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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Wednesday, 27 October 2010

D is for...

I couldn't resist sharing this link from one of my new favourite weblogs

D is for Doll

Tuesday, 26 October 2010

Get what I want

I've been wanting to fuck a boy with a strap-on for as long as I knew about boys and strap-ons. It's been a long time coming but I'm glad I waited for the right boy, the right moment and the right bit of kit. I remember telling Dandy that I wanted the first time to be "special" and I remember grinning as I said it, with images of coyly strewn roses and soft lighting. I liked the idea of taking him out for dinner, wining and dining him before taking him home and having my wicked way.

That wasn't how it eventually played out, it was more spur of the moment than that (perhaps I am becoming more spontaneous?) but perhaps surprise made up for lack of anticipation. The evening began with him working on his service techniques - massage, rimming, finger-related dalliances. The kind of attention where I can just lie back and enjoy myself, feeling pampered and cared for, exactly how I want to be treated. After a while I realised that I wasn't going to orgasm and got a little restless, so stripped him and placed him, hands on head, at the end of the bed for a brief inspection. I check him out. Long slow looks. No words, but amused smiles at the winces and twitches that come when I flick and press my fingers around his cock. Easy target.

I lead him onto the bed and start playing with his arse, it's a natural movement by now, to hold one arm around his shoulders and neck and the other inside him, feeling him squirm and open up to me. And moan, of course, those delicate little moans and whimpers that make me want to push him further and further, just to see how he'll react. After a while I get up and fetch the strap-on and a blindfold. Starting slow, as I promised in an email a long time ago: it's important to keep promises, whether they are nice or nasty. I used the dildo as an insertable first, to warm him up a little before attaching the straps. The dildo was already half inside him as I put the strap-on on, but once I'd gotten in place I pressed deep into him, watching his mouth open, his back arch up. I wrapped my arms around him and felt him. Actually felt him. Similar to girl-fucking, the strap-on was absolutely an extension of myself, a way of pushing into him and I got wet very quickly. But more than that, I got direct pleasure not just from his pleasure, the feelings I was giving to him but by the act of taking him, of owning him. Of making him mine.

As I fucked, he responded and did so in a way that was almost helpless, writhing beneath me and unable to articulate anything beyond curling fingers into the pillows, or gasp semi-coherent "thank yous". The gratitude added to the moment, as did knowing that the sensation which I could not feel but knew well enough from personal experience, had a certain intensity that was not-quite-pleasure. I moved him into a couple of different positions - flat down, on all fours, on his side and he complied just as one would expect from a toy. Each time he did so, it made me smile at his keen desire to be taken and used, at what he was offering up and the sensitivity of the experience. To hold someone tight whilst at the same time teetering on the edge of hurting them was very personally intense - I felt a deep, strong compassion for him and a desire to look after and protect him at the same time as make him break down and cry. Then dry his tears.

Then do it again.

Monday, 25 October 2010

Rubber lovers

Friday was a Rubber Party over at Captain's place. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and the noises on Twitter indicated that it was going to be a good one. I arrived with Babysham for the host, and a grin on my face as I was met by the smell of rubber. I wasn't disappointed. He'd set up a rubber room on the first floor, complete with rubber sheets for walls and padded, rubber cushions on the floor that made me grin with childish delight as I felt them under my bare feet. Like stepping on a warm sandy beach, except for perverts. I had Dandy under a couple of "going out" rules - he stands to my left but a little behind if I'm stood up, kneeling on my left if I'm sat down - and he was on good form as a bodyguard / butler / arm candy, fetching drinks and drawing admiring looks in a full length red rubber skirt. I like a good skirt on a man. I took part in a hitherto unknown fetish activity - eating Krispy Kreme donuts with full length black latex gloves and licking the icing off my rubber fingertips. Whilst being photographed. Ever the exhibitionist.

I saw a few people I haven't seen in ages, including Smart Set who I didn't get nearly enough time to chat with and got to watch a lot of pretty people in a lot of pretty rubber. And a rather adorable furry crocodile - the natural solution for someone who hates the feel of rubber but doesn't want to miss a party. Mr and Mrs Magpie were resplendent in thick rubber and over the knee waders. The earlier part of the night was spent catching up, chatting and admiring outfits, as well as lying down on the rubber flooring upstairs and breathing contented sighs of relief and pleasure. Fetish can become very normal, very quickly and I'm sure that what we were wearing and doing must have seemed very bizarre to outsiders but it just felt like a lot of good (wipe) clean fun.

Later on as conversation and flirtation became play and penetration I decided to locate the doll suit. It still remains on of my favourite pieces of kit for it's combination of creepiness, smooth perfection and fake plastic facelessness. I handed over responsibility for my well-being to Dandy for the next hour or so, one of the many strengths of a switch/switch relationship is the fact that I can still indulge in moments of bottoming and be well cared for.

It took a while, although not as long as last time, to get into it, and I did need the help of friends. I had a small pang of sadness as I finally placed its face over my own and became a doll once more - I had missed being this doll. This particular, made-to-measure one. Poised, posed and utterly toy-like. I realised that this would be only the third time I'd worn this, but all of the memories were still in the silky feel of the thin latex. And all the joyful, lustful absentia. It was a head-swimming experience, partly rendered through the fact that it's really hard to see properly in the suit, so it's easier just to shut your eyes and once you've done that all you can see in your mind's eye (if you can see anything at all above the mental and physical press of the latex, the instant seal and heat it delivers) is how you must look to others. But I could hear it.

There were noises of delight, questions over who was inside the suit, joyful exclamations of perfection, revulsion, fear and half-joking cries of safewords as I cocked my head robotically to one side. Everything began to blur into everything else as the touching began and at no point was I ever especially clear on who was doing what to me. I was awash with delirious sensation, dropping like a stone and becoming weak limbed, floppy as a rag doll. I was stroked, tweaked, penetrated and generally played with until I was lost to the world - like a balloon floating away anchored only by the faintest string of awareness. It took me a long time to come to, and when I did I was in the arms of Dandy and Mischief, giggling like an idiot in the deep, calm high of a post-rubber tryst. Happy.

Thursday, 21 October 2010

Behavioural patterns

Dandy and I are settling into something approaching a routine, which is an interesting process in and of itself being as he likes to be freewheeling and I am a creature of habit. However, I'm in charge and am enjoying creating rules that please me. We've done the basics which is exchanging emails on needs and wants, but I've been away from the internet for a while and a little harried by my day job so our meet ups have been much more adhoc than I would have liked. Plus I just haven't been able to put the thinking time into precisely what I want both of us to get out of this aside from a general agreement that it will be fun and pleasurable. That said, we seem to be muddling on fairly well and with a bit of luck and a good following wind I'll have the headspace to do some planning.

Thus far he is under orgasm control, which initially started as a time based rule and has now become a rewards system in which he gets a certain amount of minutes according to how long he spends in the gym or applying for the sort of jobs he wants. I like the fact that the control is geared around agreed points of (for want of a better word) "real life" improvements. Firstly, because it's nice seeing a genuine positive effect as it makes me feel as if my ownership of him is helping make his life better and secondly because these are activities that he does by himself, away from me and therefore this extends my reach over him. Finally, they are non-kinky things that aren't about him getting rewards for pleasing me: adherence to my desires is something that he should do as part of his submission, not because he gets orgasms from it.

I have a rough idea of how I want to take it forward.
I'm very much enjoying being an owner, and whilst actual roles and titles are up for grabs (I still haven't got a good "dominant" handle that I feel comfortable wearing) he is, in his own words: my submissive, my boy, my toy, my dog and whatever else I want to call him. As we play, I learn more about him, his body and, most importantly, the way he thinks and feels. He lets me in. And I will shape him.

Sometimes I will naturally do things to him that I would enjoy myself, which has mixed results. Partly because I find that I don't enjoy delivering those things as a dominant, and partly because he doesn't enjoy them as a submissive. Although the natural kinky refrain is to state that his enjoyment stems from mine this is only true to an extent. Forcing him to do something he genuinely hates only has limited appeal - it's a threat and a punishment to be used sparingly. That which is actively unpleasant works because it's something he's doing just for me. More interesting are things that he feels conflicted about, the edges of pleasure/pain and want/not want. A lot of this is around areas of humiliation and debasement. He's very responsive physically and has a medium to low pain threshold which means I am playing more around "sensation" than "pain" - this is quite a good thing as I can find just delivering lots of thwacks rather boring and repetitive. That said, an experiment with e-stim kits last night proved that what I find painful and what he does are separated by rather a gulf which means that self-testing needs to be weighted with that in mind.

I'm finding myself intrigued by moments where I interesting seeing my own submissive behaviours reflected back at me. Like myself, he finds it hard to vocalise when in subspace, I can usually cajole a "yes" or a "no" but more often I will get barks and whimpers. Similarly, there's a definite desire on his part to lie back and be (ab)used. I actually find these situations quite a challenge, the blank empty canvas upon which to pour my requirements can be intimidating, but it's more than balanced out by the amount that I want to do take him. His face takes on a certain soft quality and his lips part just so, and I find myself full of conflicting desires to protect and to harm.

That said, there is still training to be done. He doesn't behave in quite the way that I want him to submit to me - in a way this is rather good as there wouldn't be any moulding for me to do otherwise. I'm setting some more D/s orientated rules that allow him to submit in the way he likes whilst giving me what I need. For example, before he is able to lie back and just be used like a dildo he's got to give me some attention, then put on a condom, then beg to be fucked. I can empathise with how he feels and a bit of my switch-y self wants those sensations and then there is the reminder of how much I enjoy those feelings which means I have a certain bar to reach in order to deliver them.

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

What boys are made of

On Saturday night I took my drag king persona for his first proper public outing. I often dress in a "mannish" fashion, I suppose, but this was the full monty: strapped down breasts, strap on cock and an attitude to match.

The change is an important part of the process - I love dress up anyway, and I love the process of becoming something or someone else as well as the finished result. Hair was parted on the side and slicked down, face makeup was negligible - the sort of finish a male stage performer might use, though I did use liner to enhance and thicken my eyebrows. I decided against fake facial hair, because I wanted to keep a certain androgyny for that "is he isn't he?" feeling I find attractive. My shape wasn't going to make a strapping bully-boy, but a fey dapper young man was certainly something to go for. Tightly wound bandages kept my breasts down - that was a little painful at first but I got used to it and enjoyed the held in feeling, nothing was jiggling or exposed, everything was hidden and kept neat and tight. Then the strap-on and dildo, bought from the lovely ladies at Sh! after much discussion and trying on. The dildo was a jelly, so kind of suitable for packing, as long as I didn't mind having a somewhat obvious hard-on. I decided I didn't.

Over this went white Y fronts and a vest, which instantly hid my female body and revealed a male one, my shoulders and arms seemed more on show without the chest and curve of waist to the hip to distract the eye. It also changed how I was holding myself - partly getting used to the bulge under my legs, but I stood wider and more face-on. Then a white shirt, pinstripe trousers and matching waistcoat. Accessories were important, small but subtle. A gold signet ring that had belonged to my Grandfather, a hip flask full of brandy to offer cheeky sips to cheeky girls (and boys - my fella was bi, of course).

Once I had everything in place I felt masculine, in the same way that makeup and girly dresses make me feel feminine. I did, however, still feel like "me", and very much so, this wasn't a made-up character or an alter-ego so much as parts of me played up and other parts pushed down.
I'm interested in what parts of how I dressed affected how I felt, and whether this was because of the clothes I had on, the minor changes I'd made to my physicality or if it was the role I had adopted. The role was a strong, confident male - a 1940s gangster, so that came with its own package of behaviours and attitudes. I also had the delectable Hedwig on my arm, dolled up to the nines as a classic moll.

Here I felt sexualised, and sexually attractive, probably because it was making me think about my body and my sexuality. I also felt strong and I lifted my head high, accepting compliments and funny looks alike with a wry smile. I do get that whenever I dress up - there's a confidence in making a statement through clothing, especially when the outfit is designed to draw attention, but there was something else going on. This persona was confident, in and of itself. I'm not sure whether this is because I thought myself masculine and link masculinity with confidence or whether it was more to do with the gangster attitude - other male personas I've experimented with have included hesitant teenage boy, for example, which was much "weaker" in feel than this one.

At the party, we played to the crowd. We were definitely "in role" and had invented a number of scenarios to go with our costume and behaviours. I smirked a lot, hands in pockets, leaning against walls. A bunch of flowers for the hostess. Arm around ladies, getting them to dance or giggle in a flustered fashion. Sneaky grabs at Dandy, who was my henchman - and secret "gay" lover - for the evening, and a full-on lover's tiff with Hedwig who was "paranoid" at my womanising (manising?) antics. We'd discussed this on the train, but not planned when or how it was to happen. When she slapped me in the face my reaction was instant - a cold shock ran through me and I grabbed her with no hesitation. We tussled briefly, then I pushed her to the floor, messing my hands over her face and demanding she apologised for embarrassing me in front of my friends.

For the lady's perspective - have a look here.

A boy, certainly. A pretty boy, definitely. A nice boy? No. But certainly a boy to play with again.

Wednesday, 6 October 2010

Welcome to Kinksville

I have a standing joke with Knight of Wands that we (well, ourselves and the kinksters we know) all live in a TV show entitled Kinksville, possibly showing late on Channel 4 after repeats of Eurotrash. Before I'm about to tell him news of something that has happened to people we know, some drama or other incident I preface it with "and on this episode of Kinksville..."

This week has been a bit like that. Lots of ups and downs, sudden things flaring up, being resolved (or not). The sort of week that makes you feel that if you were a character in a show you might feel a little persecuted by the writers. House move and various real life activities have kept me away from the Internet and running low on reserves. Having finally admitted to myself that asking for a bit of human company is neither an imposition nor a surrender I dropped Dandy a line. We've been more "on" than "off" over the past week or so and I just needed to reach out. There was a rush of internal relief and gratitude when he responded quickly. We met for lunch, there was kissing, hand-holding and much desired hugs - then we went to the pub where Captain, Ringmaster, Rossetti and sundry others were gathered, including a new person who we rapidly inducted into our secret nerd society of wearing black, using funny words and spending all our money on outre pieces of equipment bought over the internet.

The combination of people who I knew, the solicitous and gorgeously puppyish behaviours of Dandy and a medicinal gin and tonic had me coming to myself very quickly. Which made me think - why didn't I do this sooner? To say "fuck it" to things that can't be fixed right now, to drop the pretence that I have to suffer in noble silence and just get out there and have a bit of fun. But sometimes I worry about reaching out, fearful that my desires will be rejected, or that I will feel foolish for acting on them. Kinksville can be a bit like that - full of trepidations and concerns that end up being unfounded when you actually get out there and do things.

And the things that we did. After a few drinks and the decision that a night at Torture Garden would probably be too much, we headed over to Captain's house for what could be coyly described as an "intimate play party" and more accurately described as a "bunch of kinky bastards messing around". I bought party rings. Drinks were made and eventually clothes came off and play began. Sybian, torture, abuse and a very silly hat were involved. Highlights for me included being able to do my first bit of public puppy play with Dandy - also that he trusted me enough to submit to me in public and then later ganging up on Boy Wonder with him. There was a nice balance to that threesome, which almost made me swear to never take another partner who wasn't a bisexual switch, the fact that we could all interact on a similar level. And of course, all nice girls like a bit of boy on boy.

We played until we were all tired out. By the end I was stood in the centre of the room watching sleepy, mostly naked perverts curled up around each other. Sharing a comment with Ringmaster about how happy and proud I was to be part of this fucked up little kinky family, before heading home with Dandy to collapse into bed and into his arms. Held together. I don't know what the future holds, but I'm glad for what I've got right now.

Tuesday, 5 October 2010

A quick link

Many posts are lined up, but for now, a little something I wanted to share - a guardian article on shrink wrapped art...

I want a go.