’t attract me, if the submissive really wants me to. Once, under severe begging from a submissive girl I was just short of in love with, I pissed in her mouth and then, more generally, on her body. (She’d moved to the bath for the experiment.)

My thought at the time was, “Well, this is a new and unsexy experience, but it is taboo-breaking, isn’t it?”

So I felt that detached irony again: I was there and not-there, simultaneously. There was a kind of kindness there, and I like to be kind, but there was nothing erotic in it for me. But though I pushed that limit, it’s still there. It was a one-off, never repeated.

I suppose I could amend “I won’t do anything sexual with urine” to read, “I won’t do anything quasi-sexual involving piss ever again.” But then I’d have to tell the story above to explain that, and I don’t feel like it. So I’ll let the current wording stand. It’s still true.

See? Sharp's erotica. Some people like it, but it's not for me.

Sharp’s erotica. Some people like it, but it’s not for me. (Confession: just a cheap joke. I’ve never read any Olive Sharp.)

As for sharps, I have an absolute horror of them. I once got cut quite badly when I was a child. It was just an accident, but to this day I feel a little cold chill in the pit of my stomach whenever I’m confronted with a sharp blade. I don’t let it interfere with anything I have to do, but there’s no way I could make it part of something pleasurable. I won’t cut or stick anyone with a blade, and I expect the same courtesy to be extended to me.

So there’s no change at all in my attitude to sharps: they’re always off-limits. Oh, and animals are still right out, too. And so are shit and piss. Except that I’ll clean them away when it’s my responsibility.

So I guess my limits can be pushed a little, but they’re still hard limits.

Terence

Terence is a Roman comic playwright. He borrowed and translated that line from the Greek comic playwright Menander. No-one really knows what Terence looked like. The Vatican, and Wikipedia, pretend this is his portrait.

I’ve always been proud of holding and applying Terence’s line: “Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto”: “I am a human being. I consider that nothing human is foreign to me.”

Sadly, when it comes to getting sexual pleasure from sharps, animals, scat and urine, I’m not only out, myself, but I don’t really see how it could be much fun for anyone else. So although those are still human desires, they’re all still foreign to me.

I think that’s a fault, not a virtue, because it’s a failure of imagination and a lack of empathy. But there it is, anyway.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 68: What is humiliation, anyway?

Posted on February 16, 2016 by jaime

This post became part of the Governing the Gang Girl series.

This is a stub.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 67: The neighbours don’t learn my name

Posted on February 13, 2016 by jaime

This post became part of the Governing the Gang Girl series.

This is a stub.

Charmie’s coming…

Posted on February 11, 2016 by jaime

Raylene, leather and some stairs

It’s time to continue the story of Charmie. Like most stories I try to tell briefly, it’s grown into a saga. I posted the most recent episode back in October 2015.

But the story started with us meeting in Charmie’s kitchen, back in episode 1. That appeared in October 2014. So this is a long story.

You can read all 66 episodes so far, by buying the ebooks:

Governing the Gang Girl 1: The Heat in the Kitchen

Governing the Gang Girl 2: Stair Landing to Heaven

Governing the Gang Girl 3: Sisterhood is Powerful

I recommend buying those books. Of course I’m biased, but there’s some hot stuff and some interesting stuff there. Here’s a brief outline of the story so far.

The story so far

The saga was originally called “Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive”, which was the most click-bait-y name I could think of. But it was also true: Charmie had spent a year or so with a neo-Nazi gang, to punish her mother for getting a new boyfriend. Charmie did come to her senses and get out of there, but when I met her she was still pretty raw from that experience. That explains one part of the title.

And while she’d been running with the boot boys she’d done some very bad things. She felt bad about them, and in a different way so did I.

If we were going to have a relationship, at some stage we were going to have to deal with that. She needed reasons to forgive herself.

I began by whipping her ass with a razor strop on the stairs that led up to her bedroom. The odd thing was that when Zerlina, her sister and her friend Lynette turned up unexpectedly during that flogging, Charmie hadn’t run for her room to save herself embarrassment.

Instead she stayed in position, naked and spectacularly red-arsed, while I talked to her sister and her sister’s extremely disapproving friend. Charmie only got up when I ordered her to go to her room and wait for me. She’d wanted her sister, and maybe Lynette, to see that she was getting whipped and that she obeyed orders. And that she addressed me as “sir”. It was an important statement, that had little to do with me.

So when Charmie had disappeared into her room I talked to Zerlina, who’d had a thing with me a couple of years back. She knew I was a pervert, though she’d turned down the wondrous possibilities that offered her. I also talked to Lynette, who’d hated me from the second she saw the state of Raylene’s bottom and thighs.

Anyway, the outcome was that they’d go out for a while, then come back and make dinner while we, er, got things out of our systems. When they’d left I’d joined Raylene in her bed. Things that happen between a Dom and a woman who likes Doms happened between us.

But at a moment when I had my cock in Charmie’s throat, and the need to come in her, Zerlina and Lynette returned. Zerlinae pounded up the stairs, partly out of mischief and (though she didn’t say so) partly to check Charmie was ok. She offered us a cup of tea.

Charmie still had my cock in her mouth, and all my attention. I told Zerlina to go away. But Charmie signalled, with her mouth still dutifully, beautifully full, that she would, in fact, quite like a cup of tea. If one was going.

So I ordered tea for two. That’s where the story has got to. There’s more, and it’s sexy, and it happens to real people.

First time (Food for Thought Friday)

Posted on February 8, 2016 by jaime

The Food for Thought team ask:

What was the first overtly sexual act you performed on someone else or had performed on you? How did you feel about it afterwards?

The answer involves sexual contact between young children. No-one comes to harm as a result.

Also, I haven’t eroticised the description at all.

But if this is likely to make you uncomfortable, I’d suggest not reading below the word “Answer”.

Answer

I was walking home from school, aged five. There was a girl playing in the back yard next door. She must have been four, because she wasn’t going to school yet. Her family had just moved in. So I waved at her.

That was when I realised that she was wearing a towel, because she opened it to demonstrate that it was all she was wearing. And beckoned me over.

So I walked down her drive and introduced myself with my best five-year old manners, because I didn’t often get to condescend to people younger than myself. She invited me to play, so I stayed.

I can’t remember my motives. I don’t think they were sexual in anything like an adult sense. Partly it was that I was taught to be a nice boy and I thought she must be lonely because she’d just arrived. Also, she’d just done something “rude” when she’d flashed me. That was interesting too.

“Rude” was the term that children, round there, used to describe what adults would call proto-sexual explorations and demonstrations. She was being a rude girl.

She invited me to play in a little shed with little chairs and a table. It was bigger than a doll’s house. It was big enough for a little girl and a very awkward little boy to sit and drink water from her collection of tiny plastic tea-cups and eat imaginary biscuits.

It felt odd to be playing a girl’s game. In the games I played, I tended to shoot, climb and fight. I wasn’t sure how this game worked, though I was prepared to go along with it. I thought she needed company, and so looking after her made me feel very adult and protective. But when she suggested that we play Mothers and Fathers I was surprised because I thought, with the cups and saucers and such, that we already were.

It turned out that the rules of Mothers and Fathers, as she played it, meant I had to show her my cock and let her play with it. Her play with my penis was, according to my memory, kind of aimless: artless, unskilled. She didn’t know how to stroke a penis. She just sort of waggled it from side to side.

Looking at this with hindsight, I’m pleased about her lack of expertise. I’ve spent some of the period between then and now being a probation officer and a social worker. I know now that some of her actions may suggest something abusive happening in her family. On the other hand, she had no idea how to make a penis feel good in a sexual way. An abuser, if there had been one, would almost certainly have taught her that sort of thing.

Anyway, I had no sense of distress or discomfort from her. Still, abuse wasn’t something I knew about or thought about then, so I could have missed something. I’ll never know.

I also think we freak out unhelpfully about childhood sexual exploration of the kind that doesn’t involve adults. Sexual exploration isn’t unhealthy in itself. Children are curious. Adults just have to back off, sometimes.

Anyway, she expected me to reciprocate, but I wasn’t sure what to do. So I stroked her labia a few times, as you might stroke a dog to convey the idea that it’s a good dog. As I’ve pointed out, I really had no idea.

I was actually relieved when my mom called me in to dinner. It’d been interesting, and it was the most “rude” thing I’d ever done or had done to me. But it was also off-the-scale awkward and embarrassing. After that, I mostly played with her when there were other kids around, to delay Round 2 of Mothers and Fathers.

There were a couple of repeat games of Mothers and Fathers, but I mostly kept my pants up. Her, too. We did some experimental kissing. We drank water as tea, and ate biscuits I’d stolen from the kitchen. So at least I provided a sugar hit.

When she started school, she went to the local Catholic school, while I was going to the local state school. So we lost touch.

What I feel is mostly positive. The explorations didn’t teach me anything much about adult sexuality – except that if a girl flashes you, you may as well stick around. You might think I should have realised that I only had 11 or so years before I’d have to show better girl-stroking skills than that, but that didn’t occur to me then, either. Mainly I learned that boy-girl things can get awkward. Girls can have very different interests from me, and still sometimes expect things from me.

I liked her. I still worry about her a bit: if she were a little girl doing that today, she’d be suspended from or thrown out of school, and she’d meet a whole lot of cops and psychologists, care workers and senior teachers, all in a panic, and passing the panic on to her.

So would I have, come to think of it, just for going along with her. I can imagine my bewildered five-year-old features on the cover of the local rag: “Face of evil”.

Carstairs and bollocks: filed-teeth fellatio in Lesotho

Posted on February 7, 2016 by jaime

The other day I dined at the Pelicans Club as Galahad Threepwood’s guest. Gally had left me briefly alone near the entrance, to pay out on a wager he’d taken with Rorke, the butler.

That showed the sporting spirit, but it was how I fell into the hands, or at least the ambit, of the Club Bore.

The man attracted my attention with a flap of his newspaper and a fixed stare, so I did the polite thing and approached, extending my hand. His name was Carstairs, and in seconds I realised he was not only going to address me but actually tell me anecdotes. But the eye he cast on me was definitely glittering, and there’s no escape from that sort of thing.

His story was interrupted by the vacuum cleaner, which – or who – was doing lengths of the carpet. Carstairs had taken a seat in the corner that let him monitor all arrivals and departures, but at that stage of the cleaning that meant that every pass of the vacuum cleaner began and ended at this feet. Carstairs simply spoke through the vacuum cleaner’s visitations, neither pausing nor raising his voice, and that and my own wandering attention mean that parts of the story are lost.

Carstairs’ story

In chains and the 1970s. Pelican Club stories all happen in about 1913, while Carstairs’ story seems to date from about 1870. Pardon, but your timeslips are showing.

“Africa, of course, but one of the lusher parts … downpour, so stayed in a mokhoro … sort of round hut thing … girl chained to the table leg, never got the drift of why … not a stitch on her … skin gleamed like a grand piano …

“No, no, don’t mind telling you … nuzzled at my … undid my buttons with her … worried me a bit that she’d filed her teeth … but what can a man do, if a lady … unchained her afterwards … slapped her rump, and that made her frisky …

“Absolutely true, old bean… not a bed; a sort of cot … collapsed but that didn’t stop us … then the hut fell over … sprawled in the mud …

“Crowd of angry chaps outside … supposed to stay a virgin, apparently … chased after me waving their mulamu … father stuck me to a tree … could see his point of view … hung there for eight days … only when I laughed.”

Gally rescued me at that point, and we went off to the dining room. Gally led the way like a dapper drum-major, but as he marched towards the roast lamb he threw a remark over his shoulder. “Oh, you must’t worry about Carstairs.”

I sighed. “Never been east of Callais in all his life, has he?”

“Never been east of Soho, old egg.”

The porn star gurn: photos in this blog 3

Posted on February 5, 2016 by jaime

I’m writing about the pictures I put up in this blog and how I choose them. I’ve already mentioned some of the principles I apply when I’m searching for and selecting pictures. For example, the picture should illustrate the story, it should suit the real woman the story is about, and it should avoid being too fake, in the cliched porn sense.

5 Decorativeness

Generally, although those principles come first, I also want the picture to look good. A few of the pictures I posted on this blog are there purely because I thought they’re sexy and beautiful. For example, this one: a girl in fluffy angel wings, wiggling her twat at the camera. She has a beautiful smile, too.

One thing running a picture like that can do is teach me humility. This is a writer’s blog. It’s got wordy word words all over it. Except for that post, where my text is only three words long. Have a look here.

The thing is, it’s still one of my most popular, most clicked-on posts ever. My contribution may be three fantastically well-chosen words, but I don’t think I can claim the credit for that post’s popularity. Take a bow, Miss Who-ever-you-are. Oh. You sort of already are.

And there’s this picture, that I ran in one of my earliest posts. It’s a very beautiful, very tender image, those breasts touching, softness melting into softness, with the sensitive nipples alerting and getting harder in the middle of it all.

Doesn’t it make you want to be there? I made up some excuse to run the picture, but the real reason was simply that I thought it was – awwwwwww! – lovely.

You can see a bigger version of the pic, and the context I invented so I could run it, here.

6 Generosity

This blog has run pictures of naked guys, a nun whipping herself and a mermaid being – improbably when you think about it – fucked up the ass. I’m not sexually interested in guys, nuns or mermaids, but I assume that some of you are, out there. There’s no reason always to restrict myself to images that I respond to.

So here, in that ecumenical, reach-out spirit, we have a pic of a hentai furry cat-girl and some human guy getting it on.

It’s kind of pretty, but it’s not really my thing. But on the other hand: a warm welcome to furry fans everywhere, and I hope you stick with the blog!

Maybe that’s enough about pictures for a while.

The porn star gurn: photos in this blog 2

Posted on February 4, 2016 by jaime

Still talking about how I pick illustrations for this blog.

4 Illustrate the damn story

Sometimes the story makes it clear, at least to me, what the picture should show. Let’s say the story has got to the point where the heroine is kneeling, at the top of a staircase, giving head to the anti-hero (that’s me). She has her hands tied behind her back. Also, she’s dyed some but not all of her hair blue, and she has a huge tattoo on her lower belly. She has fresh cane stripes across her arse.

If you’re a regular reader, you’ll have recognised Raylene from that description. And perhaps you wondered if you missed an episode, because that hasn’t happened in the story so far. It’s something that happened a couple of months after the day I’ve been talking about. I’ll probably tell how that came to be, and what it meant, later.

But my chances of finding a picture that comes even close to illustrating that are pretty small. The blue hair and tattoo will have to go, for starters: too much to hope for. I’ll probably have to forget about finding a photo with stairs in it.

I’m going searching now.

This one loses the blue hair and the tattoo, and it’s nowhere near any stairs, though at least it has a bedroom setting. It’s obviously a hotel room, which is wrong for the feel entirely.

But at least this girl has her hands tied behind her back, and she’s giving head, and she may not have cane marks, but the thing round her neck at least gives it a bdsm ambience.

But it’s completely wrong for Raylene. Even in old jeans and a holey jersey she had far more style than that. And she would never, ever, not in this millennium or the next wear nothing but high heels, or wear high heels for sex.

Maybe no-one else cares, but I imagine Raylene’s disgust at the girl’s hair and heels, and I realise I’d be insulting her if I used that pic to represent her.

So I keep on searching. I have to reject several pics because they’re all about huge cock pride first, and the woman only second, and that’s not what I’m thinking of either.

So in the end, out of desperation I pick this one, because at least the woman’s hair is dark and straight, which Raylene’s was where it wasn’t blue. This girl may be Japanese, but she looks more like Raylene than the other girl.

And she’s not using her hands, which is important. I tied Raylene’s hands exactly because it made her task more difficult and forced her to work harder.

So the pic illustrates almost nothing I set out to capture. But the search took me hours, and this was still the best I could do.

I’m out of time. More tomorrow.

The porn star gurn: photos in this blog 1

Posted on February 3, 2016 by jaime

A reader commented that my gratuitous damn pictures aren’t safe for work. I don’t think she was seriously complaining; it was just that a pic of a pretty girl having a shower had popped up on my blog, and on her computer screen, just as her tutor was looking over her shoulder. And so she was outed as a reader of mildly kinky erotica.

Anyway, I said I’d explain the rationale behind my use of illustrations. So here goes…

1 Resemblance

The first thing is that all of the stories I tell here are true, except where I’ve indicated otherwise.

Cute socks. But the paddling should only happen to someone who has the right not to be paddled

Nice little kilt, cute socks. But paddling should only happen to someone who has the right to choose not to be in a relationship in which she gets her ass paddled. So I’ll never paddle a real schoolgirl: only fake ones.

I wrote a “spanked schoolgirl” story for a woman who really liked that story-universe. But I’ve never spanked a schoolgirl. Never would. An adult woman in a little kilt is a different question. And in a recent story I borrowed an incident that’d happened with a different woman, and moved it into the story I was telling at the time. I think those are the only exceptions.

Qing is a real person, and so is Raylene. And so is Senimelia, Ana, Sa’afia, and so on. However, I’ve changed their names and anything else that might be an identifying piece of information, and I’m not going to use a real photo of them.

I look for photos that capture something of the way they looked, at least to me, but that are also different enough to misdirect anyone who actually happens to know the people concerned. I don’t quite know why I try for that kind of resemblance. It just feels right. But it can take hours, by the way.

2 “Realness”

Yeah, I know: “Like, what is Real?” asked Jesting Pilate. “What’s that even mean?”

A picture otherwise unlikely to appear on this blog

I know that the women who work in mainstream porn are “real” people, and I don’t mean any disrespect to them. But I tend to avoid pictures of bodies that are too sculptured or fake tanned, and I’m put off by pictures that include breasts, eyes and mouths that look like they’ve had what’s called “work”.

I prefer pictures – and women, in real life – who look “natural”. I know that straight men underestimate how much make-up it sometimes takes to make a woman look like she isn’t wearing make-up. I know that “real”, “natural”, and their opposites, don’t mean as much as we like to think. And “looks natural” means something very different from “natural”.

“Natural” is too hard to define, or recognise. That’s why I wrote “looks natural”.

Still, I tend to fancy a woman who works at a bookshop I drop in at, or who is doing check-out at a supermarket, or is just strolling down the street, much more than I fancy most porn stars. They seem more “real”. So the pictures I choose reflect that. Not out of policy; to me they just look better.

3 The porn star gurn

Demonstrating the porn star gurn: she may also make dry moan and say, “yes, yes, yes!”

I know lesbians – well, bi girls, mostly – who find girl-on-girl porn made for men depressing because the girls’ cunts are dry: they may have a lubrication glaze, but they are obviously not turned on. An equivalent is the face a bored model pulls to show she’s in the throes of sexual ecstasy.

Even if she’s an attractive woman, the porn star gurn shows that she’s not interested, which is a turn-off. And she thinks her audience is so stupid that they won’t know, which is an additional turn-off.

Anyway, I try to keep gurning, sex-related or otherwise, out of this blog’s Magic Toyshop of images.

Demonstrating the non-porn gurn

“Gurning”, by the way, is an Irish term that means pulling an extreme face to make the gurner’s head look very, very weird. It’s a kind of transformation that the heroes do, on a bigger scale, in many Gaelic epics. Anyway, gurning is a thing. They have competitions for it.

I don’t how long other people take to select photos. Anyway, I’m out of time for this post, but have more to say about images. So I’ll continue this tomorrow.

By the way, I had a great-uncle who used to go in for gurning competitions in the pub in his town, which had a lot of ex-patriate Irish. He won certificates for it, which was honourable if not profitable. To give a better idea of the type of guy he was, he also used to say: “Have a Great Day! Day, not Dane. Jesussss…” This will be his only mention in this blog.

“On your back: get your knees up, keep them spread”: Doms giving oral sex 2

Posted on January 31, 2016 by jaime

When a dom gives oral sex to their submissive, the submissive isn’t in control. They may be enjoying themselves, but they’re still subjected. They serve by giving over their body for the dom to lick them or suck them, but they do that to provide a conduit for the dom’s pleasure.

Woman dom gets oral sex from male submissive: the dom is in charge

When the submissive gives their dom oral sex, the submissive is serving. Their kneeling or otherwise subservient position, their wearing of a collar or a leash, their nudity while the dom may be partly clothed, all signal their submissive status.

The odd thing, in bdsm, is that when the dom gives their submissive oral sex, the submissive is still serving.

The submissive provides his or her body for the dom’s use. It’s a more indulgent use of the submissive’s body than some of the things a dom may do to their submissive, but it’s still use.

The male dom licks the submissive woman's cunt. And the dom, as ever, is in charge

Male dom licks submissive woman’s cunt. The dom, as ever, is in charge

The submissive’s reactions – whether or not they will get to come, for example – are controlled by their dom.

Their posture, their movements and their breathing are all controlled by the dam’s instructions, and by the pressure and the withdrawal of the dom’s mouth on the most sensitive parts of the submissive’s body.

The submissive’s body is the dom’s tongue-puppet.

I’m mainly talking about symbolism and rhetoric, which are unusually important in bdsm compared to other sexualities. The truth is that when I go down on my slavegirl, my main motivations are that I like her cunt and I love her, and I want her to feel good. But it’s hotter for both of us if she can submit to me as well as submitting to her physical pleasure.

So doms and submissives may perform exactly the same actions, and yet the imagery and meaning will be utterly different. There’s nothing either dom or sub, my mom would have said, but thinking makes it so.

[That’s the end of the bdsm and oral sex sequence. We’ll be getting back to the Raylene saga soon. Will she get more of the strap? Will she get publicly humiliated? Will she get that cup of tea she asked for? Watch this space.]