Vampire girl #21

Posted on November 29, 2012 by jaime

The previous episode is here.

Diane leaned back against me, still stroking her cunt, hard and fast, with finality. She lifted her thigh to be whipped, as I’d commanded, but though I’d told her she couldn’t come yet, that had been overreach on my part. There was nothing that she or I could do, at least nothing that would be any fun, to stop that orgasm in its tracks. Or even delay it much.

So I whipped the switch down on her inner thigh, hard enough to raise a welt, but the cry she made was pure, wild pleasure. So was the second cry when I switched her again, about fifteen seconds later. There was no time for a longer gap between strokes. Once she’d given her pain song again, with that second stroke, Diane couldn’t stay quiet any longer. She sang, “nnnnnerrrrr eeeerrrrrnnnn”, in my ear, the sound wavering as if she were riding a horse in full gallop.

A little later Diane’s whole body stiffened and she fell silent because she’d stopped breathing, I whipped her inner thigh again, as close to her cunt as I could get without the switch hitting the back of her hand. Diane cried out just once with the pain, her body braced hard against mine, and then her orgasm took her. Though she looked as though she was screaming, she came in silence, mouth working, staring up at the moon-bright sky.

Afterwards I whispered, “good girl, yes, good girl, darling”, while she gasped and fought for control. When she seemed to have almost caught her breath, I squeezed her breasts again, pinching her nipples as hard and painfully as I could, and a second wave of orgasm took her.

The next episode is here.

Roads less travelled: public bdsm

Posted on November 28, 2012 by jaime

I’m not one for orgies much. When I’m having sex I like to know, and at least like or trust, every person who’s with me. Various menages offer that: the a trois and a quartre. But orgies don’t. So they’re not my thing.

Roads less travelled: Skittety Scat Scat Shoo Bee Doo Wah Wah

Posted on November 26, 2012 by jaime

Scat singing is vocal improvisation with wordless, nonsense syllables. Scat singing lets singers do the equivalent of an instrumental solo, using their voice.

It’s a jazz thing. God, I loathe jazz. Maybe that’s not quite true. Sometimes jazz spends time being blues (Ella Fitzgerald, sometimes), and then I can put up with it. But the more like jazz it gets, the more I hate it.

And the jazziest thing of them all, even jazzier than bass solos, is scat singing.

However, I will not hear a word against Cab Calloway.

You know when it’s coming: you’ve just had a long bit where someone goes squeak and squonk on the sax, and goes back to the ranks while the audience gives them a well-bred round of considered applause, and then the singer comes out looking as happy as the Persian cat that engulfed the moon, and begins:

“Squiddily dap dap dap scat a doogity boogity willong scat scat dap whap.”

You just know they plan to keep on doing that for longer than you can possibly stay in the same room as them. Death to scat. I really really will not do sexual play involving shit, but I think the singing might actually be worse.

Roads less travelled: anal hook

Posted on November 26, 2012 by jaime

Not all the roads I haven’t travelled are roads I’ve considered and rejected. Some roads I just haven’t got around to. For example, I’ve never got around to using an anal hook.

She has as many choices as she needs.

Anal hooks are interesting because they’ve become part of bdsm, and yet no-one had heard of them until just a few years ago. I suspect they were only invented recently.

People like me – the civilians of bdsm, not the professionals who run dungeons and make films, and such – have got along without them just fine for the last few millennia.

But there’s something about their ruthlessness and impersonality that appeals to me. A submissive who is keeping her back arched and her ass presented (I’m going to use female gender for this; if your interest is male submissives, then mutatis mutandis) because I’ve put an anal hook in her knows that her ass is going to stay exactly where I want it until I choose otherwise. She knows that her comfort is not an issue, only her enforced good posture.

The symbolism of the anal hook is hard, unrelenting and merciless. And at the same time, she knows that she’s been put in that position because her ass is considered very pleasing indeed.

So I expect that a submissive held in that way will be uncomfortable, and happy, and wet. So I’ll probably get one, one day.

Roads less travelled: sharps

Posted on November 25, 2012 by jaime

I had a brief relationship with a woman who wanted me to cut her.

She’d been away from bdsm for a while when she met me. When she discovered I was a dom – we found out about the other’s interest in bdsm after we’d been to bed – she liked serving, and she liked being back under discipline. But she told me that her mistress, when she’d had one, used to cut the skin on her back, very finely, with a very sharp blade. Now she was submitting again, she wanted me to cut her.

I did consider it. You try to give lovers what they want, and doms have no excuse for being any different. But I thought it was unsafe, unwise, unsexy, and symbolically kind of creepy. I don’t like permanent damage. There’s something about knife play that feels hostile to the body. I like the body. So the idea of taking a blade to her skin just creeped me out. That didn’t leave much room for negotiation.

I’m not condemning knife play, not then and not now. And she’s a smart and responsible woman, not remotely self-destructive. I’m only saying that it absolutely wasn’t for me. I would not cut her.

So I refused. We continued as dom and submissive for a little longer, but only three weeks later we had an argument about something else, and she handed back the key to my apartment and asked for hers back. I think my refusal to even try knife play was a key issue.

Anyway, knife play. Sharps. Cutting. I’m just not going to do it.

Roads less travelled: bzzzzzt

Posted on November 24, 2012 by jaime

I’ve never been interested in electricity in a bdsm context.

It doesn’t seem personal enough. Left to myself, and finding myself with a clitoris, nipples and other sensitive body parts to play with, I want to do very low-tech, body-to-body things. A bite and a kiss, a smack, a twist, a squeeze followed by a harder squeeze; a harder smack. And so on.

But getting out the violet wand seems about as sexy as getting out the vacuum cleaner.

I suppose I’ll buy or borrow the gear, some time, because some submissive … Well, if they’ve been good, I’m susceptible to begging. But so far it’s never been something I’ve been drawn to.

Submissives

Posted on November 23, 2012 by jaime

I’m still working on the end of the chapter. So here’s another pic. I kind of like this catalogue of submissives, because of the drawings. Without them it’d just be one of those would-be worldly “the nine types of submissive/doms” posts.

I find those “catalogue” posts a bit distasteful, really, as well as meaningless, because people don’t fit onto categories that easily. Turning complicated and interesting stuff into boring stereotypes, and then mocking the stereotypes, seems a profoundly stupid thing to do. And it’s emotionally wrong, because I don’t see any reason to diss submissives. Or even dominants, for that matter.

But this gets by because it’s cute. I’m completely pervious to cute. Does anyone know who drew it?

Polymorphously perverse

Posted on November 22, 2012 by jaime

I’m finishing a chapter I’ve been working on for too long, so I’ve got no blogging time today.

So here’s more historical artwork instead. The drawing looks a bit New Yorker or Esquire from the 1950s, but I’m guessing 1950s Playboy.The women manage to be cartoonish and sexy at the same time, which is a hard thing to manage.

Anyway, it’s nicely, complexly perverse, and I don’t think you’d get a cartoon with any version of those themes into print these days.

Know thyself, and watch the clock

Posted on November 21, 2012 by jaime

“Sheeee-ooo! Twenty-four. Thank you sir.”

“Good girl. Now turn over. Onto your back.”

“Just let me… Ahhh. God, my ass is so sore.”

“So it should be. Now. Legs apart. You’ve got ten minutes to make yourself come. Okay?”

“Yes sir.”

“If you haven’t come in ten minutes, I’ll give you another two dozen. Go!”

“Nnnnnnnn. Nnnnnnnn.”

But it was the time limit that did it. Without it she’d have come, screaming and flailing, within a couple of minutes. But having to come while he watched, with the clock ticking? She always, always, got the extra strokes.

Vampire girl #20

Posted on November 20, 2012 by jaime

The previous episode is here.

But the next lash landed near that first stroke, on the softer flesh of her thigh. I would whip Diane’s cunt one day, but not now, not here. To compensate for what she might think of as mercy, I made this stroke harder, and her whole body shuddered when the switch bit home. I had to put my arm round her belly, holding on to her while she shook and fought to steady herself, still grinding her ass against me while the pain sunk in. She sang that low, “ooooooooo” again, and looked at me, her eyes shining with tears under the moon.

I smiled at her. “You’re beautiful.” It was true. Submission, when it comes, is so profoundly right and satisfying. It’s beautiful and moving. She’d found her way to the sex of this, and to part of herself that answered part of me. Her thigh must have been burning but her hand still worked, stroking herself. I kissed one tear away from her cheek, tasting the salt of my girl’s pain, but I let the others run their glistening moonlit trails.

Diane’s hips still shook, her movements forced by the grip of the pain, but eventually she was able to relax. She leaned back, her left leg still bent and raised, letting me take her weight.

She took a breath, and then another before she could speak. “Oh, you’re cruel. You’re a cruel man. How can you be so cruel?”

I said, “You can put your foot down now.” She obeyed carefully, standing with her legs apart, not letting her thighs touch. I put my hand back on her hand, which still stroked busily in her cunt. Her inner thighs were wet. I patted my sopping girl, affectionately, then took her left breast and squeezed the nipple. She made a version of her pain song, but it was not pain. She liked having her nipples hurt.

So I pulled that nipple, then turned it a little, and squeezed it again, even harder. Diane had closed her eyes, and her breathing was fast and shallow. Her hand still worked at her cunt, and she was close to coming. I said, “cruel to be kind. Cruel because you need a cruel man. Don’t you?”

“Yes. Oh fuck yes.”

“That’s right. Now, don’t come until I’ve finished whipping you, Diane. That’s an order. Now get your right knee up. Quickly.”