Tag Archives: sadomasochism

The sunbeams across the floor

We have known each other for years, mainly through the spoken word scene and mutual aqaintances. I must have been 16 the first time we ran in to each other, and two summers ago he made delicious cocktails in the bar around the corner from where I lived a short summer. He is tall, with a distinct look, somewhat rockabilly style, shy smile and a very nice voice. I never really thought there was any interest from his part, which was why I was so surprised when he emailed and asked about next time I would be in Sweden and if I wanted to meet up. It was a busy but very sunny week, and drinks felt like a perfect break from DIY and random annoying stuffs that needed taking care of.  We headed down towards the beach with cider and swimwear, ending up walking along the coast-line talking, before finding a a spot in the hot sand. It felt good, no, it felt better than good. It was relaxing, like a rekindling of a friendship, even though we never been very close. The first dip in the sea this year was refreshing, and I started to feel almost like a teenager again, in that very silly way. The sky was clear blue, a light breeze easing the burning rays of the sun. We spoke about our tattoos, what they meant to us, continued talking about poly and how respectivley finding our poly-identities had changed our lives. There was something… different about him, something more open, settled, and grounded. I think he kissed my hand first, then I kissed him. A slight taste of cigarettes, his gold-tooth feeling smooth, a hint of cider, the skin smelling of sun. My head rested on his chest, and I could hear his heartbeats.

There is something in the way he kissed, and how we spent the rest of the evening together.  We have a drink, talk. And time after time again, it feels so simple. We speak of kink, just by accident, finding common grounds. When returning to his, we make out on the couch for hours, my lips are become sore after all the kissing and it is a bit like being a teenager again. Then there is something rather special when I play with his nipples. It is like playing with an instrument  of flesh. Low moans, deep breaths, half-open mouth, closed eyes, whimpering. In the morning, the sun trickles through the window, beams dancing over the floor.

We continue to meet each other during the following week and we talk, cuddle, kiss, eat ice cream, dance, talk more. There is a security with him, in that he knows what he wants from poly and feel very secure about it. The last evening, we meet for some ice-cream and then decide that we should really go for an evening swim after he has finished his work shift. Said and done. The beach is almost empty around nine in the evening, but we have blankets and swim suits and sit down eating strawberries. It becomes almost a bit kitsch, watching the sunset; the rays of the sun turning dark pink. I run into the water, thinking it should be very cold but it is not. The evening air is now colder than the water. We walk further out, the waters are still shallow, and then I just have to attack him. As he loose the balance we end up sitting in the water, he gasp as I straddle him, pressing my legs tightly against him. Dunking him into the water, seeing how his eyes are so still under the water turns somewhat other worldly, he is so very still, pushed under the surface.

When we dry up, he pretend like he does not need the large, warm cardigan he bought and give it to me. I quickly realise he is just pretending, as his tall body is shaking after the swim and we swap. It means that I can move better now as well, and there is both an element of care there, but also practicality. How am I supposed to tie someone up if their muscles are so cold they cannot move? He is a sweet romantic guy, but I want him, his body and his mind completely focussed on us, on me, on the sensations, not to be shaking due to being cold. Stawberry eating, heart to heart, kissing, watching the sun disappearing into the sea. After literally lying on top of him to make sure he is not shaking anymore we swap sweaters so I can tie more easily. The blindfold goes on, again to make him focus on the feeling of the experience, to focus on us, on me.

It is getting darker and darker outside and the mosquitoes are out in full force, and I have never really tied while being under attack from mosquitoes. Got the thin ropes with me, and decide quickly to only do a short scene, in order for us to come out alive and with a drip of blood left in our bodies. Bloodplay took a whole different dimension that evening. It is his first experience of rope, and even if the tie is a standard one, his expressions of the experience become nothing like a standard one. Prepare for gross generalisation: Usually, I find men having a harder time letting go into the experience, they try to pre-empt the next move, or can’t stop anxiously twitching, requiring a high level of intense and often physical stimuli to settle into what is happening  and to remain present in the moment. Sometimes this can be really interesting and intense, but sometimes, like when sitting on a beach, the mood is different. His body dances beneath my fingers, but not twitching or moving anxiously, it his pulse and heart, slightly shivering skin, that lush mouth open, breathing deeply in and out, only a tiny, barely noticeable gasp. When the shape of the tie is done, I start moving the ropes again, leaning him back into my arms, closing my hand around his nose and mouth, stealing his breath, pulling a wrap of the rope tighter with the other hand. Kissing his forehead, it becomes clear that the bugs are biting through his sweater, and the untying clearly has to start. Sometimes, tying up the ropes is just as good, if not better, than the build up towards the finished tie. But here, it is just as good as everything else. He is first quiet, when we cuddle. Then saying something, and after expressing a wish to go back to his in order to remove my clothes I simply lift my dress and sit on his face. His tongue is working away, the beach is completely dark, can hear the waves, and the geese which are the only ones present except for us. I ride his face, pin his head and upper body down, pinching his nose shut, his licking gets more frantic, the lack of oxygen give him a sense of urgency. I sit there, grinding my wet cunt against his face until I come.

Back home at his, we end up in the sofa again.  Unbuckling the belt while his eyes meeting mine, then tightening it around his neck, pulling the noose tighter and tighter. Holding him down by the knees then releasing the pressure. The evening is now pretty warm, and we go out for some fresh air on the small balcony. It is passed 2 in the morning, and the city is completely dead, a Sunday night, only one or two people out walking. And he looks so incredibly dapper in his smoke robe, it is gold and the decadence it gives to the whole situation only gets better as he kneels down, yet again. This time I just kick back, relax, he knows exactly what to do, and the only thing I need to do is not to get loud, as the people standing underneath the balcony having an evening cigarette would appreciate a bit too much.

Before we both pass out I hurt him some more, he definitely had earned such pleasures, the metal sticks are scratching his back, pressing against his balls, making him whimper and shake. The skin of his back is warm when we fall asleep in each others arms. I wake up in the morning, looking at him sleeping, following the patterns created once more by the sun beams.

Now I’m back in London now and I miss him already.


The leather boots

A audio-memory resurfacing: a loud bang as two boots are hitting the surface of a stage. And the effect: a trembling traveling through my body, eyes zooming in on the black leather, they boots that become so much bigger in the mind.

A couple of weeks later, on another continent and another venue, with other perverts. Boots again, leatherboots on a man whom I know can be a mean bastard. I trust him to be absolutely nasty when he an. We are sitting on the floor and Zahara is being instructed on how to polish his boots. Bootblacking itself is perhaps not a thing of mine, but more the thought of loosing oneself in a task to produce a meticulous result, and doing it for someone. the eyes are drawn to the more and more shiny surface of the boots, their potential and stability. Boots are grounding, leather boots evenmore so, allowing the foot to rest against the ground, to move smooth and steady, to stomp, to kick, to walk. It is the action the boots enable, and the person who is wearing them become a possibility to act.
For all high-heel fetishizes out there: I’m sorry bu it is really not my thing. As an element of bondage and aesthetic, sure, but if I bottom/submit to someone and wearing heels, unless they say otherwise, I take them off. They are a liability in play, unless, again, that is the point. Same with when I dom. If I play physically, I don’t trust myself enough or my balance when wearing them. I want feet either bare or firmly placed, a stance that is capable or willing to move in what ever way is necessary. That freedom my friend, for me, does not come in heels. And yes, I’m pretty fucking good at wearing and walking in heels. But who ever came up with the thought that high heels are empowering/dominant must have never had to wear a couple for more than 12 hours. Although these ones are quite wonderful.

 

Boots on the other hand. Any kind of. Docs, Undergrounds, riding boots such as Königs, Cavallo, Pikeur or even better; properly used old school ones. Then there is the ones which makes you salivate just thinking about them,Corcoran, Wesco, et cetera. Laced up tightly, clean lines. Or the stealth ones, boots which almost disappears onto the person, so discrete but still so potent. Hugging the feet perfectly.

Picture found at Stompers Boots.

Trousers tucked in, or resting on top. A dress or a skirt, with a hint of lace from the petticoat contrasting the raw leather. A kilt, flowing movements of the fabric and then the stillness, the firm cut of a wellfitted boot.

It is in the end of the evening and my energylevels are completely down to zero. have eaten two cupcakes for dinner, drunk silly amounts of water, three awesome playsessions and steered off an idiot or two. A friend is getting off in one corner, his shoulders and hips tense, undulating with that frenetic movement of someone in such a state of pleasure that any other movement that does not seek to enhance that pleasure is impossible. I’m rather happy, contended, like a relaxed animal, a bit vulnerable in the tiredness and relaxation. If approached, I would expose my neck freely, surrender. Does that state of mind show? Perhaps it does because suddenly he has gripped me and thrown my body to the floor,the mind follows a second after. A faint smile and that kind of glint in the eyes. This is not going to be pretty. Earlier he had shouted at me to keep my fucking head down when he was flogging, now he does not say a single word. Just the glint in the eyes, the focus and then a stomp of his foot, right next to my head. It is a shining entity of it own when it is upclose like this. A threat and a promise. I’m pulled, pushed, pressed against the ground, he is moving my body where ever he wants it, and I can only try to follow, the best as I can. When he drags me over the floor, I keep up enough to not get a carpet-burn. Light kicks, the sole of his boot pressing down my arm, as he pulls my hand upwards. A knee compressing my chest. Stomps, fast and fluid movements. Some kind of tempo that is building up. In the end, I’m lying face down, with my arms underneath, almost bracing myself, I don’t want it to end, never do. Slowly opening my eyes, there they are, the black leather boots, shining, tucked into the cammo trousers and further up; that glint in his eyes. And a boot against the chest or the face, somewhere, somehow; that is just perfect.

 


Neurosexism, Naomi Campbell & Foot Fetishism

First of all:

we now have a Tumblr account! Find it here and bookmark. In the future there will be less tidbit-posts here and more on Tumblr, since it fits that kind of format better. But no need to worry, we will continue working at this WordPress blog.

So this is one of those posts that is filled with tidbits, and all due to me not being able to juggle studies with other types of writing.

First of all, this is a good read for those of you who might still believe that there is essential differences between genders and they are hardwired in our brain. A reminder that while there is such truths that we hold dear, there is also such things as bias within not only social sciences but also the medical profession;

http://www.newscientist.com/blogs/culturelab/2010/09/fighting-back-against-neurosexism.html?DCMP=OTC-rss&nsref=online-news

And then, here is something for all of those who are really into feet but not sure of how to approach your fascination. I know this is about men who are into feet and am aware of the exclusion of female foot/shoe fetishists but it certainly carries some important bits, so take note or just laugh at this video made by Count Boogie.:

Then there is the diva of divas Naomi Campbell,that provided us with some wank-material in October 2010 edition of Interview magazine. Photos by Mert Alas and Marcus Piggott. Please feel free to drool. I did.


The Gauntlet-men in Pain

It’s easy to find pictures that objectify female form, both in the ‘vanilla’ world and the kinky. That is why I constantly look out for other images. Especially those which objectify male suffering. I still find it very hard to sexualize non-consentual suffering, simply because it is often not erotic. But still, I’ve changed quite a bit and find more and more imagery thats hotter than hot.

Like this clip for example:

An undressed James Bond, exposed and vulnerable and in actual pain, struggling to keep the villain at bay, challenging him still. And some CBT have never hurt anyone before.

But this is a clip that I’m even more interested in. Because there is so many layers to it.

There is the cocky individual, trying to desert from the British Army, only to get caught out, having to enrol in another army. Suitable punishment follows, and as he walks through the gauntlet, slowly and controlled, but in pain. And this is a kink of mine, slow paces that forces the objet du désir to keep control over him or herself. Barry London is an interesting movie all in all, but this was definetly the highlight for me.

But all in all, I’m not feeling very toppy at all at the moment. The only thing I’m really longing for is to speak to a certain someone and have someone with rope bundle me up and move my mind and body. But maybe you will find something that is hot with both of these clips, at least I did.


Snippets

Snippets of the week that passed at Stockholm Pride, 2010:

I

She asked me how to approach people at a party like we where on. A fetish party. And I realized that after two years, I still don’t really know myself, at least not any formulaes. The way that tend to work the best is to be quite upfront and talk about what is interesting and ask people about them, like anything in real life actually.

We started talking, and after a while I asked her politely if there was anything she was looking for and if there was anything that made her particularly curious.
I must say that I like to top ‘new’ people, those who are so eager to experience, but this person turned out to be more than that. N caught my interest in more than one way and we found common grounds quite fast. The first couple of minutes of us playing a bit later was affected by slight stress from my part, being nervous and was not sticking to a original plan. But after less than 2 minutes I found the place I wanted to move towards, and away we flew. And how it flew.
She sat with her hands tied infront of her, as if she was praying.   The rush was immediate. My arms reaching around her, and we are going from being fairly new to eachother to close friends, knowing eachothers skin better as each strand of rope came closer to her.

The ropes, touching, holding, waiting, wrapping strand after strand, her breathing getting heavier, her face disappearing bit by bit as the rope first covers her mouth, then her eyes. Sensitive nerve-endings, and a no force is needed when putting the rope in her mouth, following her grasp, as one of my hands covers her mouth, and the other her mouth. And when my palm strike her skin, it is just another way of not using big gestures, but keeping it less than large, holding on to a space that we have created together. The pinwheel making her shudder, my fingernails slowly digging in to her skin.

When directing her to the floor I don’t want to get to far away from her, and as her back start to take even more beatings,  I still keep close, always a hand on her shoulder. It is close I want to be, not leaving her side.

II

This is a translation of a text that was written by a lovely ropepartner of mine, after our first session at a all women’s play party. She wrote this as she wanted to explain how it affected her, and after reading it, I was so touched that I asked if it was ok to publish it here,and with her permission, here it is:

…After a while at the club, my body started to itch. Rope, rope, rope. I only knew one person there who did anything with rope and who might have some rope with her so I scouted her out. V. She was happy to tie me up a bit later, and as I was waiting I continued speaking with people, but now with a different expression in my face. A special smile. Those who saw that smile, pointed out how happy I was looking.

V made me take of the horrid heels and take off the jewels before she started to unlace my corset. And there was a certain manner in the way she took a hold of me, with a firm grip placing my arms with the wrists resting against eachother behind my back. The euphoric feeling rope gives started to slip through ny whole body. Not even thinking about it, my eyes closed. Despite the music and the people around us I created a small bubble for me, the rope and V. I think it took 3 pieces of rope before the arms were in place. Unprepared I went down on my knees when she pushed me to the floor. When she had asked me what I wanted I said that I wanted my arms to be stuck, but that she could tie more if she wanted.
After she had moved me around down on the floor and letting me lean on her a couple of seconds, just enough to feel the security of another person, V bent my right leg backwards so that thigh was parallell with the calf. Three rows of rope wrapped the leg before moving on to the next leg.

My objective here was to write about the beautiful feeling of rope. But it is so hard to grasp. It crept up slowly, bit by bit, that feeling together with the ropes. I’m filled with such comfort, when ropes are handled in the right way. In the end, I was place on the floor, lying on my stomach. The only thing I could see was peoples feet. When V placed a rope at my mouth I finally parted my lips and a small ropegag was in place. After that she wrapped rope over my eyelids. Carefully, bit by bit so to make sure I was ok. I did not know if I was first, but then it felt so good. The total freedom in helplessness, captivity, without me feeling a bit helpless. Just utterly happy and soft. She played around with the ropes, moved them. I just let her do it, suprised over how my breathing changed, suprised at how pleasureable it was. I loved her way on handling the ropes.

And I’ve been thinking about the difference. I’ve been tied a lot before, but very rarely the goal has been the tying itself. Instead the goal had been about being helpless, stuck, or a part of a quite hard a mean play. But this was rope for rope’s sake. And sure, in one way I felt dominated. In one way she showed who was in charge by her way of moving me around, the way she touched me. But it was different from previous experiences with rope. It was different and I liked it. A lot.

Written by Volang, 2010.
III
A couple of days later, and I am tired, anxious and trying really hard to get in to partymode. But instead of socializing, I’m doing more crying and am not even being able to express my wish of being tied up and properly beaten.
But after first tying myself up and spending some time with the chosen family, I realise I got mummification tape. Very handy. So after getting a positive response from S, mummification is a go.
S start by wrapping my arms separateley, somewhat different from what I am used to, but it proves to be even more efficent in preventing movement.  People gather around as I’m twirling into the tape and I’m aware of them looking, enjoying it and starting to relax for the first time, even if my brain is still not shutting up, bombarding my senses with impressions and troubled things.
When my upperbody is wrapped, including my chest, head and nose covered, S flips me over on to the floor.
Lying down, feeling the wraps travelling down my legs, furthering immobilizing and I can’t see, cannot move and hardly speak. Immobilized and I cannot even care about how it looks like. Their eyes gazing, but they can’t reach me here, the cocoon of black plastic shielding me from the world.
Time disappears, and suddenly thoughts do too. Drifting in and out of the space,, and travelling to a place where the mind shuts up, shuts down, and it is such a precious place. And as I arrive there, I linger as long as I can.
I don’t know how long time after, but after a while I ask S to slowly cut me out. This is alway a moment of slight fear, even if I know that safety shears are used. As the black plastic leaves my body I’m reborn, an intense feeling of katharsis only intensified by the small fears of being cut.
Entering the world again, with fresh breaths drawn filling my body with slowmoving energy. Looking around, everything is like it was before, except that it is not. The couple next to me, prepping the needle scene when I first started to disappear in the black plastic, is now not prepping anymore. Both of his arms, his chest and his back is covered in needles, and I realise things like that takes some time. One look at the watch and it tells me an hour has passed. I fell asleep in the plastic, in my cocoon.
And I feel good again, born again, flying on low-intense energy, delightfully buzzing in my stomach. After sleeping an hour, wrapped in black plastic.

London Festival of the Art of Japanese Bondage- Part II

Dear reader; I am so sorry for the delay with the updates on this blog.  This summer has been amazing, but I was caught in a net of writer’s block and lazyness.

As the Sunday evening came, so did the main-party. Thanks to Clover and Dave I was provided with  an obi, holding together the kimono I wore.It was also Dave who kindly tied said obi It was indeed one of the most comfortable outfits I ever worn to a party, which just shows that it was not a real kimono… All in all, it was not a genuine kimono nor a ‘genuine’ look, but it was very comfortable to run around in that outfit.

By Echo Photograph

Bunny and I met, her looking gorgeous as always. We wanted to play during the evening, and as the first show started we were already up on the mezzanine, but when Dasniya Sommer went on stage, we took a break to stand and watch a mesmerizing dance between two people. Sommer’srope-partner was wrapped up in a piece of fur, creating beautiful contrast to Sommer, who was naked, if one disregard her amazing haircolour, which matched the color of her pubic hair (attention to details indeed.

The fur and the music made me think of Russia for some reason, but speaking to Sommer a bit later, she said that it was more alluding to animals at play. The double suspension, in which her partner was first suspended and then she joined in was magical and very different from many other shows seen before.  The shows throughout the evening had those unique qualities that made my both cry and laugh, never becoming bored. But as any party, there was a lot of socializing going on, making me miss a performance every now and then.

Shadow did one amazing show again, and with her signature of strong, playful session while still remaining in full control, maintaining the energy from the beginning to the end, using her body as well as the rope to shift the balance of her gorgeous rope-bunny.
It was indeed an evening that both showed the skills of the riggers but also of the rope-models.

The show by Mistress Amrita was one which took us to a interesting place where there was sea, and mermaids and nets, the performers enclosed in a big plastic bag, giving them a sphere where we could see them and they could see us but still a small layer of plastic was between the audience and the performers, giving it even more of a otherworldly feeling and maybe also pushing buttons on voyerism and exhibitionism. Who is actually being watched?

The mermaid was released from a net,suspended, taken down, transformed into a human, to then be pushed head first into water. This piece was so well thought out, with music, outfits, ropes and props taken in to account.

Boykitten,  did a dramatic and powerful selfsuspension in ballet-boots At one point he started to thrash around testing the ropes to the limit and pushing his own body and in the second after, complete control and stillness.  Very impressive and also one of the youngest (the youngest one?) on stage during the weekend.

The highlight was Kinoko’s performance. He had no music, and it was like you were watching private play between two persons. I’ve never been in a room with a couple of hundred people and it been so silent as it was during his performance. When he hit with tiny bamboorods on the top of her feet, you heard the audience draw their breath, and you heard every squeel from Arisa as she was placed in positions I did not know was possible. There was a complete trust, and I can really recommend to view the video. Sensual, emotional, painful, perfect.

Two other performances, both spellbinding and intense in their own right, was still working on very different levels.  Nawashi Murakawa drew us in to a world which felt like travelling through history, to the japanese country side, him walking with two gorgeous female prisoners with ropes around their necks.

Please press play for music similar to the one used in Nawashi Murakawa’s performance.
Hypnotic to say at least, and it really gave the audience something completely else.  The music, the rope-artistry, scenography, it all came together and made complete sense, creating a dream.

Contrasting that was Esinem and Electric Fairy, who did a school-themed suspension scene, with even the music fitting perfectly. (Queen and Pink Floyd to mention a few).E.F was the naughty girl caught perving over her teacher, who then discovers masses of rope in her bag, some sex toys and then an apple. Suitable punishment followed. Esinem always effects you as a viewer, I’ve never seen a show or play by him and not felt it. He and E.F oozes of chemistry and his ropework  is fast, precise and in his sadism there is so much care shining through that they both radiate.

When the shows were all over around 3 o’ clock in the morning the play and party still continued and I only had about 3 hours of sleep before heading back for a final day of related activity.  Let’s hope that post wont be taking as long for me to write as this one.


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