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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.
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Plugged

Although this is written on a mobile device I’ve just felt the need to share what is happening in this moment. My fucktoy is lying next to me in bed, tapping away on the computer and working on a written task I’ve given him. In due time I will post the link to his work here. He is doing very well.

As I read some schoolwork and he types away, this could become quite dull. But since he might need a reminder of what he is and who he belongs to, I decided to give him an reminder as well as making our Wednesday evening a bit more interesting.

So he had to drop his pants, bend over and feel my lubewet, latexclad fingers search their way into his ass, while he slowly wanked himself. Just a year ago or so I was not that into ass play but now fingerfucking asses is something I have started to love. Feeling the muscle, the warmth, the intimacy. Slowly fingerfucking while he is stroking his cock. Smelling the latexgloves.

So yeah, I am horny while writing this. The warm-up of his ass was to prepare for the plug. The heavy, smooth stainless steel plug. Oh, how it fits perfectly into his ass! He always twitch at bit in the moment it enters, moans, and yeah, it makes it even hotter.
I told him to pull up the trousers and to continue writing. But when I lay down on the bed resting on my belly uI realised that my feet were in the perfect position. So I had to give him a bit of a kick. Not too much though, he is still supposed to work. But enough that it made him squeal when his nuts and cock was kicked. And now he is writing again. Good boy. I will fuck your face later until your eyes will water.

I’m going back to my studies now, and he is writing away, plugged, prepared. Mine.

Update 15th october 2009:

He did very well. Read what he worked on here.


Swedish Fetish- Andrea Belluso, & Male Submission Art

Swedes are perverted. Everyone knows that, just take a look at this.

That is just an example of exactly how perverted we are. Damn us.

Earlier this year, a very special book was published, with photographs made by Andrea Belluso, who’s photographs has resulted in the book ‘Swedish Fetish’.

© Andrea Belluso

This is a book that is not, unlike many other collections, only uses professional models that maybe not have any connection to the actual physical act, nor any kind of relation to possible fetish pictured. It is not like the compliations of Marquis and such either, with women only being there for the male gaze, passive and pouting in random latexoutfit. I must admit. I hate Marquis. I hate Marquis so much I could commit a crime everytime I lay my eyes on it. I hate Marquis so much that I start to consider to become vanilla sometimes. A more male-centric, sexistic, ******** , ******* magazine is hard to find. Will come back to you readers with some samples of the idiocracies published in Marquis.

So I don’t read Marquis, I stare at Belluso’s work instead. And this is one more sample of what I see.

Andrea BellusoThere is good images out there, images that can tickle the fantasy and be artistic. Gosh, I am sounding like a elitist, with certain stanAndrea Bellusodards. I guess I am. So shoot me. I like kitsch, I like trash, I like sleaze, but I want to be challenged. To think, even if it is so just for a moment. Pictures of sex and sexual acts are so fucked (in a sterilised, normative way) that we hardly react to it, which means that at least I feel that I want something that is not like that. Something that is not just for me but also for the person pictured. Object and subject.
All hail Belluso for doing this!

Another interesting website when it comes to images, is Male Submission Art. Many of the pictures are steaming hot, with men that are awesomely beautiful, and pictures that do not focus on the dominant woman, instead we have our eyes fixed on the man. You can at all times contribute to this amazing site as well!

Links

Male Submission Art

Swedish Fetish by Andrea Belluso

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Ve