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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Friday, 31 October 2008


Human interactions are always a constant source of fascination to me, perhaps I missed my calling as a social anthropologist, although that said, it is only a very narrow field of activity that concerns me here. What the Americans (and we British, lately, it would appear) call "dating". I am making a bid to have the much lovelier word "courting" reintroduced but have thus far failed to make substantial inroads.

To make it perfectly plain, I neither court nor date in a vanilla context. Hand on heart, I have learned my lesson in attempting any form of conversion and the vital importance of being explicit up front. For all parties, it's for the best. But this post is not about me (for once) it instead concerns the complexity of finding a Dom who is interested in playing with men as well as women (ok, perhaps it is a little bit about me).

I've come across an interesting phenomenon (amidst the men actually looking for couples or the male half of a couple looking for, well, other couples), the ones which seem to have at their core the desire to attract women, rather than men in a curious version of girl-kissing-gets-the-boys. These are the men who want to cuckold other men, humiliating them in the process of fucking their wife or partner. Of course, there is nothing wrong with this fantasy in and of itself, but it works in a way which isolates and sidelines the submissive male to a voyeur at best and an unwanted, unnecessary third wheel at worst. It is a very specific desire and drive which is different from wanting to play with another man: here the male submission is not a thing-in-itself but rather a vehicle through which the woman is the target. There's an old fashioned-ness to it and certainly the lover placing horns on the sad defeated male has hundreds of years of precedent, and it is, to my mind, absolutely heterosexual.

Suffice to say, that the hunt for hot bi men to bully The Photographer continues...

Thursday, 30 October 2008


I haven't really been seeing anyone even semi-seriously except for The Photographer, partly because, well, I'm very fond of him, but also because I haven't had an awful lot of spare time and when I do have some free, he's top of my list. The more we do together, the better it gets, and the more close I feel to him. However, that doesn't mean that I don't want to see other people, it has just made me a little bit more picky, which again, is probably a good thing. When I first returned to BDSM after my "vanilla period" as it could be called, there was an enthusiasm to go everywhere at once and I was probably just fortunate in finding Ethical Hedonist and fortunate too in how much I enjoyed his time and company as well as playing with him.

A friend of mine (only slightly tongue in cheek) referred to it as my "selection box" of men, and yes, despite the odd foray into girls, most recently courtesy of Kiss Curls, I appear to still mostly be a man's woman. I am, of course, open to offers. A selection box? Perhaps, certainly I do look for a unique side to potential partners, but then that might be because I look for smart, interesting folk in general who are all likely to have their own specific flavour, as it were.

I feel ready to start a new stage of exploration then, where I'm actively looking to try specific things with specific people. There is no end point to these experiments because that implies there's a goal or a finish line, I don't think it's quite that clear cut. There is a school of thought that we as a society, specifically western society, is becoming tired of commodity and looking more for an "experience". We want something to sense, feel and remember, rather than use, throw away and forget about. Although there is an argument that experiences can themselves become commodities, experiences have a transient nature and generate close connection between participants, particularly in a BDSM context, which runs counter to the uniformity of commodities. Commodities are always the same, by their very nature they are standardised items. A scene shared between two (or more) people can never be re-experienced except in memory, and even then bits will be missing, others added.

An experience also has that crucial feature that the Marxist commodity lacks: connection to the moment and mode of production - indeed, it is a product of the people, the place, the actions, and therefore links all of these together in a special way. It cannot be re-made or re-produced anymore than water can run uphill so it is irreplaceable. A moment in time. I suppose that is to me the part that especially attracts me to BDSM, the ability to conjure and to participate in these sudden acts of violent tenderness, tender violence. A break from the usual. An experience.

Wednesday, 29 October 2008

Depending on your interpretation

I've been running my fingers down The Photographer's back, he's leaning his face into my shoulder and making little noises. It's easy to tell when he's switched because his entire demeanour changes: the calmness becomes passivity, the quiet becomes anticipation. His body softens a little, relaxing against me, waiting for me to move or speak to direct him. Maybe you couldn't see it from the outside, but I can tell. It's as if there are invisible strings, hanging loose over his skin waiting for me to pick them up, pull them taut and bring my puppet to life.

I've started to put in a few more physical requirements when I top him, gradually taking a bit more control of the minutae of his comportment, honing and refining until he is just so. I like detail. I especially like precise and specific details. For now, whenever he is in a position to do so, he must place his hands palm down, fingers spread. No gripping the edge of the bed when being fucked or moving those hands to touch anything other than that which I let him touch. I like pressing my own hands on his, running my nails over them as they lie, immobile but responsive. Waiting.

We have a balance of power, built on words and tiny little actions like this. Points of view. When I top, I fuck him, or play with my cock (that just so happens to be attached to him). When I sub to him, he fucks me, I play with his cock. It probably looks the same to the outsider. Not to us. My topping is still a game we both play, but very much a game leastways that's how I view it. In all seriousness, I am his, sometimes we switch, but mostly, I'm his. That's how I feel and I am very happy. The balance of power is not very balanced, truth be told and I quite like that, I certainly couldn't top all the time, or even half. Although the inbalance can create some interesting situations in play.

I'm fucking him, his hands are palm down, flat and fingers spread. He's being a good boy. I give him 30 more seconds, and count down (slowly) letting him know that if he comes, all well and good, but if he doesn't, well, that's it. He moves faster, more agitated, but in the end doesn't make it. I slide out from under him and push him over on to his side, holding him close and stroking his back for a while, then make him play with my clit for a bit before turning over to go to sleep. He starts to run his fingers on my throat, soft and pleasant at first, a submissive flirtation, but then sharper and harder. He's switched. He pushes me over roughly and fucks me, hand over my mouth.
He doesn't say anything, he just takes what he wants. The sensation of his cock inside my cunt is very different even though the position is the same, the physicality is the same. But it isn't the same, we can both feel it.

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

In conversation with

Three brief snippets of dialogue have put me in a slightly contemplative mood, which has turned out to be overall positive, but the way they came about was interestingly staggered and set the tone for my current state.

"I don't mind that you borrow my toys, it's just that it reminds me that I'm not in a relationship at the moment"

This to The Photographer from his LT partner, which caused me to squirm with social and also emotional embarrassment at first, until assured (at length) that all was well. As mentioned previously, the more time I spend around the pair of them the more normal the relationship becomes, but sometimes I feel a bit awkward. Feeling being the key word here. Initially I was a little upset, or perhaps bothered is a better word - after all, I don't want any of my behaviour to have a negative impact on anyone. However, just as it wasn't me that did the borrowing, neither is it me that is responsible for her feelings - I'm not to "blame", I'm not an interloper or an interesting extra fling for the moment. We later sat around with tea and chatted a bit more about life, the universe and so on, which made me realise that the insecurities I have are not unique to me, and therefore not a result of being new to poly (and by inference inexperienced and wrong, which was my worry). They are the feelings that everyone gets, regardless of how long or how stable or how well connected they are in their relationship.

"So when do we get to see this nice young man?"
"Erm, you don't"
"Oh. Right"

Discussions with my mother regarding my private life never seem to include the word 'private'. Or 'my'. I would say that I'm not hiding my proclivities from my parents, except it would be an obvious lie. Of course I'm hiding it from them. But that has the knock-on effect of having to hide other things to, lest a spiral of questions takes me down a path I'm not prepared to tread. My folks are not especially conservative, and they are very loving and supportive. They are traditional, I suppose would be the best way of putting it and certain things are expected to come up in my future: marriage, babies, family life. None of these are on the cards from where I'm standing, and I'm not prepared to outright lie to them and declare spinsterhood so conversation avoidance is currently my only option, sadly. I'd like them to know, but more than that I'd like them to be comfortable and happy with the life I'm living. And those two are currently mutually exclusive.

"I guess I want something that's just mine"
"I understand...I just worry that the other someone will mess up you and me"

A slightly edited down version of a conversation I had with The Photographer, which led to us concretising our relationship in such a way that the pair of us both feel much better and more positive. Not that there was any particular difficulty that I'd noticed, although I do think that my acknowledgement of the lack I feel in not having something or someone 'for myself' (putting whatever drives that aside for later analysis) was if not news to him, certainly more obvious for being clearly stated.

We are in a D/s relationship which is open and poly - primarily he is my Dom, although we also occasionally switch. He has a significant other, and at some point I might also have one. We will have play partners, together or separately. We are in it for the long term. We are friends. We care about and look after each other. We are emotionally as well as physically involved.

If that sounds a little cold and clinical, it doesn't to me, sitting here, after much thought, with this little road map for the future, put aside for handy reference. And smiling.

Wednesday, 22 October 2008

Ongoing experiments

There are a number of works-in-progress that have been recently enduring a hiatus whilst my Real Life (as it is so often, and slightly, confusingly called) needed a bit of ironing out. I am now starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel and dearly hope it is the ozone scented flicker of a violet wand.

So I return to the list, or lists even, as The Photographer and I have been sharing a number of delicious possibilities. We've recently started up a threat/promise system where we verbally agree to do something awfully wonderful to each other including a torture scenario and an entire weekend of slavery. As with all cunning linguistic treats the switch side of me becomes more prominent and I can visualise myself happily on either end, as it were: last night for example I had a hankering for nothing more than a collared slave boy between my legs and a large packet of Cadbury's chocolate buttons. My brain decided that there would be something a little special about the combination of chocolate melting in my mouth whilst melting occured in other areas. I've filed it for the future, at any rate.

There are three main areas of exploration that require a bit more thought and effort, that we can't do just yet, or by ourselves.
  • More couple play - both Lovely Couple and Twosome are a little hard to keep in touch with, but we remain optimistic about going further in the future. Subbing with The Photographer has some really interesting mental spaces that I want to explore further and I have promised him that I will find another submissive boy for him to be enslaved with (voyueristic cock sucking and boy kissing, with or without chocolate buttons).
  • BDSM weekender - perhaps in a specific venue with plenty of kit, possibly in tandem with a few other like-minded souls and even (if I get very exciteable, which I do) with that much mooted dinner party thrown in for good measure. We want to take the idea of a dirty weekend and take it to it's logical extreme.
  • Pony play - this is probably going to be the most difficult to achieve. Kit is a big blocker as we have very little that is appropriate. For me, part of the sensation of this would be in the transformation process, to go from being human to animal so looking right would be important. Then of course there is the outdoor part and all the difficulties with that (it being October and all).
On a more personal level, I am still keeping up with Offensive Charmer, although mostly via email as we are both circling in diary hell right now, and Different Drummer and I have exchanged a few brief ideas centered mostly around the idea of hypnosis and pain levels, which is more than intriguing, but not the sort of thing that can be done in a noisy club.

Monday, 20 October 2008

Vanilla extract

Day-to-day I live in a vanilla world. Period. Whilst most of my friends accept that I am into BDSM, some of them are certainly kink friendly and others downright actively curious they are nevertheless mostly not kinky. This isn't usually a problem, I don't especially want to live in a 24/7 lifestyle situation (except in my fantasies, which handily exclude all of those barriers to perfection such as having to have a job and suchlike). The vanilla world is the majority of my existence, superficially at any rate - loathe as I am to admit to being anything other than a full time pervert there are many, many things I do that do not specifically involve kink.

And yet my mind and personal outlook is kinkified. To poorly coin a phrase: I view things through D/s tinted glasses. Not just when I'm in a club or a BDSM environment, not just when I am talking to one of my partners or negotiating with potential partners. But all the time. This isn't to say that I think about sex all the time, although I think about it a lot, but simply that my world view is distinctly, clearly and obviously Not Vanilla. There are of course, difficulties with this, or at least times when the two universes collide or rub along each other causing friction.

This doesn't always occur in the obvious places. By and large, most of my friends have been very understanding and accepting of my lifestyle, inasmuch as I chose to share with them, and their concerns have been limited to those that would be levelled at any type of relationship or life choice: "Are you happy?", "How will that affect the future" and so on. All to the good, but sometimes the situation is not as simple.

On Friday, for example I went out clubbing. Vanilla clubbing, because, well, it was a Friday and I like to dance to real music rather than beats to beat people to. Whilst there, with The Photographer, his partner and another friend, and whilst under the influence of the clubbers drug of choice (not that being stone cold would have massively changed my behaviour) I kissed a couple of other men. This is not outside of our relationship agreement, and I didn't do anything "wrong" but it was strange for him, he later admitted. Which then made it strange for me. We later spoke about it and realised this was partly due to it being a new experience for him, and also myself admittedly, under the auspices of a vanilla relationship this would have at least counted as unacceptable behaviour if not cheating.

The two worlds have different rules. But the more I think about it, the more I find the BDSM ones a little clearer, or perhaps it is simply that The Photographer and I have a shared fondness for knowing where we stand, and being explicit with each other. There is even the thought that it is just that as I've grown older, I've become better at managing myself and my relationships. Whatever the prime mover, I have a very particular sense of both security and freedom within BDSM, and I'm very happy with it.

Friday, 17 October 2008

Self control

Part of the attraction in submission is being told what to do, to be managed and manipulated without needing to decide for oneself. This can be very comforting: it removes those traces of anxiety regarding 'correct' behaviour or just simply takes away the social nervousness of knowing what to do in a specific situation. Whether it is simply verbal commands or being so wrapped up in bondage that almost any action is impossible without outside assistance, there is a bypassing of will. My own self-authoring is circumvented and my tale is written by someone else, the pen is removed from my hand, I become a part of a story that I am not telling and I can relax into the words and the actions safe in the knowledge that my role is secure. I am doing exactly what I should be doing: I am doing what I am told.

There is, of course, a flip side to this. Blindfolded: I don't know what is going to happen to me and panic might set in, under strict D/s instruction there may come a point where I just can't do what is required of me and I'll feel stupid or a failure. Whilst being under another's control divides me from decision making, it doesn't release me from responsibility. I still have to do certain things.

Orgasm is one of the areas that I feel least in control of, most of the time. It's also something I feel like I have to do, a correct response, a physical "thank you" to what is being done to me. I've always been interested in orgasm control and denial but I'm still at the stages where only specific situations and actions will lead me to climax so oftentimes any orgasm at all is a minor miracle. I have never orgasmed through penetration alone, for example. Certain things help - bondage, being talked to, positions on my front. When I don't orgasm, I feel like I've not performed in the correct way, and, of course, worrying about it never helps. Recently I've been experimenting with different positions and attempting, in some way, to broaden my repertoire as it were, refraining from tried and trusted methods for example. A little bit of self control. All the better to give it up.

Monday, 13 October 2008

Beautiful thing

"You look astonishingly beautiful"

So little of me is visible I feel as wrapped up in the statement as I do in the bands of black plastic that encase me. It elevates me, and I can just about manage a muffled "thank you" through my spaced out and serene state. I'm floating. What is he looking at, then? Certainly not my face or my skin, or that day-to-day person I present to the world. He can see a shiny, black bound thing, legs wrapped tight, arms held to my body. A woman-shaped object. Little holes cut out with sharp scissors where my nipples and silver piercings poke through. Bound eyes. A gagged mouth. I don't think I look like me.

Is the aesthetic of it beautiful? I think so, when I picture it in my mind, together with the tiny peek of my own transformed body he allowed me earlier. The break where the slick black plastic met the skin around my hips and cunt, allowing easy access. Perhaps he found the concept beautiful, a sign of my submission to him to be bound in such a way and unable to voice any desires. I rely totally and wholly on him, and this is an expression of my need. Perhaps I do look like me, the part of me that I share with him. My submissive self. Exposed by concealing my real flesh.

This is what the Doll looks like underneath all its poses and poises - without painted flesh or adornments. An item smooth and plastic, ready to assume whatever shape or form is required. I've never thought of the Doll Project in these terms before, that by totally wiping away femininity rather than deliberately enhancing it you could get a similarly powerful effect. Certainly the objectification element is there, but so is the feeling of being a toy, a plaything.

I am pressed within my body, but my mind is full of emotions. The two connect. Unable to see or to move I lie there, enraptured in the simplest of sensations - the slightest breeze across my nipples, the tightening of the bands around my chest as I breathe, the increasing wetness in my cunt as I listen (and right now, I could hear a pin drop) to The Photographer slowly turning the pages of the book he is reading, sitting next to me in my prone state as I wait for him to have need of me. He is my connection to the world and the focus of my feelings.

I feel beautiful. Extra ordinary. More than ordinary. Removed from the usual, and transported into this portion of desire, prepared and presented in such a way it is as if the wrapping around of bonds have allowed me to let go that little bit more, open up that bit further. I feel more his than I ever have done. It is beautiful.

Friday, 10 October 2008

Best behaviour

I took The Photographer out on Saturday for a much-promised "official" public topping and it was really rather good. I felt cool, calm, confident and horny as hell. I had a moment of realisation that this was something I actively looked forward to and really enjoyed doing. Not that I hadn't done before (we have a strict rule of only doing things that keep us both entertained) but previously there were nerves and also an element of wanting the roles to be reversed.

As usual, I'd done a fair amount of planning up to and including picking his outfit (long skirt and mesh top which was removed almost as soon as we arrived). Torture Garden was absolutely rammed, and we took refuge in the Dungeon after sharing a few drinks with Not Blond and his friends. Once we were by ourselves I put him on his knees and into collar and cuffs along with a newly acquired metal link lead which was more heavy duty, and hence better, than our previous rope one. He looked good. He looked better on all fours as a foot rest whilst I watched the room and considered activities. I particularly enjoyed chatting with a military garbed gent to my left, encouraging him to put his feet up if he wanted, and the parting firm pat on The Photographer's back (just like you'd give to a dog) when he left.

I found a St Andrew's cross and chained my boy to it, gagging and blindfolding him for that extra touch of security. I clocked the stunning Hedwig across the way, and together we set to making him squirm as best we could, using pinwheels, a storming little vibe of hers and other objects of delight. Later on, I also had the pleasure of watching Switching Sides touch and torment him for a moment or two. I think in certain circumstances I am learning the value of sharing.

For me, however, the best part of the night was how he behaved. Surrounded by the wannabe cow-eyed boy submissives (and there are a fair few at TG) who are more out for an easy fuck than to actually participate in a scene; their passive-aggressive stance irritating any woman they could see. I did see one young buck oh-so-casually drape his arm around Hedwig whilst addressing her as "Mistress" and then smile as she dealt with him in her own, unique style: "Actually it's 'Sir', and get on your knees."

I have no problem with someone wanting sex. At all. The issue I have is with them lying or pissing about to get it. Fake plastic submissives; looking good until they move or speak.
The genuine ones, like the one that knelt quietly in front of me, managing beautifully bravely with the quantity of chain looped through his piercings, show up the counterfeits. The real deal. I felt truly proud of him, smugly satisfied. Happy to reward him when we got home by letting him lick my clit until I came.

Good boy.

Wednesday, 8 October 2008

Performance piece

The Photographer and I had a marvelously kink heavy weekend. On Friday, we went to Subversion. We met a few folk we knew there including Ethical Hedonist, Hedwig and the lovely Kiss Curls, who was clearly up to no good, and loving every minute of it.

The main room was large and full of lots of interesting equipment, but somewhat spoilt by the fact it was also the cabaret room and therefore full of people watching the various "acts". I am a bit undecided on performance pieces in clubs, I like the idea of specific demos such as needle play or intricate rope work, but mildly kinkified strip teases and such like do nothing for me.

Watching other people play is different from watching a set piece, to my mind, there's more of a sense of being a voyeur than an audience member. It's fine to wander off and go and look at something else, or do someone else. There's no compere bigging it all up or any obligation to applaud, it's more intimate, more real. It's possible also a mindset thing.
I think it's that if I'm in a mood to go out and watch a performance, I'll go to see a show. If I want to play, then I prefer to have the space to do so, and whilst I have no qualms about moving people off kit, I'm an exhibitionist so having people gawping somewhere else is a bit offputting.

Amidst this, then, The Photographer and I are looking for something to play on and come across a winch on a gallows frame. I love this type of kit. Two cuffs, spread by a metal bar and the clank of the chain as you are pulled more and more taut. I end up partially stripped, standing on my tiptoes in a gag and hood, shifting from one foot to the other as I turn lazily around, not quite able to control my own balance. I can't see the crowd, I hope they are watching, and the thought makes me wet. The Photographer, and later Kiss Curls flog me, the latter as some kind of training exercise. Whipping girl. Practice. I start to feel a little floaty, both as I lose feeling in my arms, which later means I have to stop sooner than I might like, and also as the blindness becomes more palpable. I'm losing my place in the world - disappearing into the sensation, the darkness. Hanging there, suspended by the chains that bind and they eyes that are watching me.

Dangling on a hook. I feel delectable.

Monday, 6 October 2008

Nervous laughter

I don't top often, and certainly at the moment, I only top The Photographer. Like most things, the more often you do it, the more comfortable you become with it, and I am becoming more comfortable. Initially, it was very exploratory - trying to see whether I could do it, becoming interested in the feelings of control and how it was to absorb myself in the process of drawing out someone else's pleasure and pain instead of submersing myself into mine. The difference in how it felt began as a somewhat intellectual exercise, but as I've progressed (I like to think I'm improving as I go along) it has become more of a personal pleasure. I like taking him out, showing him off. I like the shudders that he makes, and the little noises as I play with him.

Almost all of the noises.

When we start to play, there is often some giggling on his part, which throws me. I know that he's not laughing at me or what I'm doing, however it's difficult, because we are both getting into the moment and so we're both nervous. So he laughs, a little, and I get upset, a little. Or also start to giggle. Which between the two of us does not make for a great start, however we both enjoy playing these different roles, once we're in place. We're working through ways of dealing with it - protocol, rules of engagement and blindfolds help. Reminders and signs of the games we are playing.