My Girl in Havana

bananaPeople who read this blog regularly will know I was recently in Havana.

On my way there I dropped in on Antarctica, where – according to their profiles – the hottest submissive girls live. It must be the penguin down and the hot pools. I met up with a girl I’ll call Gretel. This was something we’d arranged, me on my mountain and her on the towering gloom of Erebus.

Gretel’s a bit of a name on the internet, much more so than I am, and she’s a quick, sharp, smart girl. She lives on her wits, though she has more than her wits to offer and entice a suitor.

For example the excellence of her breasts is matched only by the legendary cuteness of her ass and the inviting plain of her belly. She is pale, which I like, and when she smiles there are indeed dimples.

Annnnyway, that ass, though cute as mentioned, had been substantially under-spanked and generally lacked a history of pleasing mistreatment. We both thought that was regrettable. So one of our understandings was that after we’d explored the forests, rum joints, decaying buildings and corrupt police, secret and otherwise, of Cuba, we’d explore some more personal matters in our hotel room.

not here bunnyAnd so, one day, which wasn’t the first day because an undressed Gretel is more shy, in some ways, than a fluffy bunny who wants you to just go on as if she wasn’t really there, I undressed her. I put some gruff into my voice so she knew why, and made her bend over the bed.

And I smacked her bottom.

The sound, and the resilience and sweet round tactility of her ass was pretty well perfect, and so was her reaction. That is, she moved in response to the smack, so that I knew she’d felt it, but she stayed in place. So I counted that as an invitation, and gave her a long spanking, not at all hard, but setting out to build up some heat and colour.

And wetness. I had a wet girl on my hands. Under my hands, to be literal about it.

Have case, will travel.

The doctor is in. Also perverse. My flogger is the instrument on the left.

At a later time I put her down so that she was lying on the bed, face down and bottom up, and brought out my flogger. The lashes are made of soft leather, so although I can make it land hard enough to make a fairly whip-hardened girl cry out, it can also be used purely for pleasure.

Used at medium strength it’s practically a massage tool. It lands heavily, but the thud isn’t the sort of impact that has to hurt. It’s the dom’s choice whether the flogger’s contact with her flesh is a caress or a whip-stroke.

So I flogged her, in a series of very quick, light blows, that you get by swinging the handle so that the lashes spin in a circle, and land, at their lowest point, on her upper thighs and bottom. Gretel made no sound. She was smiling slightly, and it seemed that she might have found sub-space, and moved into it. Not all the way in. She stayed just inside the border, where details and events get a little vague, but you can come out if you need to.

Gretel's ass, half flogged. It was redder than that, really. Something about Havana light seems to bleach away the blush of flogged skin.

Gretel’s ass, half flogged. In reality it was redder than that, but something about Havana light seems to bleach away the blush of flogged skin, at least on camera. 

Occasionally I added a little extra force to the swing, and made her flinch. I did that to make sure she was still reacting, and hadn’t drifted completely away from her flogging and from me. And because I wanted it to be a sexy experience, it has to have a little bite to it or it becomes merely mellow and pleasant. There needed to be the odd moment that had an edge, that woke her skin and hurt a little, so that the next, softer strokes of the flogger were actually soothing.

It was a good introduction, I thought. I’d done okay at teaching Getting Flogged 101, but I was especially pleased with Gretel. Intelligence is one of the keys to sexiness: sharp wits, wet bits.

Note: Writing about very recent events is against one of my rules, but I made an exception in this case for reasons I won’t explain. It probably goes without saying, but I do have Gretel’s consent both for writing about her flogging, and to run that pic of her excellent ass.

Whipping frame

Here’s a whipping frame I knocked up as a holiday project, using up spare bits of wood lying about the place.

whipping frame

The screw-in eye lags (or “screw thread eye screws”), with the circles at the end for securing the submissive’s wrist and ankle cuffs before punishing or fucking her, are the only things I had to buy especially. So the whole thing cost me about eight bucks.

Actually I’ll have to paint it, so that’ll cost a few dollars more. There is a story about the sudden creation of this artefact, and its first use, but I can’t tell it. One of my personal rules forbids that. Come back in 2020, and maybe I’ll tell it then.

Projects

I’m going to continue the Qing story tomorrow. And then I get back to the Raylene story, since that poor girl has been sitting, ignored, in her bedroom for a couple of months now. That’s embarrassing, I guess, but she prefers her humiliations more focussed and intense than that. 

Scots bum-crack

upkiltHere’s a sample of kilted bum-crack.

I don’t think any woman would actually wear that on the streets of any Scottish town or city. Scotland is cold, and never mind the perverts, the place is full of Calvinists. But authenticity isn’t everything.

I’ve mentioned that the wind can be pretty obliging with little kilts. But this girl is actually inside, and there shouldn’t be any kilt-lifting gales blowing in her bedroom.

We’re being lied to, by our soft porn!

One last thing.

tartan knickersWhen I bought my kilt, and all the associated accessories, I was not offered underpants. There are Scots things I don’t go along with, like eating porridge with only salt and hot water, but I follow the kilt rules. One doesn’t wear anything under a kilt. Really. You just don’t.

But I recently discovered that tartan underpants, also knickers, do actually exist. Some chancer is making them, and some terrible, misguided, wrong people are buying them.

But they shouldn’t find their way under a kilt. Ever.

once seen cat

 

 

Back to work: and Freudian fingers on the Iphone

Holidays are over. I’ve got projects, including at least one where I have no idea how to do what I’ve contracted to. But they wanted me, so that’s that. 

I’ll learn how to do the job, and I’ll get a nice transfer of funds, with love, from them to me. (Cue mouth organ break.) 

Anyway, here’s what happened yesterday. A pretty girl I’d been flirting with, months ago, sent me this:

bag flirt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 (It’s just an internet image, which is why I’m prepared to reproduce it here.) Anyway, we’d called it off, but ended on friendly terms, so I thought that was an encouraging sign: she missed me and wanted to pick up where we left off. I felt very cheery. She’d expressed some interest in the leather, semi-flexible instruments, so I sent her this:

Have case, will travel.

“Have case, will travel.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anyway, she sent me another message, which went, approximately, “WTF? Nice to hear from you, but why you just text me? & why that?” 

So I realised she’d been texting some other guy, and she’d accidentally sent the picture to me. She’s the sort of girl who’d be horrified to realise she’d done that, so I decided not to embarrass her by explaining. (She doesn’t read this blog). I just apologised. Rush of blood to the head, or something, I said. So there you are. 

Silent night: some Christmas thoughts on gags

silent nightThinking back, I’m surprised at how very little time submissives of mine have spent gagged. I have a ball gag, and one that intrudes a rather realistic penis-shaped column into the mouth of the person wearing it.

But in the heat of the moment I’m more likely to want to kiss her, to hear her moan and cry out, to thank me for her pain and her orgasms, and to have her kiss my boots or, of course, suck my cock. And if she’s not doing any of those things, then I might just want to have a conversation. Gags don’t help much for any of that. 

But I need to use my imagination more. Not being able to speak is frustrating, and she can enjoy the frustration. I can enjoy that too.

Then there are ring gags. I’ve never used one, because I’ve always thought that the rim – especially of the metal type – looks uncomfortable. I mean uncomfortable for the dom, of course. They look likely to interfere with the serious business, for the submissive, of pleasuring the master’s cock.

ring gagOn the other hand, there’s the emotional and sexual power of the idea that “you’re not sucking my cock; I’m fucking your throat”.

That means the ring gag would have to be large enough to allow penile entry all the way up to the base of the cock.

Another advantage of ring gags is drool. A submissive wearing one can’t control her saliva. At least in my experience, submissives tend to be extremely neat and tidy. For example, there’s that odd attraction that many submissives have to to stationery and little pads and pens in different colours, and so on. Which are kept in a meticulously orderly way.

Being unable to avoid dribbling and drooling would be exquisitely humiliating for most submissives I know.

So I shall start shopping for a ring gag.

Anal hooks in use

My knots were nowhere near as neat and tidy as that, I'm afraid.

My knots were nowhere near as neat and tidy as that, I’m afraid.

Some time ago I mentioned that I’d never used an anal hook.

I’d thought it was interesting that no-one had heard of them until quite recently, which means it might be one of the most recently invented sex toys.

They seemed kind of unnecessary, in the sense that people have done bdsm with each other for centuries, and in all that time no-one had ever felt that there was something missing, and that missing item was the anal hook. 

Still, they seemed a good way of keeping a submissive in position, held absolutely ruthlessly with her ass presented. 

Now I’ve used one. This post is just a foreshadowing, because I’m not up to writing much at the moment, but I’ll write a consumer’s report shortly. 

Toothpaste on the clitoris: follow-up 2

At about 12 minutes of toothpaste clitoral sensation, Lisa was not keeping herself still, and she got paddled as I’d promised. 

Floaty!

Floaty!

The paddling turned out to make it easier for her, because after a few swats she seemed to be overwhelmed with sensual information – if you can call the impact of a paddle “information” – and she just held herself in position and let things happen. Everything went wet and warm and floaty.

The toothpaste seemed to lose its heat, or just quieten down to being a bit warm and not uncomfortable, after about half an hour.

Obviously the timing will vary according to the kind of toothpaste, the woman’s pain threshold, how lubricated she was when the toothpaste was applied, plus random factors like mood and timing and, well, chance. 

I scooped off the toothpaste with my tongue, because it felt like a good idea, and the toothpaste on clitoris experience segued into other things. 

Afterwards, Lisa rated it higher than I did. The combination of clitoral heat-torture plus the paddle was a memory she used when she was masturbating, later. That’s high praise. From my point of view both the application and the removal were fun, and forcing her to keep still and dealing with the inevitable failure were hot, but I’d rate the whole toothpaste thing only as a B. 

Figging, with a peeled piece of ginger root inserted into the anus, is something I’d rate as an A. Maybe that’s just because the ginger root is organic while toothpaste is more artificial, and me, I’m a country boy at heart. Figging also seems to have a slower build-up of heat and a longer effect. Maybe I prefer figging because I can absolutely slather my cock with cold cream and bugger her afterwards, knowing that the cold cream is a delicious relief after the ginger.   

So I’d rate toothpasting, if that’s what we’re going to call it, as a modest success. I’m glad to have it in my repertoire, but it didn’t change my life. (Or Lisa’s.)

The scourge of the Hapsburgs

scourgeHere’s the collection of the whips that Katherine Anna of Austria used on herself. She was a minor member of Austria’s royal family who lived in the 1600’s. Presumably she sat around someone’s palace doing needlework and whipping herself until she was married off to a minor prince somewhere. I haven’t been able to find out much about her: she didn’t trouble history, much.

Her collection of scourges, for whipping herself when she felt she was a bad girl, is kept in the Schatzkammer, or Imperial Treasury, in the Hofburg Palace in Vienna.

It’s not a very good photo, because the whips were behind glass in a darkened room, but I hope you can see enough to note that her whips were quite lovingly made. They have decorations, but they also have metal tips. Any of them would have hurt, and you’d have to be careful not to draw blood. I doubt if she was careful. 

This is, I guess, one of the benefits of religion: it licences extreme states of consciousness and sensuality, while providing spiritual rhetoric as a framework. Katherine Anna is likely to have been “protected” from knowledge about sexual feelings in women, and at the same time told that women are the most licentious of all creatures, who have to keep their sexual urges firmly curbed.

Being a good and faithful believer, she’d reach for the scourges when her thoughts   became troubled. Perhaps she thought about a servant in tight breeches, and the curve of his buttock and upper thigh. In any case, the scourge hurt for the first few lashes, as she swung it over her own shoulder to cut into her bare back. Then endorphins kicked in to cover the pain.

She can feel her mind ease, as the pain starts to recede and pleasurable feelings replace the pain. She is presumably staring up at a three-quarter likeness of a near-naked man, bound with nails to a post with a cross-bar. She looks into his wooden or marble eyes, and sometimes at the muscles of his belly and thighs. He seems to stare back at her, sharing her pain. She has partially bared her body for him, so that she can reach her bare back to apply the whip. She hardly dares wonder if he likes what he sees.

And then she feels a racking moment of great joy: her troubled thoughts, her pain, everything, recedes for a few seconds while her body shakes. Oddly, after that moment of sweet, spiritual reward, she feels no further sexual desire, for a while.

She puts the scourges away. She’ll need them again, soon enough.

Happily whipping Jesus

scourging of ChristThis is a marble relief of the scourging of Jesus, made in the 17th century. It’s a photo I took in the Vienna Schatzkammer, or Imperial Treasury, in the Hofburg Palace in Vienna. 

What’s interesting about it is the erotic depiction of Jesus, lying on his back, with his hands tied, and a slightly floaty, dreamy expression on his face while the man on the right whips him. 

The spectator on the left is clearly enjoying the show. That seems to be an erection poking his robes up, and his hand hovers near his cock.

All four men in this image have happy expressions. The face of the man with the whip shows slightly ludicrous glee. I guess I’ve looked a bit like that too, when the flogging is proceeding well and the girl is in sub-space and all’s right with the world.

It’s interesting because it shows awareness of bdsm on the part of the anonymous artist. I’d have thought it was an anti-bdsm image, showing that men who respond sexually to causing pain are wicked, if it wasn’t that the face of the Jesus suggests that he’s in a blissful state himself.

There are medieval images of the scourging of Jesus that show that the men doing the whipping have erections, but those are less ambiguous in their condemnation of the minority sexual taste. In those images the guys with whips are depicted as barely human, almost demonic, while the Jesus figure is depicted with flecks of blood on his body and his face contorted in agony. In this one, they all seem to be happy participants, like the guys in the Spanner Case.

It’s also interesting, like some of the descriptions of religious flagellation in classical Greek and Latin texts, for showing the ways in which religion and bdsm can, er, bleed into each other. Both approve of extreme states of consciousness, and valorise willing subjection to physical pain, but religion provides a non-sexual framework that people can use to explain what they, or their saintly martyrs, are experiencing. Without talking about sexual pleasure.

Finally, it’s interesting that this image is far more “blasphemous” than anything like Andre Serrano’s Piss Christ, and yet it was accepted in its time as a sacred image. 

An note on Piss Christ

Piss_Christ_by_Serrano_Andres_(1987)I think Piss Christ is a beautiful image, which is different from it being a great work of art. A photo of Amanda Seyfried naked is likely to be beautiful too, but that doesn’t mean the photographer is a great artist.

However, it seems to me to be strongly pro-Christ in its message: that Christ, immersed in the human, is still radiant.

It isn’t blasphemous. As a non-believer with some active dislike for Christianity and Islam, in particular (also communism and fascism, for similar reasons), I like blasphemous art and wish there was more of it. And Piss Christ isn’t it.

But Christian art can be very moving as art even though the “message” doesn’t move me. I don’t let my dislike of Christianity as a worldview get in the way of admiring and responding to the St Matthew Passion, or the altarpieces of Tilman Riemanschneider. 

A new Dom asked me for advice

Why I wrote this

A woman I know has found a new Dom, who hasn’t had any bdsm experience. He’s finding it hard to find the half-way point between martial arts levels of discipline and being too light. He asked me to give him some counsel, and I wrote him this. 

1 Know how happy and amazed you should be

dominanceThe trust and love of a submissive woman is pretty much the best thing in the world. You’re incredibly lucky and privileged to be well on the road to having it. At the same time, for your sake and hers, it’s important that she feels privileged to have such a strict but loving dom.

Now, she’s going to give you some rights over her that most women would be shocked to grant to a man. Her body becomes yours, to enjoy as you will. And you have the right to discipline her. The sensations that come from giving that kind of – sometimes painful – guidance and correction when she misbehaves, can be very intense.

2 You have duties

But you can’t ever forget what she’s giving you those rights for. She expects and wants certain things from you, including safety, a feeling of being loved and cared for, pleasure, and having enough leeway to be frilly and silly, and she needs fun and mischief. You want to enjoy her submission, and that’s only going to work in the longer term if she’s a happy girl.

So, she may surrender all her power to you, but there’s still a quid pro quo. You could spend an hour in which she sucks your cock, while you teach her how you like that done, and use the crop across her arse if she’s not enthusiastic enough. Theoretically you could keep that going for an evening, with a noticeable drop-off in enthusiasm but probably without too much complaint. Two evenings in a row, and you’re going to have a sulky girl who’s less fun to be around.

I’m not sure at what point she’d slam her door, with you on the outside of that door, but that point would come.

The point is that for all you’re in charge, and she’s surrendered to you, if you don’t meet her needs then eventually things won’t work so well.

 3  Discipline and a submissive girl

That brings us to discipline. It’s an important thing between a dom and his submissive. It’s one of the most important ways in which the dom sets limits for her, and establishes that those boundaries can’t be crossed without consequences. She will be happier with limits, and happy that you care enough to monitor whether she stays within them. Sometimes she won’t be very happy at all, while the punishment is proceeding. But your goal should be to make sure she can be happy shortly afterwards.

If she can be cheeky to you, within half an hour of getting the cane, then you’ve done well.

Why do you want her to be able to be cheeky to you? It’s because of what makes a submissive woman most satisfactory to be with. You don’t want her to be perfect, and you don’t want her so afraid that she’s always watching out that she never annoys you. The balance you want is a girl who knows that you’re in charge, but isn’t afraid of you.

She should be afraid of doing things that you have warned her will bring her a severe punishment, but she should know that that comes from your care for her: and she should be afraid only of the specified severe punishment, and not afraid of you. She should be clearly told in advance what things will lead to severe punishment. That means she should always be able to avoid it, with just a bit of care. 

So respecting you, loving you while accepting that she does as she’s told: those things require you to give her some discipline, but you also need to show her a lot of love.

Most of the time, a hand spanking over your knee will give her the guidance she needs. You keep spanking till you can hear that she’s not laughing any more, and it’s got through to her. But she’ll probably be playful and a bit cheeky again before the red has faded.

That’s okay. If she’s cheeky, then spank her some more – for the fun of it –  and she’ll find a way of making that the start of an amusing and sexy evening.

4  The balance

more dommySo it’s right to set clear rules and consequences, and it’s right that in some cases punishment should be harsh enough to make her remember and fear getting that consequence again. But most of the time you and your new submissive are dancing together. In that dance you’re in control, overall, but she should be able to be herself too, to please and amuse you. And she should be having fun.

So don’t be too harsh. Don’t let her get away with things too much, either; a good hard hand spanking over your knee will never do her any harm.

Above all, you don’t want to tame her too far, let alone break her will. Her little rebellions are part of your dance, and you’ll come to enjoy having to put down the occasional insurrection. With a smile on your lips and a song in your heart.

Finally, I hear that you’ve bought your first riding crop. Good, and I hope it sees a lot of use. But that little that tassel on the end of the crop? Most of the time, that’s the part of the crop you use. You can apply it to her most intimate places. You only use the shaft of the crop when you want to teach one of those harsh lessons I mentioned. 

Be careful, be loving, and always keep your sense of humour. Good luck!

 

Who the hell am I to say this?

I wrote that advice, above, because Lican has met a man. He’s not experienced in bdsm, but she thinks he’s a natural dom. But she’s worried because he reads things on the net, and he sometimes thinks he’s going to get absolute obedience from her and he’s going to base his disciplinary regime on stories he reads that are based on internet play and not reallity. 

She told him about me, and he asked me to write something for him. I’ve posted it here because I hope it might be useful to someone else, and because I’d be keen to hear comments.

The thing is, I’m not feeling like the man who knows everything at the moment. I know some things, but my heart is currently ripped to shit because the woman I love left me, and that’s still the most important fact in my life. (Bless Lican, but I don’t mean Lican.) No-one feels clever alone, with their heart ripped open. Still, the things I’ve written here are things I do know, for what that’s worth.  

Probation Officer #109: Sa’afia’s punishment night 4

spreadeagleSa’afia  lay across her bed, her arms and legs spreadeagled. I’d tied her wrists and ankles to the bed’s legs. I don’t think she’d been thinking about how easily she could be tied to it, when she’d bought her bed. Or perhaps she had thought about it, alone in the dark sometimes. The bed did well enough. She looked great. 

When I’m introducing someone to submission, I don’t usually have much of a plan beforehand. I pretend there’s an agenda, but mostly I just have a few ideas to fall back on if I lose the flow. I try a direction and see what she responds to, and watch the responses carefully. Submissive responses are sexy and beautiful in their own right, and they show where I should go next.

The rod was one of our fixed points. I’d promised Sa’afia she’d get a thrashing with that polished wooden stick, and it had to happen. I thought it would lead to her being “made” to suck my cock while her ass burned. That would be a new experience for her, though not a new thought, full of new meanings, sensations and potentials.

I put a pillow under her ass and ran some cord over her hips and thighs, tying the cord to the sides of the bed. It wasn’t so much to restrict her movements, but so she could feel it against her skin when she moved. I wanted her to feel bound. I was being a good host, I hoped. A strange thing is that it would be hard to tell which would give me more pleasure, guiding Sa’afia into that new place, or feeling her mouth on my cock. Still, I didn’t have to choose.

floggedSa’afia made her little noises of pain and concentration while I striped her upper thighs with the rod. Her ass was already well striped, with some of the red lines raised a little into welts. Her skin was hot to the touch. It was time to re-visit those lines across her buttocks. I raised the rod, and the ante. Time to go harder: we were going to take her flogging up a couple of notches.

That’s the memory. It’s the moment when I was certain Sa’afia was flying, that we were in tune, and that I could take her further than we’d expected. It was wonderful that Sa’afia was tied, and that I was slowly building up the heat in her ass. But it was a psychological moment. 

I’d paused at that moment. I knew she’d moan at the extra pain that the next stroke would impose, and that a second after the rod had landed across her buttocks the pain would turn to something floaty and sexual. I can only ever know that state of mind by imagination. I watched her, reading what I could of her sensations. I couldn’t go to that place myself, but it felt good to take her there.