The Universe will have its way

"In the morning I'd awake and couldn't remember
What is love and what is hate - the calculations error
Oh-oh-oh-what is love and what is hate
And why does it matter - is to love just a waste
Why does it matter - oh - oh - ooh - ???

As the dawn began to break - I had to surrender
The universe will have its way - to powerful to master
Oh-oh-oh-what is love and what is hate
And why does it matter - is to love just a waste
Why does it matter - oh - oh - ooh - ???"
-The Flaming Lips, "In the Morning of the Magicians"

Quite recently, i was enjoying a very relaxing moment of sitting on the couch (something that, i stress, is a rarity for me) with my girl and watching one of my favorite things: nature documentaries. In this case it happened to be one of the episodes of the BBC's Planet Earth. A completely fantastic series that shows stunning scenarios and equally stunning cinematography. I highly recommend it. As i was watching a pack of wolves chase a gigantic herd of caribou across the frozen tundra of the Artic Circle, my mind pontificated on the reasons the BBC had chosen to document this natural process and redistribute it to us, the masses. What i concluded was somewhat troubling. They were demonstrating something that takes place in nature every second of every minute of every day. Something that's so commonplace, yet, it looks to us the audience like something exotic, foreign - worse - fantasy. We're so removed from the act of merely surviving by horribly taxing and violent means. Instead, we can witness this rigamarole from the comforts of our living rooms, outfitted with surround sound and high-definition visuals to make it all the more "real".

And then i got to thinking about what most of us are faced with in these dire economic times. Less. Much, much less. Be it simple luxuries like a night of martinis to the even more direr situation of impending foreclosure or layoffs, we all must learn to do with minimized resources. As i heard the recent news that Mattel fell far short of its forecasted sales of toys from this past Christmas, i couldn't help but feel a little relief. Taking out the human factor that this news most likely means that employees of that company may face layoffs, there was something comforting that people had chosen to not binge on as many toys as they normally would for the holidays. We do need to learn to get by with less. We consume way too much. We're too removed from the notion that life is struggle. That there is, as the Flaming Lips say above, very little difference between love and hate when put in context with the much larger, chaotic Universe.

Because my mind does not lend itself to leisure, it took this thought even further. I pondered my own "needs". One way to look at why we are here on this big rock is that we must do all we can to recreate ourselves in our kin. That everything stems from the act of procreation, and nothing else matters. Through this lense, one can view all of this pomp and puffery i proffer here at The Lustful Quality as unnecessary pilferage. I completely understand that viewpoint. I myself often struggle with my own desires of the material kind, as well as how my sexuality largely serves as a shrine to materialism. There are times i inventory my kinky supplies and at once want to toss them all to the curb out of shame for such meaningless consumption. Thankfully, however, i come to my senses.

I do not engage in the activities documented here out of gluttony or avarice. Yes, these are the exploits of my sexuality, but they are also the expressions of my spirituality. I vociferously do not believe that the only reason we are on this planet is just to recreate ourselves. Rather, we are here to create beauty - as often and as largely as is possible. Even in my largest grandeuristic visions of hubris, i realize i cannot control the Universe. It will do that fine on its own. But, i do take the responsibility of upholding my role in it quite seriously.

Sugasm #123

Sugasm #123

from Sugasm by Vixen

Mz. Berlin courtesy of Corset & Collar.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #124? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
A Seven Letter Word for Flowers
“I breathed into your neck, brushing my lips against your skin.”

Breakfast In Bed
“I rolled her over onto her back and she spread her legs willingly.”

Inked
“How quaint to be wooed with a soft brushing of lips over my fingers.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
L.A. Bondage

Editor’s Choice
Male spankees and the female gaze

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
The great myth of the “Venus corset”

The great myth of the "Venus corset"

There should be little mystery that my female aesthetic focus has magnetically pulled towards the looks and attitudes of the 1940's and 50's. From the hairdos, the bright red lipstick, and the seamed stockings to the corseted waists, lack of pants and - yes - their fetish for bondage.

I adore cartoons. I watched them non-stop as a child, citing many of them as the provider for life's lessons. I can say without any doubt that the damsel-in-distress so often portrayed in hand-drawn animation struck a tuning fork deep in my chest. I also developed many crushes on the cartoon girls that pranced across the screen. From Disney's library of screen heroine's, the first of which i fancied was the sleeping beauty Aurora, to the big, doe-eyed fanciful creatures of Tex Avery.

I'll never forget the particular marvelous Saturday afternoon that introduced me to and the imprint it delivered through this playful update of a classic story.



Almost as if my burgeoning sexuality had been sent on a once-in-a-lifetime shopping spree, all the things that would eventually serve as the foundations for my fetishes could be found in this illustrated play. I was sold on the sharp, heavy outlines of the 40's and 50's, the long fairy-like eyelashes that fluttered an awfully enticing code, and the wicked, accentuated curves.

When i finally arrived on the complete ordnance of objects that would - revolving around in my head - bring about sexual satisfaction, i looked to this era for real life examples. To my young eyes, it appeared to be the last time period these sort of female accoutrements were seriously deployed. Women truly enjoyed the exclusive statement on femininity their hair, makeup, footwear, and, most importantly, undergarments declared.

I pushed myself to explore as much material that existed on this period of feminine constraint, and in tune pushed the range of my own desire further. My search brought me to the darker recesses of the quaint 1950's attitude. It was here i first encountered the artwork of Eric Stanton.

Very quickly, i swam in an ocean of wickedness, male chauvinism, aggressive pursuit, and hunger - pure, unmitigated hunger. In the privacy of my chamber, i enjoyed what my eyes flowed over, but were anyone to ask me in public if i endorsed this material, i would have abdicated. Gone were the peppy housewives of the 40's and 50's, replaced by the extricated female objects whose limbs were contorted and abducted, only to be corralled for the pleasure of their male master.

Among these shockingly arousing panels of the works of Stanton and others of his time, i encountered the device known as the Venus corset:



























The one just above and to the left does the best to exhibit why this corset is called the "Venus". Quite literally, it was imagined to also constrict the wearer's arms behind her back with the same lacing that cinched in her waist. The effect had the subject resembling the very famous Aphrodite sculpture from the ancient Greek town of Milo. Illustration after illustration demonstrated this innovative contraption. To my eye, every single female above is striking and beautiful in this pose, and seeing this, i was sold. I knew i wanted one.

And thus began the great myth. Over a decade of searching, i've never found one. Corset site after corset site, and no one, from what i've seen, has offered their own prototype. The closest i came was a corset that had an attached single-glove armbinder with integrated back lacing. But, alas, i have never discovered an actual arm-encapsulating device.

Perhaps someone could felicitously prove me wrong.

Sugasm #100

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #101? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Do you want me…?
“The shiver that runs through you tells me everything I need to know.”

Love that ass (his perspective)
“But as long as we are in here, she submits to my command; to my every whim.”

Hubb and Spoeker
“He was good for show and good in bed, but an asshole in the real world.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
125 Magazine, Alternet and Enviromentally Friendly Porn

Editor’s Choice
The very best of Sugasm…. so far

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

BDSM & Fetish
Objets d’obsession: neck corsets
Piss Slut

Objets d'obsession: neck corsets

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Red alert

I'm preparing to leave on my vacation - my much needed vacation. In my preparation, i must think of the items i'll need for the duration of my trip. Having never been to my destination before, i don't know what i'll need to bring and what i'll be able to pick up remotely.

I've travelled hundreds of times whilst engaging in SM-based activities (and with the intention of transporting those activities). It goes without saying that travel before 9/11 came with much less scrutiny of my personal belongings. Since the events and repercussions of that day, i've been subjected to over 40 different bag searches, a dozen private screenings (with my girl having to endure just as many herself because the steel boning of her corset triggers the metal detectors), and numerous times i've found "Just Looking" messages from the TSA in my checked baggage. Steeling myself for this invasion of privacy, i have resolutely refused to let this ridiculous reduction in civil liberties hamper my personal life. I have hauled in my carry-on baggage, at one point or another, the following:

Spools of leather strips
Rattan cane
Nipple clamps
Butt plug(s)
Locking leather cuffs
Spreader bar
Latex corset, hood, panties, sheeting
Leather harness with bit-gag
Cat-o-nine tails
Bondage tape
Armbinder
Ballgag
Electrical tape
Various lengths of rope, Kevlar line, and nylon strapping
Mini-flogger (a gift, courtesy of Fetish Insider, my gracious guest contributor while i'm away)

I find the security personnel working the examination lines to be much more lax in my city than those of my destinations. I'm not really sure why that is. I'm able to sneak things by the hometown crew that the away squad gives me the biggest pain over. I enjoy playing with them, acting dumb, but i also enjoy taking the opportunity to embarrass my girl a little. I make sure she goes in front of me (which isn't necessarily a walk in the park. I swear, they never saw a custom-made corset before???). Then, when i know my bag is going to flag one of the inspectors, i make sure to call my girl's name out loud:

"OH, honey! Wait!"

The unknowing guard will hold up her leather head harness and inquire as to what that is. Now, by this point, as she eyes this device that just the previous night had been strapped to her head, forcing her mouth to be held unwillingly open, my girl's cheeks have changed nine shades of red. To let her off the hook (plus, for some reason, i'm spooked into thinking that being kinky is somehow aiding the terrorists. Thank you Dick Cheney), i'll simply explain that it's bridle gear for a horse, which easily passes muster. On our merry way they let us, to infect the general populace with our very dangerous and national security-threatening power exchange.

This vacation presents a different scenario than others as i am not travelling with my girl. She has left already, having business to deal with before my arrival. As a result of this, i felt the need to leave her with something that she could look after, tending to it until i arrive at her side. Hours before she left for the airport, i had her strip down to just her bra, and proceeded to lash her well-primed ass with three magnificent welts. Should anyone see fit to examine her undercarriage, they would find these trademarks - a calling card, if you will - which would certainly lead to her embarrassment.

It's unlikely that any TSA personnel would ask for that kind of access, which leaves me the task of picking the right apparatus to stuff into my bag, just to ensure the appropriate amount of shame occurs on our return trip.

Armed and dangerous

When i discovered the art form of bondage (as opposed to merely the functional process i first identified it as), i realized i could achieve transformation with my subject in a shorter but also quicker fashion than say the permanence that body or mental modification achieved. A simple hogtie presents the female in a prone position where she can be used, transported or displayed in a dehumanizing fashion. However, a clumsily constructed tie, with haphazard knots, mismatched, unattractive rope types and sloppy joint wraps eradicated much of any interest i would have in images of bound females. Further expounding on the aesthetic craft found in shibari and Western ropework, as well as resounding with my frenetic attention to details, i resolved to pay as much attention to the precision of the bondage as i did to its rigidity. As a result, whenever i found extraneous leisure time, i drew out precise pose after pose in a notebook i perpetually carried with me. Though each pose differed, there did exist a commonality amongst most of them that demonstrated my tendency to obsess on one theme, riff, riff, repeat, and riff again. The girl's arms were bound behind her back, elbows touching in nearly every graphite sketch.

I've loved the armless look from the day i first saw it portrayed in a strappado on one of the damsels caught in the Marquis de Sade diorama of "Waxworks". The female forced on her tiptoes, lurched over, with the bulk of her weight relying on the fragile shoulders looked like a girl who had refused to show reverence, but now had no choice. I encountered "tamer" versions, and i was struck by how proud this position made the female form appear. With her arms pinned behind her back, her posture had to respond with tall erection, while her tits lifted in the air as if to say "please, take these from me". From behind, the elbows twisted in towards the spine, and the forearms neatly laid against eachother, making the optical illusion that they were designed to do exactly this. I experienced a further debaucherous epiphany upon first seeing the glorious innovation known as the armbinder achieving this same look.

The Armbinder.

I give that wonderful garment its own line just to show my admiration. Also called the mono-glove or single sleeve, i thought this was as attractive as some would think of the 1967 Mustang's front grill or the Star of India sapphire's rutile. Every photo i saw of a girl in an armbinder instantly ignited the sadistic furnaces within which meant i immediately thought only of my pleasure, and dismissed any of the model's discomfort. I soon discovered Ashley Renee, the queen of the armbinder. Photo after photo captured her venus-de-miloed in the most sumptuous way. I especially responded to those images where her eyebrows arched in high consternation at her unseen perpetrator. You could almost make out the liquid "myew" that leaked out of her tightly ball-gagged mouth. The armbinder launched to the top of my must-have list of torture devices.

I encountered a problem when i began searching for one to purchase. Those offered from both online and brick and mortar boutiques failed to pass the muster i'd demanded. They were designed primarily for the gay leather crowd, which meant big forearms, industrial buckles and almost exclusively unappealing black cowhide. These models served merely the functional side to dis-arming a submissive. What was so appealing about the version Ms. Renee wore was the delicacy it treated an incredibly strenuous feat. It accentuated the feminine tinyness of her wrists, her hands, her appendages. It extended the optical illusion that a girl's arms were meant to fold back like that, rather than appear just sloppily lumped behind her. I knew i was going to have to commission one, if i was to find satisfaction.

The search to find an outlet for my request lasted several years. When i finally took my idea to my girl's corsetiere, i didn't know if he made such a thing. You couldn't destroy the grin from my face with a battering ram once he agreed to design one for me. The following weeks, i waited impatiently for his sketch to land in my inbox.

He far exceeded my expectations. In addition to the femininity of the sheath for her arms, he incorporated a cupless bustier that would also be stringently boned, which could be removed and worn separately. I added additional straps from the bustier to her glove, another one that circumvented where her elbows would fall, and another that could be pulled around her torso, anchoring the latex device rigidly to her entire body. Through various fittings, we perfected the fit and look, and i was soon the proud father of a wickedly didactic contraption.

She has since worn it numerous times, for my sole pleasure, or for when we have company and she plays the silent barmaid. I however have to remind myself, as i buzz with supreme delight at my victory, that her arms do need to come out at some point.

Addendum 10/12/08
I had the good/mis fortune of catching the movie "Waxworks" that i refer to above.

Good fortune because it was nice to see the scene that captured me at such a young age (Although, i was mistaken in my remembrance. The girl was not placed in a strappado, but merely two steel cuffs dangling from the ceiling - i might add, she placed her hands in the cuffs a little too easily for my modern-day tastes).

Misfortune because i was reminded of the crappy cinema i had to watch all the time just to get glimpses of the way i felt and thought inside. My buddies never could understand why i had to leave the room at the end of this scene (below), even though we'd seen this movie well over 20 times.

For your perusal, i present the Marquis de Sade scene from "Waxworks"

What sites have you memorized?

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Commissions

I walked into the store, dressed in my usual above average apparel, stopping just a few steps inside the door. I waited. I put my hands in my pocket, looking as relaxed as possible. I scanned the well-appointed boutique, eyeing the gentlemen who prided themselves on their ability to make a man feel special. Not a single one approached me. I hadn't made my intentions clear enough for them to engage. My station right at the front of the store didn't signal commitment. I loved this sort of verbal-less exchange. In the short time i'd stood there, every single one of them had sized up my seriousness at indulging in a purchase and the size of the purchase simply by the quality of my shoes, the cut of my pants and the stitch on my lapels. What they hadn't discerned out of these visual cues was that i wasn't there with the goal of getting the perfect suit boxed up and sent on my way. I was there to be served. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the emporium, engaging the entire staff, regaling them with stories, building a camraderie with them as they fit me with suit after suit, even complimenting my tastes (as if i chose the designs myself).

Once in awhile, i will leave with one of those suits (of course negotiated for a price more to my liking), but most times, i leave with just a single tie. I don't need the threads. I do however need the catering to.

I love being fitted for a suit. I get tingles that run up and down the back of my neck when i am the center of someone's consultation. Sitting in the chair as i get my shoes shined, i just melt, closing my eyes and sizzling with euphoria. The same sensation massages my head when i get a hair cut. I am perhaps the only person who isn't interred and elderly that picks up the phone when the caller ID indicates that it's a telemarketer on the other end. I listen to their pitches, i ask them questions, i inquire about their careers, prying them out of the narrow script they've been trained to follow. It becomes their pleasure to entertain me with their pitch, meanwhile, i'm secretly lavishing this personal attention.

It doesn't just have to involve me as the sole focus. You may also pamper my girl and i get the same thrill. Just the other day, we were at her corsetier. She was being fit for a new underbust s-shaped corset*. I sat in a chair and watched him tug the muslin over her midsection, taking out pins and notching them at spots to get the right action from the temporary boning. He would hold up swaths of different patterned fabrics, demonstrating color combinations he thought would please her. He completed what he needed to do for the corset fitting, and was going to move to the next item, but i stopped him before he removed the mock-up from her body. I wanted him to proceed with it still on. He pulled out the custom latex armbinder (that i had designed), with attached boned bustier, and slipped this up her two arms clasped behind her back. He laced it until her elbows met in the middle, then buckled the dozen straps further anchoring her immobilized appendages to her body. I got up and walked around her, examining the device. I pointed at certain areas where i felt a few inches could be lost, other areas where the contour of her beautifully gloved hands could be more pronounced. He made notes as i finished my inspection, taking dictation of my wishes. I've commissioned many things from him, and the attainment of the objects matches the pleasure i derive from him serving me only because what he crafted ultimately symbolizes my specific desires.

These types of exchanges happen on a daily basis, entering into negotiations and fulfilling contracts. Every time i find myself in one of them i think the following:

"You are looking to get something from me, when all i'm looking for is to get served."

*(not pictured on his site)