London Eye

My first time with a British guy in the London Eye in London, England.

It all started out so innocently. I was in London for summer break. It was my three best friends and I. We were all 18, bored, and wanting fun. So on the first day they decided they wanted to go site seeing, but of course being the lazy bum I am, decided to stay in the hotel. So at about 11 am London time, I headed downstairs too see what British people eat for breakfast. Tea, bagels, cereal; typical stuff; except for the tea. I was wearing my ultra short jean shorts, a tight white tank top, and black converse sneakers. (hey I was 18). So I’m looking around, and I noticed this INCREDIBLY gorgeous guy staring at me. I mean GORGEOUS. He was about 6′1, VERY well built, with light brown hair, and piercing blue/green eyes. My hair is a little bit longer than the tips of my breasts, and I was glad. I’m a size 32C, and I wasn’t used to being checked out, other than by my boyfriend whom I just broke up with. I saw him walking over to me, and I quickly turned the opposite way. I felt a sudden hand on my shoulder. I turned around, and there he was. Our eyes melted into each others, and he said in the most adorable accent ever “Um, hi I couldn’t help but notice you over here. Are you by yourself?” I replied “Um, no. Wait, actually I am.” He smiled and said “Good. I’m Mark Goodman.” I smiled back and said “I’m Marissa.” “Would you like me to show you around London Ms. Marissa?” I totally blushed at that. “Sure.” I said giggling. “You can call me Marissa.” He took my hand and kissed it gently. Then he looked in my eyes and said “Of course.”

We went everywhere that day. He took me to Harrods, to lunch at a small restaurant, and on a boat on some lake. On the boat we were talking. He was 20 years old, and was single. I told him I had just gotten out of a bad relationship, and he told me his girlfriend cheated on him several times. I looked at him and said “I’d never do that to you if I was your girlfriend.” He looked back at me with his soft eyes and said “I know.” With his finger he lifted my chin and slowly started to kiss me. We just were sitting there kissing, until he pulled away. I put my hand around his neck and he put his hand on my hip and we started to get into this makeout like session; just not too extreme. When we finally pulled away, he wrapped his arm around me and I placed my head in his shoulder. When we got out of the boat, he asked me if I wanted to go to the London Eye. I just kissed him and said “That’s my answer.”

He smiled and we went on our way. After about 30 mins in line, we got in our cart thing. (Haha) We very slowly made our way up the Eye, me in his lap kissing him and him rubbing my thigh that time. (Remember my short shorts.) I was getting horny, and I let a slight moan slip my lips. We pulled away and in a husky voice he said “You like that baby, you like me rubbing you like that.” I kissed him a yes, and he started nibbling and kissing my neck. After 5 minutes I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up facing him who was sitting down, and pressed my stomach against his face while hugging the back of his neck. He pulled my shirt up, planting little soft kisses all around my flat stomach. I moaned, and he looked up and laughed. He flung my shirt off and I was just in my bra and short shorts. He stood up, towering above me looking down at my cleavage. I pointed at it saying “Hmm baby you like this?” He nodded hungrily still looking at it. He dug his face in it, but didn’t do much. After about a minute, I felt his tongue start licking my cleavage. This guy worked wonders. After about 4 minutes, he pulled my bra off, and started sucking on my nipples, and took my whole breast in his mouth, devouring it like a hungry lion.

I took my shorts off, leaving me in my thong. He licked his way down there and gave my thighs a complete tongue bath. I definitely couldn’t take it anymore. So he got rid of my thong and stared at my glistening wet, shaved pussy. I was soaking wet, my juices dripping down. He slowly started licking up and down my slit, avoiding my pleasure bump. He tongue fucked me, and I just moaned in pleasure. He made his way to my clit, and started to suck the hell out of it. By this time I was humping his mouth and gyrating my hips in all sorts of motions. Then he did the most erotic thing ever; he took his nose and started wiggling it in my pussy. The thought of that made me cum immediately. This motion sent immense shock waves of everlasting pleasure throughout my body. I just held his face to my pussy, him doing occasionally licks up and down it.

I got up, and he had this huge smile on his face. I smiled back and said “What happened?”, and he said “Oh nothing”, then bent down and kissed me. I could taste my salty/sweet juices on his mouth and tongue. He was fingering me while we kissed. I bent down, zipped his jeans down, and pulled his underwear down exposing his rock hard cock. It flung up in the air like a rocket. I smiled at him, and I took his member deep in my mouth. I licked his shaft up and down, sucking on it and occasionally sucking his balls too. His pre-cum filled most of my mouth up, and it taste delicious. Usually I will NEVER swallow cum or pre-cum, but this was so different. I worked it up and down doing everything possibly could to it. I got it between my breasts and he fucked them. Then he said in a stutter “B-b-babe, I-I’m about t-to cum!!!!!!!!!!!!” He shot his load in my face and it lasted about 10 seconds. I took my finger and wiped my face with it and sucked it all off. Then I grabbed his now again rock hard cock, and finished it off. It was still pointing to the sky when I was done. I sat back down and bit my lip. I took my pointer finger and told him to come. He took a condom out of his jean pocket which was on the floor, and slipped it on. He swirled the tip of his dick around my pussy, teasing my most extremely that I came right there. He smiled, then made his way in. The heat of his cock inside of me turned me on like never before. I threw my head back as he started to thrust in and out, in and out. After a while, he started to fuck harder and harder. I started to moan louder than before. “M-Mark dont stoppppppppp!!!!!!” He was going about 30 mph when I reached my climax, I had 30 orgasms in that one sitting. He kept fucking me harder, and harder, till he slowed his pace down. “Oh.. Marissa I’m about to cum!!!”

I yelled “Take your condom off and go back inside of me. I want to feel you so badly; don’t worry I’m on the pill.”

He whipped his cock out, flung off the condon and started fucking me again. A minute later I heard him groan and his hot and creamy cum filled my pussy. He collapsed next to me, as he started to kiss me. He took his finger and started to finger me again, I tried to make him stop because I was very sore from my orgasms, but he didn’t. Eventually I had the most explosive orgasm EVER right there. He took me on top of him and started to stroke my back. He whispered that he loved me when he first saw me, and I slowly kissed him. We got back dressed, and when we were coming back down on the London Eye, I sat on him again, only to realize he was still hard. I smiled, and zipped his zipper down and out popped his cock. I sucked it really fast until he came in my mouth 5 minutes before we reached the bottom. I sat back on top of him and he rubbed me through my jeans, and I had yet another orgasm. We still keep in touch to this day, recalling on our wild adventure in the London Eye. After we got off, we smiled, only to go back in my hotel room for another round.

Discussing kink and evidence of the rape culture

Lo, the rape culture. Verily, we are soaking in it. It would be very melodramatic and feminist of me to say that the reason I have been on hiatus from lady blogging is because the rape culture paralyzes my will to write, but the truth is that I’ve been studying for the LSATs for the past four months, and feel rather like someone installed a shunt into my cranium.

For all those with the fortune not to know the horrors of pre-law school standardized testing, I envy you. Truly.

But of course, nobody is really interested in such boring pursuits, however necessary. Let’s talk about BDSM again.

BDSM is like the no-man’s land between sexyfun feminism and seriousbusiness feminism. There needs to be some Anti-Landmine Convention for that shit, yo. For while I did not partake in lady blogging whilst I was studying, I did participate in my fair share of lady blog reading. Whenever sex is mentioned on a blog, it seems to open a floodgate of navel-gazing BDSM pontification. What is consent? Is it cool to stick my arms up to my elbows in someone’s anus? Why do both dominant and submissive women wear corsets, while only submissive men do the same?

Only the first question really interests me. See, I’ve had a lot of orgasms in my life. They are hardly the pinnacle of human achievement. Color me unimpressed that other people have figured out that they, too, can orgasm. I really have no wish to detail sexyfun time. Am I doing it right? Are you doing it right? The only thing in the world, I fear, more rigid and conformist than the middle-school pecking order is how much people seem to care how other people get their rocks off.

No, I do not excuse said sexyfun people from this critique. Encapsulated in the concept of BDSM is the thought that people outside the “scene” are really missing out. They’re hopelessly “vanilla” or sexually repressed or something. Perhaps they’re godbags and read the Bible every hour and haven’t been naked without shielding their eyes from their loathsome bodies since they were toddlers.

This is all very self-congratulatory. Very predictable too. Someone says, “dude, getting a boner from hurting women is not okay.” Which, by the way, shouldn’t be a controversial statement. But then everything derails into fail about 0.02 seconds later, when someone has to chime in out how fucking awesome BDSM is and how much it is all about consent and celebration of human sexuality and transgressing Puritanical ideas and blah blah blah.

See, that shit doesn’t fool me. It shouldn’t fool you either. Because in that there is inevitably the implicit premise that so-called “vanilla” people aren’t interested in consent, that they aren’t having sex on their own terms for their own self-aware reasons, or that we’re just not cool enough to drop tons of cash on props to have orgasms. Oh, and that BDSM people are totes better at boinking than you, and you really ought to be jealous.

Dude, no. Just no. This kind of shit isn’t just confined to the internets or feminist blogs either. It plays out whenever I go have some drinks with my chums. It becomes a contest of who is the most “liberated” in their sex life. By “liberated”, they mean has the most props, the most scripts, and the haughtiest, most obnoxious, urge to brag about it all the fucking time.

It’s a game of who can dominate everyone else at being more into domination. Patriarchy2. Then you muddle it up with equating orgasm with the absolute be-all and end-all of human achievement, and you have an entire culture centered on hurting women for some dude’s boner so you can brag about it all the fucking time.

And isn’t that just what it all comes down to? I’m not putting vanilla sex on a pedestal either. I’m just channeling Foucault by saying that there isn’t a hell of a lot of difference between one narrow idea of what sexuality ought to be being replaced by other very narrow idea of what sexuality ought to be, which is supposed to be completely different from what it was, but it actually isn’t. At all.

And what that it is, and what it has always been, is the rape culture, or hurting the exploited for boners. There’s nothing new about that.

Which, is very obvious by how people talk about BDSM in feminist spheres and else where. Before the waters get muddied and the shit hits the fan, a woman will chime in in how much she likes it when she fantasizes about being raped.

Did you catch that? When we talk about kinky funtime, I’d like to focus on the fact that there’s a big portion of the male population that thinks that fantasizing about hurting women for boners is awesome. Not just in BDSM “spheres”. Everywhere. That’s the entire premise of the pornography, prostitution, and that little trillion-dollar international thing called Human Trafficking.

But that seems immaterial to most who talk about sex. It always comes down to what woman is stepping on other woman’s toes. For shit’s sake, does anyone really think that I honestly feel that women fantasizing about what they think rape would be like (but it isn’t) is actually the problem?

Fuck no.

The problem is dudes. Dudes who hurt women. Dudes who don’t see BDSM as sexyfuntime, but as an outlet to be creepy fucks and sexual predators. Dudes that somehow always wind up being the dominant, the Master, and women who don’t seem to understand that when we talk about rape, and exploitation, and hurting women for boners, we’re not pointing the finger at them. We’re pointing it at the patriarchy, and the dudes who use it to hurt women.

Because at the end of the day, I have no desire to figure out if women who like to be hurt in the name of orgasms are better than me, worse than me, or just neutral. Men are not just inert sacks of flesh that simply respond to the desires of women. They’re the ones, as a general rule, who are doing the hurting, the defining of norms, and the ones that benefiting from said norms.

And to be honest, whether or not anyone gets their rocks off to being slapped around a bit is a little less dire than disavowing dudes of the sentiment that it’s totes cool to hurt or exploit someone in the  name of boners. But maybe that’s just because I’m a totally repressed prude.

Wev.

Pay No Attention...

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Don’t Fight it.

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Le bdsm en question

Domination Sadisme trouve du plaisir dans la douleur (physique ou morale, de contrôle ,…) sont intentionnellement infligées à une autre (peut-être des animaux). Alors que le sadisme peut exister indépendamment de l’activité sexuelle sont souvent liées. En outre, certaines personnes répondent mai relations sexuelles sans l’Académie nationale des sciences de la souffrance pour d’autres. Le sadomaso a été conçu par Richard von Krafft-Ebing du XVIIIe siècle, Sade, dont les œuvres sont utilisées pour prouver le nom du philosophe le crime. Son travail est avant tout philosophique, politique, travail de bureau et démonstratif. Il se sert des fantasmes sexuels, a écrit une manière provocante et parce que la profondeur de sa détention, il a laissé une sexualité virtuelle qui est à la fois Justine: “[...] le mai ainsi le sentiment que notre héroïne. Il est vrai, il est difficile à dire. Et Sade en sait trop, parce que Il Justine [1]. Sade Juliette également été enregistrés. C’est une des raisons que le sadisme ne peut être traitée comme le contraire ou le complément du masochisme. sadisme est souvent associé à tort aux masochisme. Gilles Deleuze, de sa présentation de Sacher-Masoch, montre que le masochisme n’est pas sans rappeler le sadisme suppléments, mais aussi dans le monde, sauf en combinaison avec les méthodes des autres, et d’autres effets. actes sadiques comme la torture, sont délivrés sans consentement, tandis que pour la pratique BDSM entre adultes consentants.

The Puzzle Pieces Begin to Fall in Place...

This post and video on sexgenderbody referencing the film Il corpo delle donne really hit home with the “humiliation = sexy” theme.
The disparity between men and women in the media was glaringly obvious from the TV clips shown in the video. When men do let women appear in the media, even as co-hosts, they treat us like children, or in my opinion even like trained animals in a circus (which is uncomfortable for me to have to say but viewing women as animals is unfortunately, nothing new). They see it like it’s their “gift” to us that they let us think we’re being treated anything like equals, we should be “grateful” for the chance, and they’re only going to take the prettiest and most conforming examples to show off like cattle. Yeah, I went there.

Like we don’t know they’re being condescending. “Oh, look, she thinks she’s so smart, let’s give her a round of applause! It’s like she thinks she’s a real person! Thatagirl, go fetch!” and we’re left to either accept defeat on their terms or to have them turn both men and women against us. I can only imagine how amusing they must find feminists that they (”they” meaning the forces upholding patriarchal society) allow on television who fit well enough into their mold – “Aw, she thinks she can actually influence anything, how cute! High fives all around, bros!” I’m not saying that it is impossible to present feminist issues in a serious light on television, but on cable news programs (I’m referring to MSNBC, CNN, local news, etc – don’t even get me started on Fox) there does seem to be an incredulous, “isn’t this just outrageous? It’s not that bad, these women are loons, not like you normal ladies” tone to the piece.

This sounds like a jump but bear with me, I’ll explain – I think I’m beginning to understand how feminism can exist in the BDSM community in roles other than Dom and I feel awful for not putting more effort into being able to understand better. Society absolutely does make power play, humiliation, and pain “sexy” and it’s not easy for most people to talk about that seriously. Sure, some will casually say “yeah, y and z are kinda hot,” but why? “I don’t know, it’s just cool.” They can’t think about it too much or they get uncomfortable.

The mainstream shunning of BDSM is, I wouldn’t doubt, a charade. If we start actually talking about these concepts, some people might realize what’s going on. Let’s not acknowledge that these themes are present in life as a whole in our society. Let’s not admit that ‘mainstream’ people in general do get off on these same themes, and either don’t recognize that fact or are unwilling to admit it. Let’s tell them this is what’s really degrading, so they’ll reject it and rally against it and not try to understand – and try not to understand.

Ultimately, I would hazard a guess that we as a society fear the shadow self. [Have I told you I have the intellectual hots for Jung? Because I totally do.]
I do not believe that most people are willing, capable, or willing to become capable to meet their shadow self, though, so I don’t know what good it would do to point this out to anyone. If someone has their metaphorical fingers in their ears, looking away singing “la la la I can’t hear you! It’s not true!” … telling them what they don’t want to listen to but already know isn’t going to help.
It is, in my completely inexpert opinion and experience*, nearly impossible to function in society while teetering on the edge of ego death, and I don’t think that being pushed toward it against your will (for a given sense of “pushed toward”) would result in anything but harm. And…somehow I’ve gotten all the way from gender and objectification in the media to ego death. Perhaps that’s enough writing for now, I’m going to go snap back into reality.

*No, I have never taken LSD or mushrooms or that kind of thing because long before those things were obtainable to me, I knew that I had one foot in that door already (didn’t have a name for it yet though) and substances like that would shove me all the way through that door, close it, lock it behind me, and destroy the key at a molecular level. No thanks.

Am I Crazy (the end, and a beginning)

Through this entire sequence of events he hadn’t spoken. He was breathing hard from the exertion, but not a single syllable had dropped from his lips.  He leaned close and told me to open my legs. In retrospect, telling an already crazed sexual predator who is sitting on you to go fuck himself is probably a bad idea. He slapped me again, hard enough to stun me as blood trickled from my mouth. He used the opportunity to secure the cuffs to the bottom of the couch. The pain was intense as they cut into my wrists. It was pretty much a moot point whether or not I’d have marks on my body.

He tried to force my legs open again. He would slap my thigh then pry, slap my breasts then pry some more. I am pretty strong for a woman. After awhile he used his knee against my ribs, leaning in so I couldn’t breathe, in fear of a fracture. I resisted for as long as I could. In the end he pried me apart, sliding his fingers roughly inside.

After all the rough play I have enjoyed for the last 3 months, I wasn’t terribly surprised I was wet. My body has been trained to respond to a mix of pleasure and pain. He laughed then, telling me that I not only deserved it, but that I wanted it. In some strange way he was right. This was one more in the line of limit testing. Did I have them? That thought gave me pause and I went still again. I floated away, not into blissful subspace, but into a place where I could think logically for a moment.

There are several reasons I chose to do this, none of them good. I had some… recent discussions I am not at liberty to share… with a friend. I’m logical, pragmatic, but I am also human. My body is not my strong suit and I know this. I’m working on it, but it is a slow process. To have someone I truly care about, want in my life tell me that I am not desirable, incompatible with beautiful things… well it sent me into a tailspin. I hadn’t realized it until this moment of clarity.

The question was now what. I was in a bad situation not enjoying myself and, to top everything off, I had to find a way to tell what I had done. It was wholly my fault. I put myself in this situation, allowed myself to be swallowed up by my pride, my desire to be punished. That was what I had wanted, to be punished for being undesirable, for disappointing someone I cared about.

I lay there, still and quiet and let him finish. It was fast now that the fight had gone out of me. I put on my new clothes and left silently into the world again. He hadn’t said a word while I dressed, but as I walked out the door he asked if he could see me again. I got into my car and drove home, silent tears tracing down my face. I didn’t cry for what had happened to me, but for what came next. I had to find a way to tell him and he was never going to forgive me, never going to look at me the same way again.

Servitude, Free Will, and Love

Like so many aspects of self, I find there is a tension within me of what appear to be polar opposites. Much in the way that all human beings have both extrovert and introvert traits, and it would be overly simplistic to call any human being simply an “introvert” or “extrovert” – so too I find in myself a strong desire to control everything and yet to submit to other people’s control too. The awareness of, and search to understand, this tension perhaps truly began when I encountered the Gorean or BDSM culture within Second Life – which both repelled and attracted me.

At first I considered it a weakness of character that would lead someone to allow another person to treat them like a slave. I recognized their right to choose to engage in such behaviour, but found it personally cringe-worthy, especially when the people who practiced it did so in public non-BDSM-specific bars. I saw such public displays of “master” “slave” as rather pathetic cries for attention, why couldn’t they just do it in IM like every other lovey-dovey couple should be doing? I found it equally gag-worthy when any other sets of lovers would engage in the same public in-your-face way of talking – whether heterosexual, furry or homosexual. An extra reason I found such displays distasteful was that I knew of far too many situations where new couples flaunted their love and lust in the face of old lovers, in a way that embarrassed and deeply hurt the old flame. So un-necessary, so cruel.

The more I’ve learnt about BDSM culture, rather than come to see such public displays as more natural and understandable, I have come to the opinion of quite the opposite. In fact, the depth of the master-slave combination is in their dedication to each other and each other’s full knowledge of that – it does not require or even naturally lend to public displays of that intimate relation they share. There are situations where the relationship can and should be openly conveyed because it heightens the experience and fullness of what they share – and sims and bars dedicated to such displays make perfect sense. Having said that of course there aren’t hard and fast rules about how one must behave in sexual relations (besides age and consent of course!) – BDSM or otherwise – but since when has that ever stopped people forming opinions about the best and most consistent way in which to conduct oneself? Indeed, much of the BDSM culture lends itself to rules and “the right way to do things”, so arguably more than other sexual cultures, rules and expectations should apply…

All this thinking lead me one day to let a friend “collar” me just for the hell of it. He was only a friend, there was no sexual aspect involved, just the basics of a master-slave set-up. To see what emotions it brought out in me. Which was when I fully encountered the tension I mentioned at the start of this post: the desire to be in control, and yet to control. The collaring immediately marked out his position to mine – he had the right to tell me what to do, and I had the obligation to obey. For that position to each other to make sense though it quickly became obvious that there had to be boundaries set up – how much could he demand of me and what would happen in the face of disobedience. I loved the certainty and clarity of the situation, there was a simplistic clean beauty to it all. But at the same time I knew I could never meaningfully surrender my free will to him (or anyone) and that every time he asked me to do something I did make my own decision about whether to obey or not, and would not have willingly given that up. In fact I decided it would have felt more natural to be in the one in control of him – allowing me to maintain control and still have the clarity and beauty of our positions in respect to each other. But I also liked being controlled, and round and round the thought-spiral went…

In my continued research in an effort to understand this tension, I have come to realise that it is not so much a polar opposites situation, as a symbiotic relationship between the two parts of myself: In order to give yourself and your moment-by-moment decision-making over to someone else, you must first make the conscious and willing decision to do so. The person may extend the power they have over you to giving others permission to “use” you aswell, but again this is an expression of the trust you put in the original master in the first place. Trusting another person so utterly in this way – in a way that might endanger your physical and certainly your mental health – flows most naturally from deep love and respect. The knowledge that doing so pleases them and that they desire to own you in such a personal and complete sense, is best laid in foundations of love rather than random strangers you happen across one day on a sim. Again, not that there is anything “wrong” per se with the desire to have strangers control you, but it appears to me to lack the depth, the meaning and the intensity of the giving that is founded in love.

I have always felt that utter dedication to another human being, when I love them – that they could ask anything of me, even to do favours for another person I’d never met, and that I would do so because it would please them and make them happy, and in turn strengthen our bond and my own happiness. You could comfortably argue that this sort of dedicated love is at the heart of very strong and long-lasting friendships too. The odd thing perhaps is that this dedication to a lover is at its strongest early on in the relationship – when hormones are blinding you and you would do anything to have them, and alternately strongest for a friendship only once it has existed for a very long time. I’ve always found this dedication to be its most complete and commanding in situations of unrequited love, which can continue for many painful years.

As someone who needs to control and understand as much as I possibly can in my life, I can see how the BDSM lifestyle would naturally appeal to me – but in the slave position. That’s because feeling the endless driving desire to control an out of control world, is exhausting and ultimately futile. To pass that control over to someone else so my brain and body could for just a while stop the pointless task, would grant a huge sense of relief. Which is to say that my exact desire to control is why I should let myself be controlled.

I find these twin desires – to control and to have someone else take control – have intensified since having my son. In the first instance this is because I love him so utterly and completely, I would do anything for him, without limitation – my money, my health, my very life, I would give them up to secure his. I find myself pushing my personal (emotional and physical) resources to their absolute limit, to the point of not being able to move or think (and frankly with my health problems lately, not even been able to breathe), in an effort to give him everything he needs. And he needs a lot because of his autism. It is very common for me to hear people tell me that I shouldn’t let my son control me so much – that it’s not healthy for him or for me. So everyday I try to find the balance between doing everything I can for him, and yet retaining my own identity and existence.

Sometimes it all gets too much and I give in to letting other people care for him for a while – let go of the deep anxiety I feel with giving up that control. And you can see already that the control is going in both directions here: He is controlling my life in almost every conceivable way, but at the same time in letting him do that I am in control too because due to my constant presence around him as I dedicate myself to meeting his every need, I am retaining control over his environment and experiences – anything he does is in my sight and with my approval (in essence). I am an anxious parent, sure, but so would any human being be in my situation, where your child can’t communicate their needs by normal means and when the tiniest change in their environment can set off a violent endless tantrum due to sensory issues.

So to me it’s become clearer that these notions of control, servitude, free will and love, are closely related. There is far more so a naturalness than un-naturalness to them. They aren’t just at the sexual level, they are useful ways to try to understand other types of love too – the relationships we have with family and friends will frequently contain clear elements of control and servitude, and knowing which position you are in in relation to each other helps clarify your obligations and expectations. Yet at the same time the two types of roles – the controlled and the controller – are bound to each other in ways that break down the division – to the point that it is often said that the real person in control, is the slave – for reasons such as the dependency the controller has on them, and the fact that the initial relationship to each other is reliant on the permission of the slave rather than that of the master.

As much as we’ve tried to shun the stepford wives model of living with each other, many couples still make the active choice to live that way – it gives a functional simplicity, it lowers stress, everyone knows where they stand in relation to each other. Similarly in the face of the endless complexities and stress of everyday life – particularly as women try the supermum thing – does it not make sense that there would be an increased interest and participation in a sexual lifestyle that spells out the rules clearly and gives you permission to give up control for a while?

For me, this is still all theory rather than practice. I am a wuss perhaps because I cannot go along with giving myself over so completely to anyone – my fears get in the way. And so you can see that again, it is not the weak who lend themselves to slavehood, but rather people who have a strength that I for one lack. There is an utter freedom in giving up control over yourself, in giving over the decision making. And by giving it to someone you love, it is in turn a beautiful and meaningful thing too.

I’m the product of a world that told me I could do everything and have everything, with slogans from the 80’s of “women can do anything” shoved into my consciousness at every turn. What they forget to mention is that having everything is not possible, and by aiming at the impossible you are always left feeling like you have failed. That you should have, could have, done more, and the only person to blame for the shortfall is yourself. At least when you choose to give up control for a while, even if only in one sector of your life, you’re freed of that burden and get to simply exist. That would be nice, aye.

The latest news

It is about time I write something again, even though life is still rather busy. However, I managed to get myself punished and spanked tonight. I am also getting to know a cute submissive girl from Holland, which is nice. Besides this, work is taking a lot of time! I am hoping October will be less stressful…

By the way, I have to mention that I have been to Dublin, and bought “not very sexy” underwear!;-) Now all I need is a real school uniform (not the “sexy porn like” – ones, but a real authentic one!)….

Footstool, Part 2

Any inhibitions I may have had faded away as I enjoyed being responsible for the desire of four men.  None of them could compare to Jason’s gorgeous manhood but all of the lust in the room made me crazy.  I never felt so much like an object…and never dreamed I would enjoy it so much.

It all felt a little strange and surreal.  Though I couldn’t help but enjoy myself a  little part of me was sad that Jason didn’t treasure me enough to keep me for himself.  But mostly I felt honored that he prized me enough to share me with his friends.

As if he sensed what I was thinking, he announced, “Her pussy is mine, everything else is fair game.”

“Awww, come on,” Alan protested, “It’s so wet and hot.”

“Hey, she’s mine, I’m just letting you play with her so you have to follow my rules.”  Jason was dominating both them and me, how delicious.  His cock still bulged, he had removed it from his jeans and was absentmindedly stroking it.  I squirmed as my pussy longed to be filled by it.

Meanwhile, Brandon’s eyes were closed, his face a mask of ecstasy as I ran my tongue almost absentmindedly around his cock.  It was hard to concentrate on any one thing with everything that was going on around me.  Caleb had stopped spanking me and was running his finger around my asshole.  Jason smacked my face hard, bringing me back to the moment.  “Concentrate on what you’re doing, slut!”  He pushed my head toward Brandon until I gagged and held it there.

Brandon’s eyes flew open and he exclaimed, “Holy crap!”

“Look at me,” Jason demanded and I raised my eyes to meet his, “You are doing this for MY pleasure, don’t you forget that.”  He smacked my face again and I never broke eye contact with him as I resumed my concentration on Brandon’s cock.  Alan continued to play with my breasts, pinching every so often to remind me he was there.  Caleb had pushed a lubed finger into my ass while rubbing the red welts from my spanking with the other hand.  He chuckled when I gagged and my ass pushed against his finger.

“I’m coming,” Brandon exclaimed as he shot his load into my mouth.

“Oh yeah, good girl,” Jason praised, “Good little slut.  Now come with me.”  He pulled me roughly over to the couch.  He slid a condom on and asked me to climb on.  Jason clamped his hand over my mouth and I felt Caleb pushing at my ass from behind.  Even with Jason’s hand covering my mouth my scream of pain and pleasure from being filled by two cocks could be heard clearly.  I held my body still and let the orgasm tear through me when Caleb’s dick slowly found the pleasure spot deep in my ass.

Jason smacked by breast and grabbed my head to turn toward Alan who was on his knees next to us, stroking himself.  “Open wide,” he instructed, “And you better keep your teeth to yourself.”

There was nothing I could do but submit so I luxuriated in it.  I had no other function in the world than to pleasure these men but first and foremost to please Jason, to make him proud of me, to make his friends envy that he owned me.

Who knows how much time passed as I floated there, coming again and again, soaking Jason’s lap with my juices every time Alan gagged me with his cock.  The next thing I knew Jason laid me on the floor with he and his friends standing over me.  As I lay there panting, soaking and bruised they came all over me.

Somewhere in the distance I heard Jason say, “You guys can hang out or go if you want but I’m going to take her in my room for a while.”  He picked me up and laid me on his bed.  Lying next to me he held me and stroked me gently as I trembled.  “You did so well,” he murmured, “You’re my girl, my good girl.”

He's Funny That Way

He is Funny That Way – Billie Holiday

i am not much to look at

nothing to see

just glad to live &

lucky to be

I’ve got that man crazy for me

He’s funny that way

Billie Holiday sings her soul.

you can feel her in every note that comes out of her.

i too have a man, He loves me of that i am sure.

the main question is why. i still ask myself this question & i probably will never stop, as it will never cease to amaze me, the fact that this man actually loves me, me!!!

He says that i never see myself the way other people see me. i know that, but most of the time i just feel that i have managed to fool them all. well, i am jumping way in to the now while there is a lot of past to cover.

welcome to my journey, a story of one baby, one girl, one teenager, one young lady one woman, a mother, a wife, an X, a lover and a slave.

Wherein I discuss a rather heavy topic.

This is a rather haphazard post, please forgive me.

So, I was talking to a friend, recently, who is fairly new to the scene, and mentioned that I have participated in fantasy rape scenes before.

She was appalled, at first, that I would do such a thing, until I explained that it’s not the sort of thing you do with a casual play-partner, but rather something that requires a massive amount of trust, and a good bit of negotiation before hand.

Furthermore, she didn’t believe me when I told her that some people who have actually been raped enjoy fantasy rape. This, I explained, was because the psycho-drama that such a scene allows can be therapeutic, and furthermore, the bottom has the power to end the scene at any time, if the scene dredges up too many negative emotions, by using their safeword.

So, anyway, I enjoy a fantasy rape scene, not because I enjoy brutalizing women, but because the trust that a bottom must have in me, to do such a scene, fascinates me.

I understand that fantasy rape constitutes edgeplay for many people, because of the negative emotions that it can bring to the surface, but I feel that if it is done carefully, with a mind to the possible effects of the scene, the scene can be cathartic for all participants. And for those who need no catharsis, it can be an amazingly powerful scene where the participants show their trust for each other.

What say you?

Abbruch

Hab das Gefühl, ich bin drauf und dran, alle Kontakte (ausser meiner Familie) abzubrechen. Ich lebe ja doch nur für Familie und Job. Nicht mal richtig für mich; geschweige denn für Freunde (hab ich wohl keine, wie ich nach eine ausführlichen Zählung feststellen musste), Bekannte (ja da gibt es so ca 500-1000 Leute, aber “Nähe”?), Kirchengemeinde (ich kenne eigentlich niemanden, brüte im GoDi nur vor mich her, und werd deswegen auch nicht angesprochen – wer will schon ein Arschloch in der Gemeinde, das mit Gott nur noch Probleme hat), soziale oder sonstige Einrichtungen, smuccies (weswegen ich auch immer wieder Depressionen und mal auch geistliche Probleme habe, es aber kaum jemandem erklären will), etc…

Helfen kann mir doch keiner, höchstens ich selbst. Und ich bin halt nicht grad in der Lage dazu. Verletze die Menschen, die ich gerne hab, oder die mir was sagen wollen. Werde aber auch gleichsam verletzt. Wie heisst die Pflanze? Mimose? Kaktus?

Ein Leben in einer Einsiedelei wäre wohl das beste.

Alex Nova, belastbare submissive und attraktive <a href="http://www.bdsm-oohlala.de/Sklavia-Alex-Nova-Hamburg/setcard.html" title="attraktive belastbare Fetischsklavin für BDSM Bondage, Spanking mit Peitsche und Rohrstock">Fetisch Sklavin</a> in Hamb

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Big Boob Device Bondage

www.shackals.blogspot.com

Big Boob Device Bondage

Diana Doll is gardening in her beautiful backyard when we grabbed that hoe and mouth gagged her, tied that MILF to a post and fucked her delicious rose pussy! She squirmed and moaned and still wanted to get drilled more! Having a shaft dig deep in her throat and even deeper in her pussy, Diana kept restrained and flipped over exposing her amazing house wife ass! We garden spoked and tied her to the ground and busted a huge fucking nut all over her whore face…. Join here!

www.pic1or2.wordpress.com

[Via http://pic1or2.wordpress.com]

what tack to take

Tops usually tend to initiate negotiations, but I will take this on myself if I find my potential partner isn’t as dominant in that regard as I am. I’ve noticed that the questioning style I use is a little bit different than other approaches I’ve encountered.

Dominant tops I have known tend to start their inquiry by putting an open-ended statement into conversation and progressing in a neutral way from there.

In contrast, I tend to observe what’s being said by the potential top and rephrase it in a way that probes for emotional investment. Generally I take what I’m given, recast it a bit in order to determine whether I can take it at face value, and go on from there to see where we end up. I like to plot out that person’s politics a bit, too, because I can size up their likely style of behaviour from that, and that is liable to generate further questions. Since the first thing I’m after is character assessment, I base a lot of my judgement on intuition, and this approach lets me observe a lot of nonverbal signs.

I do think the funnel strategy that dominant people often employ does work really well. This approach directs the conversation from a fairly broad sharing of preferences to probing for options to detailing the specifics at hand. The funnel strategy can be outfitted usefully with lots of open-ended statements in its first part; more speculative, collaboration-building questions in the middle, and closed questions that encourage a yes or no answer in its conclusive phase.

This approach depends totally on context, too, because noise levels and time contraints will often factor into information exchange. Sometimes it’s clear that a very concise interchange is all that’s needed.

However, if I were the dominant and got to have my way with me as a submissive (and the time-space continuum stayed intact), this is how I’d go about it:

Beginning (ice breakers, introductory questions):

How are you doing? How are you finding the x?

(yeah, there are probably better ways of starting a conversation than those)

How would you define your kinks?

(I prefer “How would you define your kinks?” to “What’s your kink?” because it takes me forever to work out what kind of answer to the second question is expected and/or exactly what I’m being asked. What I mean is, “What’s your kink” to me seems to solicit specific label identifiers, whereas the question “How would you define your kinks” feels much more open-ended and plural and less leading and reductive).

What can you tell me about your past experiences with x, or your attraction to x?

Can you tell me a little more about what you’re looking to find? (Why are you here?)

Middle (hypothetical/probing/focused/option-seeking)

What would happen if x?

What kind of elements might a good scene involve? (ie. what do you like, but more situation-specific), or, Describe a recent experience that did it for you…

What other ideas do you have?

What are your specific dislikes?

What are your physical limits or emotional considerations?

End (communication and insight-testing; details and logistics; clarification of consequences)

How much time would you like for x?

Safeword-aftercare-safe ride home-follow-up need questions (short answers)

Any additional clarifications necessary to ensure shared understanding, and/or a reflective restatement of what’s been expressed or decided upon.

Further questioning techniques for ongoing negotiations:

“What I need more of is…” and “what I need less of is…”

Identifying worse-case scenarios and fears. (My worst personal fear as a submissive is to be dismissed by my dominant partner and not find out for ages).

Making statements that start with “What puzzles me about … is …”, then working towards understanding. (a.k.a. the purpose of this blog).

Making graded statements: “What is easy for me to tolerate is… ”, “What is uncomfortable for me to tolerate is …”, and “What I am afraid to tolerate is …”. (Like a pain scale for bodywork, only broader).

To be honest, I haven’t had very much practice putting this questioning strategy into effect, but I suspect that’s the basic framework I might use.

Please do comment if there are things I’ve overlooked or if you’ve got suggestions.

[Via http://violacious.wordpress.com]

Finding my Inner subbie - Part II

As the days passed, my struggle with the thought of my abstinence flip flopped back and forth between me thinking that it really wouldn’t be that big of a deal, especially considering that i rarely had sex anyway, yet at the same time i was just starting to make progress on the site and really open up to the idea of having random hookups from people that i met on there. See, i had done the random hookup thing before, and it worked well for me, but i had never done it from a site specifically for that purpose. And being a single Bi female on that site it was rather overwhelming at first, as Bi single females tend to be a hot commodity on there. But right about the time i started to really warm up to the idea and get some prospects going, Master told me that He wanted me to abstain. It was hard for me, because although my desire to please Him was so strong, i did not want to abstain.

My birthday rolled around and the true test happened. And i failed that test. One of the guys from the site was in town and met up with me and we ended up having sex. i had guilt over it, but mostly it was sadness over knowing that i was going to disappoint Master when i told Him.

Four days later Master and i started chatting online and i confessed that i had not been able to abstain. Master said that He was disappointed in me and asked me how i would make it up to Him. i offered to take some pictures for Him according to whatever requests He gave me. He instructed me to take pictures with their user name from the site written across my chest. He also requested that i take pictures of my ass with “4 Mr. CPL only” written above it. He also gave me 2 rules. His abstinence request was now a rule that i was not allowed to have sex again until i met Him without asking first, and i also was not allowed to have anal with anyone else AT ALL until i saw him. i eagerly agreed and we began to discuss my trip out there.

He wanted me to come for His birthday, but that was just a few days away. It was already the 8th and his birthday was the 13th. He didn’t budge though, but rather than press the issue, He asked me how i saw this ending up with Him/them. Without putting pressure on me, He put pressure on me by forcing me to think about my future with Him/them. i knew that if i did not go out there soon they would lose interest in me. i just felt it.

For the next 2 days i debated my trip. i looked up flights and did some pricing. My finances were tight, but i had just enough extra money to book a flight. As i sat there on July 10th, 2009, i thought about how happy it would make them, and how Master would be pleased with me, and booked my flight for one week later.

Master seemed pleased, but i did not get quite the reaction that i had hoped for right off the bat. i sent Him the flight info and explained that i would send the confirmation when i received it. When i got home that night, i received the confirmation and forwarded it to Him.

He immediately texted me and said “I am Sir now.”

We discussed my trip and His tone with me was very firm and strong. It made me feel nervous, but a good nervous. i was surprised at how his happiness was reflected in firmness. i thought about it a lot that night, and realized that this was how a Master is towards his “pets.” The more i gave Him, the more i opened up to Him, the more control He was going to exude over me. And oddly enough, even though it was scary, it also felt oddly comforting. i still didn’t understand it, but i needed to find out more.

i was sitting at my kitchen table, using my computer when He texted me and said, “When I pick you up at the airport I will put my collar on you. You will not remove it until you leave. As long as you wear my collar, you belong to me. Do you understand?”

my heart did a HUGE flip flop at reading that. i instinctively answered “Yes Sir” and then Googled “collars BDSM” to find out exactly what that meant. i read all about the different styles of collars, and what they each meant. Apparently there were training collars, “show” collars, and daily collars. i also looked up pictures of collars. Some were very wide and elaborate, with locks and rings for leashes. Some had spikes and metal on them, some were thick, some were thin. i spent a good 2 hours reading about collars and looking at pictures of them. i wanted to know everything i could about them. Basically, i learned that when someone placed a collar on you, it was a sign of ownership. You were under their control, and you must obey their commands and serve to fulfill their wishes. The thought excited me, made me nervous and was a little bit scary. But i liked it.

The next couple of days i spent talking A LOT with Master. We discussed our plans for the 3 days, and He seemed very excited. i got the feeling that since i had agreed to give Him control for 3 days and wear His collar, that he had now relaxed and could be excited about my visit. i spoke to His wife a few times, which pleased me, and she seemed excited too. i was full of anticipation, wonder, and curiosity. i absolutely could not wait until i got there so i could meet them, and find out more about this entire lifestyle that i had stumbled across.

We talked a lot over the next week. He gave me a couple more rules, including that i was to say out loud before bed each night “i am beautiful Sir.” We also talked a lot about being submissive, and He started to pry more into my thoughts on the topic. i admitted that i was excited to try it, but that i wasn’t sure if it was something i would be into. He stated that His prediction was that i would absolutely love it and feel completely at home with it. i asked Him when He thought i would come through and He stated that it was in between the web cam night and when i stated that i had booked my flight. He then asked me when i knew that i would come out there and i stated that it was the web cam night. i said that the web cam night proved to me that i could let Him have control. i said that i needed to know how much i would give Him and the web cam scene helped with that. He asked me how much i would give Him and i said that i honestly had no clue, but that that particular question was the most exciting, scary and intriguing part of all. He stated that He believed that i would give Him everything. He said that once i tasted that liberation that He believed that i would let myself go. This made my heart leap, and my skin go hot. Because deep down, somewhere in there, i knew He was right.

[Via http://thecollaredblogger.wordpress.com]

David Miscavige believes PAIN = SEX -- Now do you understand his fetish for hitting people?

David Miscavige believes PAIN = SEX — Now do you understand his fetish for hitting people?

David Miscavige has turned INT Base into his own private BDSM fetish dungeon. He should leave the church with his alleged swindled millions and start his own BDSM center. I do not care if he has to hit people to get sexual gratification. But let him do it outside of the Church of Scientology.

David Miscavige is massively out-2D.

We have all heard about his canceling marriages at INT Base, sending his wife to live elsewhere, promoting abortions, removing references to the Second Dynamic or redefining it incorrectly as creativity, canceling the book Child Dianetics and more.

Why is he so destructive toward the Second Dynamic?

I do not claim to have evidence or be an expert on the subject, but David Miscavige is obviously a BDSM fetishist. He apparently receives sexual pleasure from abusing his top executives. He is virtually having sex with them when he attacks them. In this sense, he is not only a sexual pervert, but out-2d with every top executive he has laid his hands on.

Why is David Miscavige only known for hitting men? Well, being a homosexual is another thing. I do not care if he is a homosexual or not. But he should realize that being 1.1 is to be a hypocrite on this subject. (That is, 1.1 is to denounce so rabidly the withhold he is hiding from others.)

[Via http://freedomofimagination.wordpress.com]

Das Schlafzimmer darf kein rechtsfreier Raum sein

Hier fängt Gewalt bereits an: Handtasche der Fetischmarke „Devota”

Ich habe es ja immer schon vermutet: Das Schlafzimmer darf nicht länger ein rechtsfreier Raum sein! Ich meine, mal unter uns: Was wissen wir denn, was unsere Mitmenschen so hinter den zugezogenen Gardinen für riskante Dinge tun? Wer weiß, vielleicht wird dort Analverkehr praktiziert? Oder es betreiben gar Homosexuelle ihre gleichgeschlechtlichen Phantasien, wenn sie sich unbeobachtet fühlen? Dort werden außerdem Kinder mißbraucht und Persönlichkeitsstörungen, beispielsweise die masochistische, ausgelebt.

Natürlich höre ich da wieder diese Neoliberalen, die meinen, man müsse den Menschen ihre sogenannte Freiheit lassen. Aber wieso denn? Wenn doch nur ein Kind davor gerettet werden kann, Opfer dieser homosexuellen Masochisten zu werden, dann ist es doch wohl ein kleiner Preis, mal die Schlafzimmerfenster offen zu lassen, oder? Wer normalen Geschlechtsverkehr betreibt, bei dem übrigens auch ab und an mal die Frau oben liegen darf, der hat doch nichts zu befürchten.

Wir müssen uns aber schon wehren, vor allem gegen diese furchtbar perfiden Masochisten, die nämlich prädestiniert dafür sind, Amok zu laufen. Persönlichkeitsstörungen sind nunmal ein heikles Thema. Es ist bekannt, daß sämtliche dieser Störungen dazu führen, daß Menschen zu Killermaschinen werden. Vielleicht sogar Killerspiele konsumieren oder gar herausbringen. Sexuelle Perversionen sind selten; denn wie uns allen ja klar ist, gibt es ausreichend Möglichkeiten, sich auf normale Weise mit dem korrekten (dem anderen!) Geschlecht zu vergnügen, so daß diese Pseudo-Freiheit, grenzenlose Geschmacklosigkeiten zu begehen, nur weil man unbeobachtet ist, wohl kaum vom Grundgesetz gedeckt sein kann. Oder glauben Sie ernsthaft, die Väter des Grundgesetzes zusammengesessen haben und meinten: „Also, wenn die sich Strapse anziehen und sich auspeitschen wollen, dann müssen wir das eben per Gesetz schützen”. Nein? Eben. Und kommen Sie mir nicht mit irgendwelchen diffus-allgemeinen Freiheitsbegriffen. Das Schlafzimmer kann eben nicht der Ort der Kriminalität und des Amoklaufs werden, nur weil irgendwelche Sex-Spinner da herumkrakeelen.

Wichtig ist es jetzt, daß jeder Bürger genau hinsieht: Welchen meiner Nachbarn, Bekannten oder Kollegen habe ich schon einmal in der Boutique Bizarre angetroffen? Wer verhält sich auffällig gegenüber Kindern, Männern oder Frauen, die älter, gleichalt oder jünger sind? Wer kauft auffällig viele Stricke und Wäscheklammern im Baumarkt? Melden Sie es! Denn nur so können Sie verhindern, daß auch IHR KIND demnächst einem dieser homosexuellen Masochisten zum Opfer fällt.

[Via http://germanpsycho.wordpress.com]

What a woman really wants

This has been the subject of a few movies and books, not to mention squillions of crappy magazine articles, over the years. Mostly they come from the perspective within the meta-narrative which casts women as merely suppport actors… props and helpers of men. Some seem to accept living on the margins in the little feminine, passive box, which is their business.

Here’s my thoughts on the subject. It’s a lovely rainy day and I’m relaxing at home with my feet up, daydreaming about having them worshiped by a worthy slave. And another at my side on his hands and knees for me to rest my drink on. And another to serve the drinks… And another with an artistic phisique out on the lawn raking or something.

I like to have doors opened for me. Not because I’m one of “the weaker sex” but because I’m superior and deserve it. I like a male slave to pick up and clean up around the house because it’s his place to serve me. Most of all I like to be respected as the Goddess that I am.

A thrall comes in handy to kneel beside the bed and help slip my feet into five and half inch black patent stiletto shoes before we go out for a fetish night. Or he can wear a rope harness and skirt while he’s making dinner and setting the table.

I like to have a man kneeling at my feet to be flogged, spanked or caned when I’m feeling a little stressed and want to relieve myself. Forget stress balls. A good hard heavy whipping with a long flogger made of fine grain Italian belt leather is just what a woman needs to let off some steam and feel at peace with the world again.

On weekends my own darling slut comes over and serves me like this. It would be really fun to have other slaves around to call on during the week, just when I feel like it.

And fetish nights out are the greatest. There’s nothing like dressing up in black PVC, in a pencil skirt and wasp waisted jacket, like the senior female executive from hell (or heaven). Imagine going in to work in the morning and having to greet Her across half an acre of polished mahogany desk? The sexual tension would be absolutely tangible, but in an office it would all have to be deliciously unspoken. Magic. Almost makes me want to take an executive position managing a legal firm. I’d have a lovely dark office, all teal and antique gold, with ebony furniture heavy enough to double as bondage equipment after hours. Gaggles of males working in the place would wear silk panties and fishnet stockings under their three piece pin striped suits, not to mention the deep welts on their backsides from frequent canings.

Ahem… where was I?

My primary is slim and well groomed, with distinguished silver hair that he likes to refer to as ’salt and pepper’, he comes up very nicely in basic black for a kinky night out. I put his collar on him and he walks around all night on the end of my leash… It’s been a while since I’ve given him a proper flogging in public which is something that ought to be addressed next time we hit the clubs. Now that the weather’s warming up, he can walk around half naked so I guess I need to order him to get a full body wax too.

Last weekend I made up a couple of whips for a new order. One of them was indeed made from heavy belt leather. It was absolutely gorgeous. I’m going to make another, with a dozen or so half inch tails about two feet long. That will be absolutely thumping! It will bruise a lucky slut just looking at him, muahahaha. Considering I’ve also finished a matching set of cuffs for my darling slut, perhaps we do need to get out and play!

[Via http://anonymistress.wordpress.com]