What it means, to wear a bdsm collar

What does a bdsm collar mean? Generally, the best idea is to ask the person wearing it, and the person who gave it. They can tell you what that collar means. But only that one.

I met her once. In fact, I’ve had the honor, though not the pleasure, of having been turned down by her. Bother. Very nice person, though, and every bit as pretty as the photo suggests. At the time neither of us had any idea how iconic this photo was going to become.

Their meaning won’t be the same as someone else’s. For example, if I see a woman wearing a collar in the local supermarket, I can’t guess what it means. She might be proclaiming that she’s a wild spirit and a bit arty, or she might be a Goth, buying bread, milks and eggs on her way to sack Rome.

She might be involved in bdsm, and wearing it for bdsm reasons. Even then, I can’t know what it means. She might be wearing it to express her membership of the world of bdsm. No one collared her: she bought it and put it on herself.

It doesn’t even mean she’s submissive, necessarily. Plenty of women switches and doms also wear collars for that reason.

(Guys are much, much less likely to wear a collar in public. So I’m writing “she” and “women” for this part.)

It might mean she’s submissive, and the collar helps her to feel submissive, and there’s a small sexual charge from expressing this part of her sexuality out in the open. But that doesn’t necessarily mean she has a master/mistress or a dom.

Again, she’s just quietly expressing her identity, to those who are able to read it.   

And then we have bdsm collars as most people think of them. A couple decided that they fit together well as dominant and submissive, and the dominant offers the submissive a collar. He or she accepts it, and so he or she become a “collared sub”.

Generally, if you make one image in a post black and white, you’re obliged to make the others black and white too. But I like the “just been paddled” blush on her bottom too much to fade it completely.

Even then, their understanding of what it means will be different from another dominant and submissive’s understanding.

It may mean something like, “I am my Master’s/Mistress’s property, in the same way that s/he owns his/her table and chair. My sole purpose, in every moment and aspect of my life, is to obey and please my Owner.”

Or it may mean something like: “I love it when s/he ties me up and spanks me when we’re fucking.”

I looked up “what bdsm collars mean”, and found a hell of a lot of wild claims, generalisations and pure fantasy on this topic.

The only generalisation that I think is true is that it represents some sort of bond and commitment between the couple. Accepting and wearing a collar has powerful emotional significance.

But the reality is: you ascribe the meaning to a bdsm collar. When a collar is given and accepted between a dominant-and-submissive couple, there are no terms and conditions that automatically come with it. You set those for yourself, in negotiation with the person offering or considering accepting the collar, of course.

Next!

I’ll write about what collars mean to me. 

Wicked Wednesday: Juniper’s Adventures 46

This is episode 7 of Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 4: Holding Hands Across the Desk.

In this episode, Maddie is spanked over her headmaster’s knee, and finds it every bit as floppily wonderful as she’d imagined. The headmaster, a Mr Hunter, recognises that he and Maddie are forming a relationship, on short acquaintance. He tells her that because she was late, she will report back to his office after school to be paddled. Maddie leaves, very happy.

She breaks off her story there.

 

“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. 

 

Collars in bdsm: where did they come from?

There were what we’d recognise as bdsm clubs in the Victorian and Edwardian period. They called themselves things like “Miss Primm’s Society of Flagellants”, rather than bdsm clubs, but if we went back a hundred off years in time and visited one, we’d recognise most of what we saw. We’d know our way around.

Now take a couple from that Victorian or Edwardian bdsm club and bring them to a modern bdsm club. They’d also know most of what they see. They’d see dungeon gear, they’d see a school desk with a birch or a cane handy, and they’d know what those things are about. 

But there are also things that would puzzle them.

For example, some of them would be looking for women wearing nosegays (a small bunch of flowers) pinned to the breast of their shirt. Because that was how women in the early Victorian period signalled that they’d be very pleased to birch a naughty boy and teach him to behave.

But bdsm has fashions, and that fashion has gone.

Similarly, other people would be looking at the women and men wearing leather collars round their necks, and wondering what on earth that was about. Because in Victorian times, collars were not part of bdsm.

Historical slave collars

Maybe one reason for that lack of interest in slave collars is that the Victorians were closer to real slavery than most of us now are. So they had an idea of what slavery was like, when it’s impersonal and non-consensual.

Actual slave collars existed but they were usually made out of wood, iron or cord, and they weren’t everyday wear for slaves. Nor were they romantic, or intended as decoration. They were hard things to eroticise, and it doesn’t seem to have occurred to any Victorians to even try. 

Slave collars were for attaching together groups of slaves when they were made to walk from African villages to slaver ports, from which they would be taken to countries that had large-scale slavery, particularly Arabia and the United States.

These collars weren’t the stuff of erotic fantasies: more like brutal nightmares.

Slave collars in pre-Victorian, Victorian and Edwardian bdsm literature

Put simply: there weren’t any.

You can read bdsm erotica from the Victorian and Edwardian period, and you certainly had characters who were willing submissive partners in sexual slavery, because for them it was the best and hottest sex ever. But they don’t wear collars.

If their master, mistress or trainer wants them to feel powerless, they might be made to wear something super-feminine, that exposed more leg or bust than they were comfortable with and presented them sexually.

The image on the left isn’t  Victorian. It’s 1950s. But it shows humiliation by feminisation.

I can’t give an example of a girl being humiliated in this way. It’s a theme in written Victorian and Edwardian porn, but from the descriptions it sounds to a modern reader that the girl’s just wearing a summer dress. A little, flappy summer dress. Nothing, to us; deeply humiliating, to a Victorian lady.

And I should write about why looking feminine was considered to be humiliating in itself, but – the hell with it – not today.

But you’ll look in vain for any reference to collars for those who choose to obey. Collars just weren’t a thing yet. 

Slave collars in Story of O

O is collared, in the 1975 film of Story of O

The earliest reference to collars I’ve been able to find is in Histoire d’O, published in 1954. The submissive women at Roissy wear collars and sometimes blindfolds, and… well, that’s about it. 

So the inventor of collars as a bdsm symbol is probably Anne Desclos, who wrote The Sory of O under the name “Pauline Reage”. 

 One of the interesting things about Descos/Reage is that when she wrote Story of O, she had no bdsm experience and knew very little about bdsm, except that her then boyfriend admired Sade. I’m no fan of the book, and I think that lack of experience and inside knowledge helps explain why the book is so oddly sexless, unsensual (most of the time*) and disembodied.

But it also explains why Declos should have invented bdsm symbols from scratch, since she had nothing much to go on except her imagination.

  • The exception to my “unsensuous” comment is the bit at the beginning where O has to lower her stockings and panties and lift her skirt, so her bare bottom and thighs are directly against the leather of the car she’s in. That be a good sensual detail.

John Norman’s Gor books

But the person whose work brought collars into a central place in bdsm is John Norman. He gives collars enormous significance and power, which isn’t really present in Story of O.

There are all sort of thing wrong with Norman, mainly that he was a terrible writer, comically bad, and also his dodgy sexual politics. He thought women just naturally liked, or at least needed, to be slaves, so consent wasn’t really an issue. Male submissives don’t exist.

But the importance of collars, and collaring ceremonies. I have to give Norman credit for that, because it’s almost entirely his doing.

Fashion

Now collars are so popular that they’ve moved into mainstream fashion. When a Goth girl wears a choker collar, she doesn’t mean she’s a submissive, just that she likes the style. Usually: you just can’t tell.

If you want to find out, you’ll have to talk to her. Conversation is still quite a bit clearer than clothing signs, signals and symbols. Which is fortunate, for us wordy types: ie you.

(If you do do talk to her, “Hey! Is that a slave collar?” probably shouldn’t be your opening line. It may lead to a loud clash of symbols.) 

Bdsm culture

You can laugh. But we’ll all be wearing these in 2117

Bdsm culture isn’t fixed. We affect mainstream culture, and mainstream culture affects bdsm culture.

We use different symbols from the Edwardians, only 100 years ago.

In 100 years time, I have no idea what bdsm will look like.

But bdsm definitely will have a visual style, partly based on the old, and partly on new things we can’t begin to guess.

 

 

Next!

There’s a Wicked Wednesday episode of the Adventures of Maddie coming up. But after that, I want to write about collaring ceremonies.

Sinful Sunday: There will be tears

She hears him return, though he says nothing. Her wait is nearly over. There will be pain. Two canes, medium and heavy, lie innocently beside her body, over the desk. And the tissues, because there will be tears. And afterwards, there will be lust and need, his body against hers, and the turbulent blaze of sex.

And his sexual fluids will mix with hers, and churn.

Wicked Wednesday: Juniper’s Adventures 45

This is episode 6 of Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 4: Holding Hands Across the Desk.

In this episode, Maddie is delayed by her teacher, maliciously, so she is late for her lunchtime spanking. But she hears the sound of punishment inside. The headmaster takes her in when she knocks, and continues with the severe caning of an older, quite popular boy.

The boy is furious with Maddie for having seen his humiliation, and his enjoyment of that, but leaves when he can.

The headmaster warns Maddie against the boy, then tells her to assume the position. He means over his knee. 

 

“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. 

 

Kink of the Week: Hand Spanking

My love Gretel has been in the wrong part of the world for too long. But soon she’ll be back where she belongs. I’m starting to anticipate her arrival. I’m starting to make plans. One of the first things that will happen to her is that I’m going to put her pver my knee, and give her a long and memorable spanking. Skin to bare skin. 

Why is that such a priority, in my imagination, and – I’m certain – in actuality?  What is this? Why do I like this so much?

There are visual pleasures to be had from spanking Gretel. The sight of her flesh rippling and firming under my hand as each smack lands. Her face frowning in concentration, a slight pursing of her mouth with each blow. I’ve watched these things with absorption, and been amazed by their, and her, beauty.

When I make the smacks harder I can watch the changes in her skin, the instant of pallor directly under my hand at the instant of contact, and study it as it blushes to pink as the blood rushes to the assaulted skin.

At first I can see individual prints, my palm, fingers and thumb marked on her like the painted hand on Paleolithic cave walls. But those marks soon merge into one large red blotch covering her buttocks and upper thighs.

As I continue, slowly building up the force of the smacks, she gives me movements to watch, the rocking of her hips and buttocks as she presses down against me and then offers herself up in answering rhythm to my hand. She tucks her hair behind her ears, but when she’s in spanked-girl motion on my knee it falls forward over her face.

There are tactile pleasures, the curved planes of her buttocks and thighs under my hand, soft when I touch her gently, firmly rebounding when I touch more fiercely. It feels so sensual. I love the impact of my palm against her muscles, and the reactions of her body in that second of impact.

Those sensations are all the more intense for only lasting for an instant. Gretel’s body pressed against mine, her hips slowly pumping, moving under my hand: I’m achingly aware of every silken micro-movement of her belly or her thighs.

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

There’s another thing, though. There’s a strange, almost telepathic intimacy between us when I heat and mark her. I know that the sting in my hand is only a distant echo of the much fiercer pain in her bottom and thighs. I wouldn’t like that sensation myself, but I seem to have some sense of the way in which Gretel experiences it as pleasure. That means I can feel that pleasure along with her. I also know, just as surely as I know that I felt her pleasure, that she can feel some of my my pleasure in watching her, holding her, and spanking her incredible, beautiful ass and thighs.

So, girl. Come here. Assume the position.

 

Wicked Wednesday: Juniper’s Adventures 44

This is episode 5 of Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 4: Holding Hands Across the Desk.

In this episode, Maddie partially undresses and holds out her hands for six of the best with the strap. She’d hoped to be spanked, bare-bottomed, over his knee, but the strapping moves her too. She kisses the headmaster, and they recognise that they are kindred souls. He tells her to come back at exactly 12.05, for a spanking. 

 

“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. 

Be lusty! with e[lust]!

e[lust] – your source for lust in the electronic form

 In This Issue…

Sinful Sunday: In the middle of the night

it was three in the morning. They’d spent the night fucking, but – to her surprise – he hadn’t spanked her. His belt lay on the sheet beside them, as it usually did when they were in bed, and the cane hung on the wall beside the bed. Both were unused.

She thought they were going to sleep now, but he said, “Up, girl. Up!” The first time he said “up” it was as though he had a treat for her: there was mischief, and enticement, in his voice. The second time it was clearly an order. 

She murmured, “Yes, Master,” and rolled out of bed, and stood up. HJe got up and put on a dressing gown. He didn’t offer hers. He took her by the hand and led her out of the house. 

The night air was cool on her skin. She could feel goosebumps forming on her shoulders and breasts. She wore only her wrist and ankle cuffs, and her collar. She was grateful for the little bands of warmth they offered.

She could hear birds above, sleeping in the trees, mildly complaining at their disturbance, then deciding they were no risk and returning to silence. There were nocturnal mammals around, she knew, but they had heard humans and crept away. 

He led her down past the greenhouse, down the slopes to the bottom of the garden, a spot under the plum tree, over-looking the valley.

There was a trestle there. She’d never seen it before, or anything similar, though she knew what it was. And what it was for. He’d made it for her. 

“Bend over, little one. Legs apart, head down. And reach your arms right down.” She obeyed, and attached her wrist and ankle cuffs to the snap bolts he’d put in, low on each side. She experimented a little, so she could confirm to herself that she was helpless, held fast.

He fetched from below the plum tree a wooden paddle. She hadn’t seen that before either.   It looked very home-made.

He held it to her mouth, and she kissed it. Her heart was beating fast. It was hard, and it was nearly an inch thick. He’d made it, just to hurt her with it.

He took the paddle from her mouth, and stepped back. He said nothing.

Then it landed, against her lower bottom. Noise and pain overwhelmed her, and she yelped. She didn’t usually cry out at the first impact, but this was too strong. She was in its control, not hers.

By the third impact she was wailing continuously. Not loud, but uncontrollably. Except by Master. He was in control of the sounds she made, how she moved and what she felt, and when.

The paddle landed, over, and over. The strokes got no harder, but each one hurt a little more, burnt more fiercely, than the one before. Now she jerked each time the paddle landed, body rocking with the impact but held fast by her cuffs. If it was cold, naked in the night air, she no longer knew it. She knew nothing but pain, and the sound of her own wailing, what Master called her pain-song. 

Eventually she became aware that the paddling had paused. Her Master said, “Thirty-six.”

She’d had three dozen! Simply for his pleasure. But at least it was over.

He said, “So I think, just four more. You can count and thank me, for these last strokes.”

Then the paddle again, against her lower bottom, almost reaching her cunt. “Aiieee! Uh. Uh. Oh, fuck. Thirty seven, Master. Thank you!”

“Good girl.”

He concentrated on her lower bottom and upper thighs. But when she said “Forty, thank you, Master,” he didn’t tell her she was good.   

Instead she felt his hands holding her hips like talons, holding her as if her cuffs weren’t enough. His cock slipped into her cunt, deep, then all the way out, then deep, then out. She breathed in time with his movements. It was so good. But on the fourth withdrawal, his cock didn’t return. She stopped herself from protesting. That paddle was on the lawn beside her. He pushed her ass down, and she felt his cock pressing against her sphincter.

Her head dropped, helpless, as he thrust into her ass. He usually took his time when he butt-fucked her, but now he was urgent, insatiable need. She heard him grunt once, when he was all the way inside, his cock deep in her ass and his body pressed against the fierce heat of her buttocks. Then he fucked her, hard, fast, working on his own orgasm. Not hers. But soon, ruthlessly fucked, she heard herself wailing again. Not a pain song. 

Note

The halo of light above my girl’s body: I’m not sure what that was. But I like it. It was a night of mysteries, and there was something deep and sacred going on. I don’t know what it was, in technical terms, but to me it adds to the magic and mystery.