“She raped my fist” 1

Posted on April 27, 2014 by jaime

I once went out on a date with a woman called Sally, who worked as a doctor in Houston. She’s the only Texan girl I’ve ever known. It was a specifically bdsm date, arranged after I’d contacted her through Fetlife or Collarme, or one of those places. I was staying in Houston for a few days, and I didn’t know a soul there, apart from Sal.

We went out for dinner, and I performed while Sal set me some tests. She needed to know that I was safe and sane, reasonably amusing, and that she fancied me.

Yeah, the Texas girl look is kind of a cliche. But it works.

My test was much simpler, and she’d passed it the second I saw her. She wore tight jeans, which told me things that I liked about her shape, and a white cotton teeshirt with embroidery, that told me she had generous breasts. She had long blonde hair, a lop-sided grin and a great, dirty laugh. She wore a white and gold Stetson, and if I’d intended to start a relationship with her, I’d have ordered her to throw it on a fire once she was used to obeying orders.

But she didn’t want a relationship, and I just wanted to go back to her place and get her naked.

Sal was much more interested in toolkits than I am, and she’d mentioned that she had a dungeon. I’d expected that to mean she owned a couple of paddles and a whipping frame that could be disguised as a coat-rack. But it turned out that she actually had two rooms full of shiny chrome and leather bdsm equipment. I guessed that she worked as a pro-domme from time to time, for the fun of it and when doctoring wasn’t paying all the bills. It wasn’t my business.

So I lay her face down on her whipping bench and secured her with chains. It was a padded whipping bench, with a hole for the submissive’s face, so they can breathe easily even when they can’t move. You can adjust the height, like a hospital bed. I whipped her with a multi-thonged flogger, but she showed every sign of enjoying harder strokes, so by the end I used a riding crop, not as hard as I could physically but as hard as I could bring myself to. I didn’t draw blood, but she got a good set of welts. She was black and blue in the morning, and we were both very proud.

Then I released her arms, pulled her back to the edge of the bench, lubed her ass, and buggered her. I’d said, when we outlined what we might like to happen, that I’d always wanted to take someone anally, as the first sexual contact. I think it was the fact that it seemed so … impolite that appealed to me. Anyway, she’d liked the idea, and so there she was, over a bench, well whipped, with a stranger’s cock up her ass.

We carried on fucking and hurting her body in places and in ways that she liked, until it was after two in the morning. We lay together talking, with her stroking my cock and me stroking her cunt. Sal told me a story about what her first Master had done to her the first time she’d disobeyed him. It was a very sexy story, and I certainly would have been hard in her hand if I’d had anything left.

But I was fucked out. I wasn’t going to get another erection until I’d had sleep and some down time. I had two fingers pressing up inside her, stroking slowly. I’d made her squirt a couple of times. So I was still keeping her happy, though that meant that she wasn’t ready to sleep.

She asked me to put another finger, a third finger, inside her.

Kind Hearts and Coronets

Posted on April 16, 2014 by jaime

Sex is good. Love is good.

Yeah, that’s trite. It’s still true, but. As for the mood that made that the best I could say, there’s a beautiful girl from South America here. Yeah, I could make it a more thoughtful thing to say, if I added some more text. But it’s so just the way it is.

Bondage in the Ice Age: BSDM 20,000 BCE!

Posted on March 31, 2014 by jaime

About twenty-two thousand years ago a tribe of humans crunched across white grass in a frozen landscape that’s now called Russia. Somewhere near the Don river valley they left behind two little sculptures. That’s how we know that these people, whoever they were, passed that way. It’s also how we know something surprising about their sexual imagination.

Kostenski Venus figurine, with her wrists bound: 20,000 BCE

These two sculptures, each one about the size of your hand, are of women. Like other Paleolithic “Venus figures”, the women are naked, or nearly naked, with exaggerated sexual features: their breasts hang hugely, like great sacks of grain, and their bellies swell, pregnant and vastly fat, like a ship’s sails.

What’s unusual about them is that one of the two women is shown with her wrists cuffed and tied, while the other woman is shown wearing a sort of harness that both restricts her movements and emphasises her breasts. That’s all they are depicted as wearing, although these images were created in the middle of an Ice Age. These two little sculptures seem to be the oldest known bondage erotica.

That tribe moved on, their destination and fate unknown. Since their day humans have done and built a lot of things, but some things don’t change. For one thing, it can’t be said that Russia’s improved much.

For another, it’s still true that whenever a new medium appears, from carving rocks to 3D imaging, one of the first things people will do is use it to make sexual images and tell sexual stories. And shortly after the first nudes are produced, someone else will come along and use the new medium for more specific sexual desires.

So the cultural history of what people now mostly call “bdsm” began about 21,000 years ago.

Constanze Mozart: Mozart wrote to her, promising her a "thorough spanking on her dear little, kissable arse", when he got home. Di he deliver? The look in her eye says yes.

Constanze Mozart: Mozart wrote to her, promising her a “thorough spanking on your dear little, kissable arse”, when he got home. Did he deliver? The look in her eye says yes.

People who are interested in bdsm have built up a quite impressive pile of art-works and artefacts. There are bdsm references in Mozart’s operas, Christopher Marlowe’s plays, and Mapplethorpe’s photos, just to skim the Ms for a second.

As a Mortimer, I’m quite proud of my sculpture, “Caning Bench No 1, with Comfort Saddle and Hooks for attaching Cuffs”. If some archeologist finds it 21,000 years from now, I hope he or she puts it to good use.

But it’s odd that we – we people who do bdsm – have failed to celebrate our novelists, and our poets and painters and composers, and so on.

I’ll be doing to some of that celebration over the coming months.

Jean Harlow

Posted on December 5, 2013 by jaime

I saw Red Dust last night. It stars Jean Harlow as the slut with a heart of gold, and a young, pre-moustache Clark Gable as an excessively pragmatic rubber boss.

Jean Harlow, chained and cuffed, naked, in a photo set taken before she was a star.

It was made before the puritanical Hayes Code came along, so it was possible for Harlow to do a bath scene, with the lucky filmgoers seeing her sleek bare back and at least being able to imagine what the rest of a naked Harlow might look like. It also means the dialogue can make it clear that Gable fucks both of the two women in the film, and have the characters talk about that, when it matters, like adults.

It’s a good film, mainly because of Gable and Harlow sparking off each other, and because of any other moment that Harlow spends on the screen.

If I had a time machine, there are things I ought to do, like giving embarrassing and career-killing speech impediments to Hitler and Stalin, also Constantine before he marched back to Rome to force Christianity on its citizens. And teaching those stupid sods at Medina to shoot straighter, when Muhammad’s forces were coming. But those would be duties.

What I’d really like to do right now is go back in time to 1932 to meet Jean Harlow with flowers, wine and chocolate to make my intentions clear. And if I am lucky and sufficiently charming, to fuck Jean Harlow.

Knickerless puzzle #3

Posted on October 20, 2013 by jaime

Tom Stoppard once told an interviewer that he tended to get plot ideas from unusual things he saw that made him wonder how they had happened. He gave as an example the time he saw a man in a suburban street, with his face covered in shaving foam, chasing a goose.

Then he tried to work out the steps that must have led to that moment. There would have been a series of ordinary, mundane events and decisions that made sense at the time, that came together to make something out of the ordinary.

Stairs are a thing, in bdsm, aren’t they?

I’m not going to write a play about a knickerless woman running down stairs, or running upstairs with her ass covered. Because a girl flashing her ass at a room isn’t all that astonishing. She was a pretty girl, in an ordinary girl going to music school kind of way. Actually, she looked a lot like the young Pink. I mean the singer. I was glad I happened to look up when she passed.

But there are things I haven’t worked out. Where did she come from, the place where she wasn’t wearing any knickers? If she didn’t mind being knickerless, why did she hurry to get more clothes on? If she did mind, why did she skip down the side of the stairs nearest the audience? If she’d been on the other side of the stairs she’d have been next to a wall, and no-one would have noticed.

So I haven’t worked out a backstory that fits.

Always keep your disaster kit stocked: first aid, torches, laptop batteries, bikini, tinned food, matches, wine

It’s like that girl who was out by the seaside during Hurricane Sandy, dancing happily in a bikini with an umbrella, in the middle of 100-mph winds. Newscasters were talking grimly about the disaster, and she got into the news footage, clearly having a whale of a time while the newscasters just pretended she wasn’t there.

I still wonder what in the world was going on there, and I guess I’ll never know.

Same with this girl. Not important, but puzzling.

Knickerless puzzle #2

Posted on October 19, 2013 by jaime

The knickerless girl disappeared into the green room. It wasn’t the green room that the cast and orchestra were using, but the green room for a different auditorium. That night it was being used by the students working behind the bar.

So I forgot about the knickerless girl and went back to the conversation about how much of the wanker the director was.

Kind of like this.

But a few minutes later the girl ran out of the green room and sprinted up the stairs as if she was later than the white rabbit. She’d got changed in those few minutes, into a little mini skirt with leggings underneath. Her prim maiden aunt, if she had one, wouldn’t have been remotely shocked by the view she provided.

But I was shocked. Usually I can work out what is likely to have been happening, when people do unusual things. Even if I’m wrong, the story I work out makes some kind of sense. But I couldn’t come up with any story about the girl’s two stair dashes, one knickerless and one modest, that made any sense at all.

Update on snakes: I went back this morning. The snake was out, probably hunting. I picked up the spade, and – very carefully – kept on digging up the old compost heap. When it comes back from hunting, it’ll have to find somewhere else to hide. I’ve warned the neighbours that it’s around, and possibly looking for a new home.

Knickerless puzzle #1

Posted on October 17, 2013 by jaime

The reason I’ve been talking about knickers is that a few nights ago I was at a university music department, watching a student performance of Don Giovanni.

It wasn’t a bad evening, and no-one was actually terrible. But there were no great voices that night, or singing actors in the making. I don’t think anyone in that production is ever going to be a star. The only one I’d have actually thrown tomatoes at, though, if I’d had them, was the director. That night’s Don Giovanni was set in a brothel in fascist Italy, and in that context a hell of a lot of the events, and the characters’ motives, made no sense at all.

But something odd happened in the interval. I was with a woman who was telling me that she was going to kill the next director who up-dated a Mozart opera to Nazi Germany, mafia gangs in America, Thatcher’s Britain, or had the singers come on-stage in their everyday clothes because this opera is timeless, really, isn’t it? It’s about today, really?

And I said, “Yeah. Or they set it in the time it was written, because the composer was really writing for his own time. Which means Victorian gear for most operas. God, I’m so bored with that. And Victorian dresses are probably the worst clothes women have ever worn in the history of humanity so far. And – ”

I stopped because there was movement overhead. A wide staircase led down into the floor we were on, and the girl I was with had taken her drink to the wall under the edge of the stairs. I was facing her.

The movement that caught my eye turned out to be a girl skipping down the stairs in a sundress. I said, “if they like Victorian costumes so much…” But the dress flipped a bit, mid-skip, and flashed the undercurve of her bottom. A nice slim bottom, pale, apple-rounded. She was either wearing a thong, or nothing at all.

I continued, “they could dress them in – ” Another step and I caught a glimpse of labia. She was wearing nothing at all. She didn’t shave, or wax.

This took maybe three seconds, at the most. But it seemed to have gone on for a remarkably long time. The girl with me said, “dress them in what?”

I’d been going to say something about how Victorians liked to wear costumes from the Raj, and then there was the Japanese craze. So you could dress your cast like that. Anything to get away from brown and grey crinoline. I shook my head. “Nothing. Sorry, lost my train of thought.”

I know. What am I, fourteen? The story’s not quite over yet, though.

Knickers!

Posted on October 16, 2013 by jaime

A pair of drawers

But the alternative words have their own problems. Drawers and bloomers are specific garments, and anyway they’ve passed into history. Drawers are fine for birching the maid in a Victorian role play, though a Victorian maid wouldn’t have worn them. Bloomers are for schoolgirl scenarios set no later than the 1960s.

“Underwear” reminds me of Calvin Klein, and I loathe everything about the man, the empire and his advertising.

And “underpants” isn’t a good word. I like to be as polymorphously perverse as I can, but in this context “underpants” makes me think of a woman wearing grubby grey y-fronts, and that’s not a sexy image. To me, I mean. I’m sure there’s a fan-club on the net somewhere for women wearing grubby y-fronts, and I’m not disputing their taste.

That leaves “knickers”.

Mrs Slocombe’s pussy jokes just wrote themselves. And they were crap at joke-writing.

It sounds like a word from an ancient British TV comedy, with a drunk live audience who go into hysterics every time someone said “pussy” or “bedpan”. And it rhymes with “vicars”, which is also English in an unsexy way.

But those associations are preserved in TV series that have reached Sirius and Alpha Centauri by now. And if the Sirians and Centaurians are putting up with “Are You Being Served” re-runs, then they’ve taken on the cultural burden. Their brave work allows me to forget that AYBS ever existed.

So “knickers” it is. Sexy women wear knickers, and I approve of that. Except when they don’t wear them and I approve even more.

Panties, for want of a better word

Posted on October 15, 2013 by jaime

A single drawer

Maybe “panties” is an awkward word because it has an overtone of childishness. Panties, the word and not the item of clothing, seems to fit the world of little girls best, along with Hello Kitty and My Little Pony, and blaming the teddybear for finishing the milk.

Though My Little Pony is cool with me.

And so are littles, who create a submissive persona out of pink icing, sparkles and balloons and what you might call emotional lability, switching from tears to hand-clapping glee at the drop of a party hat. It can be exhausting but it’s also charming, and I’m always ready to help build a fort.

Still, “panties” isn’t an adult word. But the piece of clothing, on or off an adult woman, has huge sexual significance. Men know that if a woman wears them in front of them, there’s a good chance that sex is going to happen. If she takes them off or lets them be taken off (outside of ordinary domestic contexts), then sex is happening. There are fetishes about female underwear, but they don’t need a fetish. They’re the difference between sex and not-sex, and that means that they’re sexy in themselves.

Never, ever, wear this tee-shirt if you want to get laid

So it might be the little-girl overtones of the word “panties” that makes it sound a bit creepy to some women. I know a woman who says the word always reminds her of someone heavy breathing down a phone: “panties arrrfffffff uh-herck ahhhhh panties”, and so on.

It’s not as if the word actually gets in the way. In practice. If I’m doing something bdsm-y they don’t stay on long anyway, and I’m not likely to use any particular word. I just smack her arse and say, “get those off. Now.” That works fine.

Still, a better word wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Panties

Posted on October 14, 2013 by jaime

I’ve always thought the word “panties” is kind of awkward.

What hentai girls wear has to be called panties. But maybe that’s part of the problem with the word.

If you’d asked me why it’s awkward, a few years ago, I’d have given a vaguely feminist answer: that it’s a word for the female equivalent of a male piece of clothing that shows that it’s the female version by adding a diminutive. The diminutive form means that the women’s item is more childish and more frivolous than the male equivalent. So I’d have questioned it for the same sort of reasons that I’d question the word “actress”. Or “poetess”.

But that’s not quite the problem, I think.

Ah hell, I’m out of time again. Duties call. This blog is still alive, really, and so’s its writer. I’ll be back shortly.

Jerusalem Mortimer: Between the Lines

Jerusalem Mortimer wants a word

Category Archives: Bodies