Why does bdsm feel so good #3

Posted on April 16, 2012 by jaime

(Continuing that excerpt from “Between the Lines”: thoughts about pleasure, while delivering my second-ever successful spanking.)

As I continued, slowly building up the force of the smacks, she gave me movements to watch, the rocking of her hips and buttocks as she pressed down against me and then offered herself up in answering rhythm to my hand.

No, your head stays down.

She had tucked her hair behind her ears, but now she was in motion it fell forward over her face.

There were tactile pleasures, the curve of her buttocks and thighs under my hand, soft when I touched her gently, and firmly resilient when I touched more fiercely. The impact of my palm against muscles, the reactions of her body in that second of impact; those sensations were all the more intense for only lasting for an instant.

Maureen’s body pressed against mine, her hips slowly pumping, moving on my cock and under my hand. I was achingly aware of every silken micro-movement of her belly or her thighs.

There were sounds, too: the claps of skin against skin and her occasional answering grunts. And there were our own heady smells.

{To be continued].

Why does bdsm feel so good? #2

Posted on April 15, 2012 by jaime

(Continuing that excerpt from “Between the Lines”: thoughts about pleasure, while delivering my second-ever successful spanking.)

I cupped Maureen’s left buttock with my hand, drawing a pleasurable sigh from her. She was cool to the touch. I cupped the other cheek, squeezed and patted her, and then stroked the sensitive skin in the cleft between. When my fingertips touched, lightly, against her cunt Maureen opened her thighs, releasing me.

She bowed her head, probably more in concentration than in submission, and closed her eyes. So we had begun.

I smacked her lightly, closely observing my hand’s impact against her flesh. I knew I would want to remember each detail. What was this? Why did I like this so much?

There were visual pleasures, the sight of Maureen’s flesh rippling and firming as each smack landed. Her face frowned in concentration, a slight pursing of her mouth with each blow. I watched these things with absorption, and wondered at their beauty.

Hand reared girl

When I made the smacks harder I could watch the changes in her skin, the instant of pallor directly under my hand at the instant of contact, blushing to pink as the blood rushed to the assaulted skin.

At first I could see individual prints, my palm, fingers and thumb marked on her like the paint hands on Palaeolithic cave walls, but these soon merged into one large red blotch covering her buttocks and upper thighs.

[To be continued]

Why does bdsm feel so good? (“It’s clear why I like it, thanks, but why do I like it so much?”) #1

Posted on April 14, 2012 by jaime

This is a bit from “Between the Lines” about the second (or fourth, if you counted two excruciatingly embarrassing first attempts) spanking I ever gave.

Hurry up!

“The click of her bedroom door closing had enormous importance. We undressed with fumbling speed, not speaking until Maureen lay back on her white sheet and I lay between her long white thighs and I kissed her belly and the vault of her ribs. Only then could we pause to talk. It seemed that in the hours we’d been apart we’d done things that we had to do, for purposes that had nothing to do with this bed, and that none of those things were of any importance at all.

We focussed on what was of interest. I rolled onto my back and sat up, pulling Maureen with me so she sprawled on top of me. She raised herself on her hands and looked down into my eyes, then slid herself down to lie, long, cool and white across my lap. She closed her thighs on my cock, and waited.

Our first experiment had been all immediacy, both of us sliding on the edge of the instant like skiers half a step ahead of an avalanche. This second exploration was different. Time moved normally. I contemplated Maureen’s beauty and the astonishing gift that her posture represented: the magnificence of her permission and the luxury of time to enjoy it.

Her pale length was still tinged with pink at her lower buttocks and upper thighs. The coloration was so faint that if I hadn’t known it should be there and wanted to find it I might easily have missed it. I was relieved to find I’d done Maureen no damage, but I had to admit to myself that I was also disappointed. I wasn’t entirely civilised: I’d hoped that I’d left my mark on her.

[To be continued]

The poor girl’s opera

Posted on April 13, 2012 by jaime

In the comments on the post about Kinky boots of the 1930s and Phegor illustrations, I mentioned the whipping scene in “Das Rheingold”. It’s very loud in the Georg Solti recording, where the recording supervisor, John Culshaw, commented that the whip they used to make the cracking sounds was “absolutely terrifying”. And he’d been to a British public school in the 1940s, so he can’t have been easily scared.

Anyway, I should say that the whipping scene in “Das Rheingold” is interestingly grotesque, but completely and utterly not sexy.

Nice hat. Astrid Varnay as Brünnhilde.

But if you were looking for a bdsm scene in a Wagner opera, I’d recommend the Daddy-daughter confrontation between Wotan and Brünnhilde at the end of Die Walküre. It begins with Wotan furious because his daughter disobeyed him, and determined to punish her.

She begs, reminding her father why she did what she did, and inadvertently reminding him of why he loves her: she’s the best of him. So he still punishes her, but he changes it to make it something positive, intended to benefit her. And they reconcile with one of the hugest and most overwhelming orgasms in all music.

If you were a Dom on the prowl (rrrowl!), you could do worse than hang about in the lobby after a performance of Die Walküre, There’ll be some very good looking women there, as well as the ones who look like James Thurber drawings. Find one who’s been weeping red-eyed buckets, buy her a drink and give her a handkerchief. So far you’re being a gentleman, but tell her to clean herself up in a very slightly command voice, and there’s a 50/50 chance that you’ll take her home.

By three in the morning you should be smacking her ass and telling her she’s a good girl really. And she should be hitting the A above the treble stave.

Golden girl #8

Posted on April 12, 2012 by jaime

This is a very hot bdsm love story, starring two couples and an unattached woman seeking love and intense sex.

Do they find each other and happiness? You’ll have to read the book to find out.

Because it’s become the opening chapter of a novel that’s about to be published, I’ve had to take it down from here.

I’ll put up a link to where you can buy it once it’s on sale.

Golden girl #7

Posted on April 9, 2012 by jaime

This is a very hot bdsm love story, starring two couples and an unattached woman seeking love and intense sex.

Do they find each other and happiness? You’ll have to read the book to find out.

Because it’s become the opening chapter of a novel that’s about to be published, I’ve had to take it down from here.

I’ll put up a link to where you can buy it once it’s on sale

Golden girl #6

Posted on April 9, 2012 by jaime

This is a very hot bdsm love story, starring two couples and an unattached woman seeking love and intense sex.

Do they find each other and happiness? You’ll have to read the book to find out.

Because it’s become the opening chapter of a novel that’s about to be published, I’ve had to take it down from here.

I’ll put up a link to where you can buy it once it’s on sale.

No pain no gain, per ardua ad orgasmis and so forth

Posted on April 8, 2012 by jaime

I’ve just been mountain-climbing. I owe myself a hot bath. Actually, I owe it to people a block away to have a bath. There was a lot of climbing, a lot of mud, a lot of sweat, and some blood. My boots are filthy. Every single thing I’m wearing smells like old socks.

I’ve been thinking that lovers become very intuitively aware of what the other person is feeling, in sex. There are times, in non-bdsm fucking, where it becomes so intense that I not only know exactly how each movement feels to me, but I also know how it feels to her. It’s like I know what’s it’s like to have a cunt and have it feel good. I can move my cock, and know exactly what that sensation would be like for her. She can sense the equivalent of what I’m feeling, though she doesn’t have a cock. So how do we know that about each other’s sensations? It’s not telepathy, but it comes from very close physical and mental communion.

In bdsm sessions it’s the same. When it’s working well and the session is intense and the dominant and submissive are in tune with each other, and focussed on each other, then I know how a command will affect her; I know how a stroke of the cane will feel to her. She knows how her offered body looks, to me, and how it affects me. Each knows the other’s pleasures, though she may have no dominant desires, and I have no submissive desires.

When I’m cold and sore-muscled and exhausted from climbing, and feeling terrific, has that got something of the pleasure that some submissives take from pain? I don’t know, but I suspect so. There’s no submission or surrender, because I don’t really have that as a desire. But there is a kind of joy in pain.

At least when it stops. Bath for me.

Radclyffe Hall with a whip. Dot tumblr dot com

Posted on April 7, 2012 by jaime

I’m taking a short break from the Golden girl saga. There are probably only two more episodes left in it. It’s a true story, by the way, with the usual changes to de-identify people and to fill in gaps in my memory.

An image that haunted my twelve-year old imagination. How could the world have something this sexy in it?

I should say that Therese really did talk like that. Writing her dialogue, she sounds like a slightly kinky lesbian from a 1920’s or 1930’s novel. Like Radclyffe Hall, only with a whip. (There’s probably no such tumblr. Though I haven’t looked.)

I didn’t notice it when she was saying these things, because she carried it off so well. She was a professional, and therefore an actor. She’d chosen the style and she stuck to it.

I’m pretty sure that if I had a woman bent over a table and a whip in my hand, no matter how fraught that hanging moment might be, if I said something like “And not a peep out of you, dear”, that girl would laugh her fool head off and the tension would fly right out the window.

Sure, it’d be replaced by some new tension, because there’s plenty available in the moments before a flogging begins. Still, one moment of it would be gone forever.

But really, I just wanted to post this drawing by an artist who called himself “Phegor”. Phegor is a demon in the Old Testament (that is, someone else’s god), so it’s probably a pseudonym, shall we say. Anyway, I first found it in a book, “The Cruel and the Meek”, when I was about twelve and already well aware of my desires. I thought this was the sexiest, darkest, sweetest, sweatiest, hottest image I’d ever seen.