Wicked Wednesday: Juniper’s Adventures 49

This is episode 11 of Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 4: Holding Hands Across the Desk.

In this episode, Jennifer displays her new-found submission for her headmaster and Maddie, undressing completely for the first time, and going on her hands and knees to fetch the slipper with which she is to be spanked. Maddie is impressed with her progress. So is Will.

 

“This is a-grade erotica in a traditional style and setting, but told by an author with an eye for the telling erotic detail. And character details. These are three-dimensional people. I loved it!” – V Sevigne, reviewer.

 

But I’ve had to cut the text, though. This is to be published and my publishers don’t want free competition from my site. I’ll shortly insert a link to where you can buy this fine and erotic book at your favourite e-book seller. 

 

Hail, pretty horrors, hail! Halloween and bdsm

I was never a fan of Halloween. Until this year. 

The first thing is that Halloween, in its current form, is pretty much an American thing. The country I come from isn’t very culturally similar to America, and people there just didn’t want it. Like a lot of non-Americans I first really became aware of it through the Halloween sequence in Spielberg’s film, ET.

So it’s something about kids dressing up in marketing outfits for various US franchises, and going door-to-door begging for sugar. So, I thought, it’s tacky and a bit greedy, And the voices of my parents, sounding in the back of my brain, told me that this was a dumb, kind of ugly festival. 

I had another objection. Halloween is probably (not certainly, but probably) the Celtic festival of Samhain, which took place at the same time in the year, and had a theme of death and the lost souls of the dead. In taking it over, Christians gave it a Christian veneer. In this case, it was a night of licence, for indulging the wicked flesh, before everybody goes to church in the morning and people are then supposed to reject the flesh and the devil, and return to Christian asceticism, anti-sex, anti-this world doctrines.

The “trick or treat” thing is focussed on mischief, rewards and punishments. So it turns to bdsm very easily

That idea, the wickedness of the human body and the natural world, is one of the things I most dislike about Christianity.   

But it’s been steadily losing its religious roots, both Celtic (believe me, ancient pagans mostly get a good press, but they really don’t deserve it) and Christian, and it’s steadily evolved into something much nicer.

Basically these days it’s a festival of geek, a cos-play extravaganza. And there are no threatened “tricks”. The slight blackmail element of the old festival has faded away.

So I got visited by a great horde of seven-year-old girls, a couple of moms standing a  carefully calculated distance away. They were all dressed as princesses, mostly Disney princesses but a few fairy princesses too, a sort of ballerina, and a couple of girls in home-made Wonder Women costumes. (So Yay to their moms!) They were far too charming to lecture about this dumb festival. I didn’t have anything prepared, so I gave them dried raisins and apricots, and chocolate.

So the transaction wasn’t, “Trick or treat”. It was, “don’t we look amazing? We dressed up for you adults, so pay us in sugar!”

The Halloween-bdsm links haven’t escaped the cartoonists

Later I went shopping for bread and milk and such, and there were Goth girls everywhere, and real estate saleswomen, shop assistants and a woman I always notice in the chemist all dressed up, as Goth girls and other fantasy costumes. Anything that brings out women in velvet corsets, black lippy and choker collars is ok with me. Plus there were witches, Wonder Women and an amazing Cat Girl or two.

Next year I’ll be in it. I’m going to find me a blind harpist, and dress as a bard, we’ll go door-to-door singing Welsh Death Ballads until they give us marijuana and ask us to go away. You have to be polite to a bard. We can immortalise you in poetry, and its up to us whether you look good or stupid.

Anyway, Halloween! Not Christian, not Pagan: it’s a festival of slightly kinky cosplay!

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

This is episode 10 of Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 4: Holding Hands Across the Desk.

In this episode, Jennifer returns to Mr Beecham for her slippering. He allows Maddie to stay, and even to deliver a light spanking when Jennifer is cheeky. Both women, and the headmaster, enjoy that immensely.

 

“This is a-grade erotica in a traditional style and setting, but told by an author with an eye for the telling erotic detail. And character details. These are three-dimensional people. I loved it!” – V Sevigne, reviewer.

 

But I’ve had to cut the text, though. This is to be published and my publishers don’t want free competition from my site. I’ll shortly insert a link to where you can buy this fine and erotic book at your favourite e-book seller. 

 

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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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!

 

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I love a man in a suit
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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.