Probation Officer #95C: Samoan nipples?

nippleupIt’s always nice to talk about nipples, isn’t it? For example, the German word for “nipple” isn’t really “Brustwart”, or “breast wart”: it’s “Nippel”. Now, here’s the thing about Sa’afia’s nipples. They’d be purple-black and flat when she was resting, but when I kissed and squeezed them and they woke up, they’d perk up, all erect and yearning to be kissed and bitten. And they’d turn from purple-black to purple-pink.

I loved making that happen. Now, she wouldn’t have had nipples like that if she wasn’t Samoan, or didn’t have Polynesian ancestry. But were they Samoan nipples? Nah, they were just Sa’afia’s.  

Her mouth was wide and her lips sweetly full. And there were freckles, for heaven’s sake, on her forehead and cheeks and nose, under the brown. She owed those things to her Polynesian ancestry too, and I thought they were wonderful. 

I liked things about her that were Samoan culturally, though not genetic. Her body was slightly shiny when she was naked because she rubbed herself with cocoanut oil. When I licked her she smelled of cunt and cocoanut.

I liked the tapa cloth on her wall, depicting her parents’ village. I liked the little carved canoe with sea-shell eyes, on her bedside table. Even the care she took not to make her mother have to admit she was having sex appealed to me. For no reason except that it was different. Those things were hers because she was Samoan, too. But I liked them because I liked her. Not the other way around. 

Sa’afia’s other fear was that I was with her only because I really wanted Ana, and I couldn’t have Ana. That I was fucking her because she resembled her cousin. That was the nerve I’d touched when I’d asked her about Ana’s father. 

Probation Officer #91: A kiss on the hand can be quite continental, but a slap on the face…

Can't say I like many porn images of face-slapping. They're not affectionate, mostly, and they creep me out. But lions are sexy beasts.

Can’t say I like many porn images of face-slapping. They’re not affectionate, and they creep me out. But lions are sexy beasts.

At the time smacking Sa’afia’s face was still pretty shocking. In the last few years there’s been a fashion for hard face-slapping. It’s an internet thing, and the internet doesn’t come with a notice about not trying that at home.

I know that a lot of submissive women have tried being slapped, and some of them like it a lot. But I’ve never been able to bring myself to go beyond a firm-but-not-very-hard slap, plus some theatre to make it seem harsher than it is.

I said, into Sa’afia’s shocked silence, “You please me very much. I want you always to know that.”

The odd thing about this conversation, which maybe seems a bit lovey-dovey on the screen, is that my cock didn’t soften at all. I’m sure Sa’afia stayed wet, and that she dropped another two floors below the basement, further into submission about a second after the slap.

I pushed back into her mouth, as deep as I could go, my pelvic bone to her lips. When she started to cough I stayed for a couple of seconds before withdrawing. I gave her a second to recover, but no more. I started to move, not too deeply but hard, before she’d completely calmed. 

Before the slap I’d let her set the pace but now I took the lead, fucking her mouth, holding her head by that handful of her hair.

She wanted to be taken hard now, out of her control. And out of my control, up to a point. How did I know that? Well, desire ruled both of us, and we knew that. I’d had a different set of plans when we’d started, but I was going to come in her mouth. And soon.  

Sweet dreams #4: Sweet dreams

I’m in Sarajevo. I’m on my own. I’m about to get on a train. On that train I shall sleep. I’ve been pushing a bit hard lately and I’ve reached a limit. 

stoyaHere is  picture of a woman called Stoya. I chose a picture of her sucking cock, not because she looks her best in fellatio, but because long soup has been a topic.

Stoya was in bed with Amanda Palmer recently. I think a newspaper owned by Rupert Murdoch (spits on floor) would say they cavorted. This makes me think that they are both unreasonably lucky. 

If I’m mildly lucky, on my train I will dream of one of them, or both. Good night, world. 

Sweet dreams #3: Long soup

A woman dom with a submissive man can suck his cock as part of keeping him in his submissive space. She can tell him that he’s being teased and tested, that he has to stay absolutely hard in her mouth, but he’s not allowed to come. Or else. Or she can say he has to come quickly, and get soft again, quickly, because he’s being “milked” to reduce his male energy and any tendency to forcefulness.

So a man can have his cock sucked by his dom and remain in submissive role.

If she demands that he get on his knees and do her, she receives his tongue and his attention as service. When he licks her, he’s being submissive. Why? Because they both say so.

dreams1But if I licked – let’s say Sa’afia – I’d be thinking how I controlled her. I’d hold her down, I’d demand that she ask permission before she comes, and I’d let her wait and panic a bit before I gave that permission. I’d be dominant, and poor Sa’afia, with my lips and nose and tongue in her cunt, would be submissively under my control.

Whereas if she kneels while I stand, and takes my cock in her mouth, then we’ll be getting back to where I left the Probation Officer story.

I’ve finished one project. I’m going to Mostar, in Bosnia and Herzegovina be cause I’m due at a conference. Just observing, not doing anything. That’ll be less busy. Normal blogging should be resumed tomorrow.

Sweet dreams #2: Everything is a damn metaphor

Holy Crowley!

Holy Crowley!

Aleistair Crowley has been largely forgotten (internet fame not being quite the same thing as fame). He was a supposed black magician in the early twentieth century, who the newspapers called “the wickedest man in the world”. He did his best to play up to the reputation. 

Crowley was essentially an amusing charlatan, who harmed a few people more by carelessness rather than malice, and perhaps made up for that by showing some people an exciting time while entertaining millions more.  

One of the interesting things about him was his version of bdsm. When he was domming men, he’d give his male submissives a good thrashing to help them find the properly submissive state of mind. Since his male lovers had gone to English public schools they’d already been well trained for him: presenting themselves for their floggings and holding position for the master. They’d have been right at home. Crowley even used the titles (Magister, Dominus, Meister, Master) their flogging teachers would have used.

What strikes me as odd is that after the thrashing Crowley would present himself and order his submissives to bugger him.

It reminds me how conventional I am, really. If I let a submissive hitch on a strap-on, since people who have real penes aren’t part of my sex life, and shove it up my bum, I’d assume that while I was being anally penetrated I’d be doing something submissive.

That wouldn’t be a reason for not doing it. People should do what they want, with consent, and not worry what other people think, or what category it seems to fit into. I’m not going to worry about doing something I feel like doing because someone could read it as submissive. I’m only saying that’s the meaning I ascribe to anal sex: the penetrating partner seems to be dominant, and the ass-fucked partner seems more submissive.

Disclosure: I did once let a girl try to get a dildo up my bum, because being buggered by a girl seemed amusingly complicated, symbolically. But in practice it just hurt: there was nothing good about the feeling at all. Gay friends tell me it’s great, and I should give it another go. But I gave it a fair try, and it’s not for me. I pulled the plug, as it were, and I haven’t repeated the experiment. Well, there’s no law that says everybody has to like everything. I’m glad that women, and especially submissive women, mostly like different things than me.

But when Crowley had his submissive’s cock up his arse, he presumably felt that he was in charge. Perhaps he shouted commands: “Faster, you fool. Now slower. Don’t you dare come.” That sort of thing. 

When I bugger a woman, I feel and she feels that she’s being submissive, and that I’m in charge, riding and ruling her. Anal sex can be wonderfully, beautifully deep. I mean emotionally deep: the depth of the woman’s submission and surrender. It seems to be spmething very intense, between a dominant and a submissive. I like taking that surrender.

Still, in bdsm it seems that any meaning can be ascribed to any action. It’s the ascribed meaning that matters, not the action itself. 

I’m still in Glasgow. I turned out 80 pages yesterday, and I’ve got a concentration headache. I’m still working. 

Star Trek: the Kirk-Elaan of Troysius spanking sequence

Now go to my room!

Now go to my room!

The new Star Trek film is good. But it’s very clean in various ways compared to the world of Shatner-Kirk.

For example, here’s the conversation on spanking between Kirk and the imperious Dohlman of Troysius, whose name is Elaan, though she prefers to be called “Your Glory”. 

Elaan: You are warned, Captain, never to touch me again!

Captain Kirk: If I touch you again, Your Glory, it’ll be to administer an ancient Earth custom called a spanking!

Elaan: (rage, spit, throws furniture, etc)

But some time later, the Captain and Elaan are in a fog of lust: 

elaanElaan: Captain, that ancient Earth custom called spanking. What is it?

Kirk: It’s, er. It’s, er. We’ll talk about it later.

[He pulls her into a passionate embrace. We cut, fast as possible, to an ad break. Elaan spends the rest of the episode standing up. Coincidence? Er, probably.]

Yikes 5: Tears are our pillow

I’d had high expectations of that night, from the moment I’d decided that tintanabula needed to find out what a paddle can do. That was because she’d got only mediocre marks in a university test. I was outraged, when she admitted her score, because I want her to pass near the top of her class. So I decided that she would feel a little warning twinge in her bottom, a painful memory, any time she felt like giving a test less than 100% of her effort. But to have a painful memory you first have to have a painful experience. That was where the paddle came in.

tears againThe other details, that I’d paddle her in the open air at night, with her bound naked over a whipping frame, filled themselves in. I’d just made the whipping frame, and obviously I was going to find a use for it soon. So I was expecting the experience to be memorable, in different ways, for both of us.

But all my expectations were exceeded. It was emotionally and sexually overwhelming. The source of all this extra power was her tears. They’d lifted the emotional and sexual stakes dramatically. At first, when tintanabula started to cry, I’d been pleased simply because it meant that she would be trying harder for her next exam. 

But tears and sobs can mean an ocean, a world, of feeling and communication between a dominant and a submissive.  

I’m not much of a fetishist, really. I don’t care about leather, or corsets, or gloves or shoes or any of that kind of thing. But I think I may have a thing for the tears of a submissive woman. There’s something intimate about her tears, the way she brings me this physical, surrendered, sign of her emotion for me to see and share it. Her tears make me both cruel and loving. Her tears move me emotionally, and they make me hard. 

There’s a word for tear fetishism, by the way: dacryphilia. It seems that I’m a dacryphiliac.

Yikes #4: Pretending not to care about pleasure

Paddled ass: the other partner in a love-hate relationship

A well-paddled ass: the other partner in the love-hate relationship between submissive and implement. An especially intense relationship when the implement is the paddle.

So this story hovers around a woman, somewhat ludicrously called tintanabula, with her feet and wrists cuffed to a wooden whipping frame, naked in the night air, her ass presented but her head, hands and feet close to the long grass.

She sobbed, unrestrained. Her body wasn’t. Unrestrained. Her buttocks and upper thighs were bright red, with patches of a darker, richer red which would develop into black and blue bruising in only a few more minutes.

tumblr_m6yonvLL7T1rai72mo1_500The paddle lay on the grass beside her, and the penis of the man who had hurt her – that’s me – was hard. I’d loved her tears and cries. She still whimpered as I pushed in and slowly withdrew in her rectum, I held her hips to keep her still and presented. I wanted her to feel, even if it wasn’t entirely true, that I had no regard at all for her pleasure. She was being buggered while her ass still burned with pain. She should get the full benefit of that.

She knew it’d never be quite true, but she loved feeling that I didn’t care about her pleasure. 

I don’t think she enjoyed being buggered just then. Two dozen isn’t a lot of strokes, but it is if you use the paddle. It was one of the most severe punishments I’ve ever given. It simply hurt, and afterwards I hadn’t been gentle.

But it was what tintanabula said was the hottest, the most rawly sexual night she’d ever experienced. Afterwards I’d wrapped her in a gown and taken her to a bed with cool, crisp sheets, and while I laid her down and fucked her I whispered in her ear that I’d paddle and bugger her again soon, but even harder, and possibly with an audience next time. She’d come harder and more often, that night, than ever before in her life.