I've frequently travelled for work, which leads to me spending many a night in a hotel room, far away from home. In past times when i was younger, i found other means of satisfaction that my unattached and single status permitted. In the most recent years, when not indulging in illicit phone calls with my homebound girl, i've turned to the now abundantly prevalent high-speed Internet connection most hotels offer. I'm not sure what came first, the DSL or the hyperactive sexual appetites, but i find myself overcome with incredible horniness once i drop my attache on the floor and eye the broadband device stationed on the end of my desk for the night.
I don't know how i would've managed to satisfy these cravings in an age when endless arteries of erotic pulsation weren't made available to my fingertips by Ma and Pa Up-fer-thu-nyte. In fact, i think it is safe to say that the Internet itself has facilitated an intense exploration of my sexuality in so many public and private venues that imagining where i would be with my libidinous development without it seems impossible. I have catalogued many real-life experiences that inform who i am today, but i would be remiss if i didn't also acknowledge the significant contribution this global network of kinky provisions has made to my overall dominant, fetishistic self.
As a result of the ample supply of caboodle, i've amassed an immense collection of links, portals, libraries and warehouses that can be easily accessed through this Internet connection should an insistent hankering arise (which it always does). I could easily end this post like that, by just offering that i'll always be able to quickly satisfy any cravings i have, but I would demonstrate great irresponsibility if i didn't address the negative side to this unfettered access to the world wide web . While i could call up in a matter of seconds intense mummification scenes, galleries of corsets, damsels gagged and suspended, this has not come without a cost. To get to this point has taken a certainly unhealthy obsession on my part, where i've culled through reams of material which as a result has exposed me to entirely unappetizing images and scenarios.
Because i've opened up a dialogue with sites and venues that offer any and every fetish, my eyes have feasted on some incredibly raunchy material. Some of the stuff i've seen has dipped to such depravity, that i begin to wonder both about my own sanity but also the end result for those who seek this extreme filth. I realize i introduce the topic of de-sensitization when i criticize those who parade such seriously decrepit fetishes, but i can't help but feel that i straddle a fairly reasonable and sensible line (no matter how demanding my dress code becomes). The lewdness and despicable character some of these sites demonstrate on face value is enough to call in to question the overall benefits of an endless stream of cyber information. An inability to identify the source, the subjects being portrayed and their overall context underlies the debauchery of the stomach-turning expositions i've seen. Let us not even try to extract the legality or the ethics of the organization behind it.
Let's be honest, most horny men don't give a crap about the source (i admit, even i occasionally fall into this category), nor do they care about the context of the clip itself. It has been pointed out to me several times that we as a (male) gender have such a raw approach to porn that we can be blinded to the hurt, the suffering and the desperation of the subject that helps us get our rocks off. While i'm stuffed away in an isolated hotel suite, with an ample supply of tissues, these things are not on the forefront of my mind. What arouses me could have as little grounding material as possible, and it would still serve to excite if i'm in the right mood. Of course, as i think about this in the light of day and under a moral magnifying glass, guilt seeps into every pore. To assuage this guilt, i am quite overly critical of the material i do encounter, especially those that feature a dominant male in them, as opposed to the girl, alone, on her own, enduring her ordeal. I almost don't want to ever see the dominant. I'd rather not contend with this anonymous figure. I'd rather not critique his poor choice of fashion and style, and i would most rather not like to focus on his sloppy handling of the girl now entombed.
Instead, i'd rather obsessively stare at this vision, suspended in time and in image, struggling for the moment to breathe yet stay still and to represent the perfectly static beauty my soul really longs for in those moments of complete solitude.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Conjectural relations
Visiting family for the holidays does not in any way feel sexy or erotic. In fact, in many ways it sucks any urges i may have to indulge in my sexual needs. When i travel back home, i use the downtime that comes from driving from one widely spaced-out relative to another as a way to decompress from the often stressful experience spending time with the relations provides. Typically, i manage to pack in well over a dozen individual visits with a different person on my holiday sojourn, sometimes seeing a handful of people in one day (i have a humongous family and many old friends). Over the past few years, i've brought my girl along with me which has introduced variables i hadn't fully anticipated.
Most commonly, we stay at someone's house, sleeping in guest rooms, bedrooms of children momentarily discharged on our behalf, or even couches. Even though there are moments of arousal as we lie together in our temporary sleeping quarters, we do not dare act on them out of propriety and respect for our host.
To remedy this urge to consummate, i have taken the initiative to declare one evening out of our stay of pure solitude for me and my girl. We stay at a secluded lodge tucked away in the mountains. The bed and breakfast we escape to is a completely self-contained cabin that offers us total privacy. To me, this option serves as such a relief, as it permits a much needed outlet of stress and anxiety these visits with family always wallop me with. In preparation, i'll pack a TSA-alerting assortment of toys and equipment (without fail, every time we open our bag we find a little "how do ya do") that allows us to have a decent but modest play session, invariably replete with some much needed spanking.
Another variable involves how my kin reacts to us. I grow so accustomed to the way in which my relationship with my girl functions that i tend to overlook how it appears to others. Where i live, we have established such a comfortable niche that few interruptions to our sexual agenda present themselves. However, my family and hometown friends do not regularly see a corseted girl who wears nothing but skirts and dresses in the chill of winter or has inch-long artificial nails dangling from each of her fingertips. In this way, to these incredibly vanilla people, my girl comes off a little out of place.
I'm always struck by how much defensiveness i feel whenever a relative makes a comment about how odd her extremely hour-glassed waist appears or when their eyes grow big at the first sight of her manicured talons thrashing through the air as she gestures with her hands while relating some entertaining story of hers. I know that in the worst-case scenario they judge her, which always riles me up. I see these few disparagements as a rejection of our lifestyle, of someone i deeply love and, ultimately, me. Thankfully, these altercations are few, as most of my family members remain politely uncertain as to why someone would choose to "limit" themselves this way. My close family has grown accustomed to my girl's appearance and the occasional times i act in a dominant fashion towards her. A few have even inquired further, indulging in natural curiosities such oddities arouse, which have led to some gentle but eye opening discussions about power exchange. I value these opportunities to chat about SM with a selected set of family members because it allows me to be myself around them, more and more, but also gives me a thrill that i may provide insight into a way of life they themselves would enjoy. I can't be the only sadistic nut hanging from our family tree.
Most commonly, we stay at someone's house, sleeping in guest rooms, bedrooms of children momentarily discharged on our behalf, or even couches. Even though there are moments of arousal as we lie together in our temporary sleeping quarters, we do not dare act on them out of propriety and respect for our host.
To remedy this urge to consummate, i have taken the initiative to declare one evening out of our stay of pure solitude for me and my girl. We stay at a secluded lodge tucked away in the mountains. The bed and breakfast we escape to is a completely self-contained cabin that offers us total privacy. To me, this option serves as such a relief, as it permits a much needed outlet of stress and anxiety these visits with family always wallop me with. In preparation, i'll pack a TSA-alerting assortment of toys and equipment (without fail, every time we open our bag we find a little "how do ya do") that allows us to have a decent but modest play session, invariably replete with some much needed spanking.
Another variable involves how my kin reacts to us. I grow so accustomed to the way in which my relationship with my girl functions that i tend to overlook how it appears to others. Where i live, we have established such a comfortable niche that few interruptions to our sexual agenda present themselves. However, my family and hometown friends do not regularly see a corseted girl who wears nothing but skirts and dresses in the chill of winter or has inch-long artificial nails dangling from each of her fingertips. In this way, to these incredibly vanilla people, my girl comes off a little out of place.
I'm always struck by how much defensiveness i feel whenever a relative makes a comment about how odd her extremely hour-glassed waist appears or when their eyes grow big at the first sight of her manicured talons thrashing through the air as she gestures with her hands while relating some entertaining story of hers. I know that in the worst-case scenario they judge her, which always riles me up. I see these few disparagements as a rejection of our lifestyle, of someone i deeply love and, ultimately, me. Thankfully, these altercations are few, as most of my family members remain politely uncertain as to why someone would choose to "limit" themselves this way. My close family has grown accustomed to my girl's appearance and the occasional times i act in a dominant fashion towards her. A few have even inquired further, indulging in natural curiosities such oddities arouse, which have led to some gentle but eye opening discussions about power exchange. I value these opportunities to chat about SM with a selected set of family members because it allows me to be myself around them, more and more, but also gives me a thrill that i may provide insight into a way of life they themselves would enjoy. I can't be the only sadistic nut hanging from our family tree.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Sugasm #106
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 #107? 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
“Suck your man’s penis into your throat, and, while it is deep in, start to hum.”
“He knows my body p e r f e c t l y and knows exactly how to make me squirm with pleasure and always knows the right thing to say.”
“The excitement of sharing her, the excitement of my arousal THEORETICALLY should mean a heightening of our own sex life.”
Mr. Sugasm HimselfOur fearless leader tells me he’s crazy busy so I’m presenting one from the vaults.
Editor’s Choice
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Happy Spanksgiving
I'm grateful for many things that i've encountered since i first dropped the initial sentences in the url transformher.blogspot.com. I've met many great people who have visited my hovel, received an assortment of enlightening feedback, and expanded my own frontiers through the process of sharing my thoughts on my sexuality. I'll be traveling the entire week of Thanksgiving, and as a result will be out of touch with the three bits of enjoyment i mentioned above.
In the spirit of the season, i'll leave the reader with a list of links i take particular pride in but most importantly, instances that i'm very appreciative for because i have such an outlet in my life. Without further ado, i give spanks for the following posts:
Whereupon she says she needs it
I'm a generous and charitable man. When she pleads, i provide.
Those fleshy mounds are meant for something, no?
I look for a canvass where i can paint my customized mark upon flesh.
An outlet for my internal hypertension
I should fill out an application for canonization. She deserves it.
The few square inches this part of the female anatomy occupies does not hold up to my obsession with it
And how could it? No one could satisfy these kind of demands...or could they?
A simple correction
I expel my transgressions over a knee, and see if we can't arrive at some sort of compromise.
Happy Thanksgiving to my US readers, and a pleasant week to those in other regions.
In the spirit of the season, i'll leave the reader with a list of links i take particular pride in but most importantly, instances that i'm very appreciative for because i have such an outlet in my life. Without further ado, i give spanks for the following posts:
Whereupon she says she needs it
I'm a generous and charitable man. When she pleads, i provide.
Those fleshy mounds are meant for something, no?
I look for a canvass where i can paint my customized mark upon flesh.
An outlet for my internal hypertension
I should fill out an application for canonization. She deserves it.
The few square inches this part of the female anatomy occupies does not hold up to my obsession with it
And how could it? No one could satisfy these kind of demands...or could they?
A simple correction
I expel my transgressions over a knee, and see if we can't arrive at some sort of compromise.
Happy Thanksgiving to my US readers, and a pleasant week to those in other regions.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Self restraint
In the spring of 1994, i was diagnosed by my psychologist at the time with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Actually, she was testing me for Attention Deficit Disorder, but she had something up her sleeve i didn't know. I had anticipated that she was testing me for ADD, which she anticipated, confirming what her expert mind had long theorized. My first response when she told me that i had OCD was, "Well, duh, Doc." Not the hardest thing to notice about me.
I OBSESS. I obsess about obsessing. I do not have a severe form of the disorder where i need to have absolute, manic control of my environment - locking doors multiple times, scrubbing my hands arduously, following the exact same routine precisely to the letter - i have no impulse for any of that. But where OCD manifests itself in my sexuality is my unabashedly pinpoint and frighteningly precise attention to detail. I regularly notice when one of the girls in the office alters her hair color, her hair style, her makeup, even her perfume. I even notice when a girl who i encounter infrequently on the train platform waiting for the next one to arrive has changed something with her style. I'll usually offer this to them, to which they almost all bewilderedly confirm my hunch.
What is my point, you the reader, might be asking? I find something that entrances me, station myself in front of it, and then digest as much of the subject as possible.
My latest surfeit: self bondage
***I must preface the following, do NOT attempt this without the proper safety precautions installed. Safety and common sense is of the utmost importance when attempting any of what i'm about to discuss. I cannot stress this enough***
My recent splurge in the consumption of self bondage media happened innocently enough. I was browsing through YouTube looking for various mummification videos (there are some tremendous offerings and others that are just sadly disenchanting), when i came across an Italian girl who was interested in filming herself bagging for her boyfriend. This is an incredibly risky habit - INCREDIBLY - and if it appeared even remotely like she was at risk of putting herself in danger, the video would lose all of its appeal. It is not the danger or the risk that excites me. What got me aroused was that she was doing this for someone else.
I've controlled girls long distance before. The physical separation requires some creativity when trying to restrain the bottom. Obviously, i will not be able to bind her like i would if i were there, my shadow cast over her naked form. I quickly realized in these telephonic relationships that i would need to devise a way to imprison the girls in a thorough but safe way. I made the impediment simple, unobtrusive for safe activity like a chain collar, leather cuffs or - my favorite - a chastity belt. The situation called for real ingenuity when it came to the locking of these confinements. I devised on the low-tech end - freezing the keys for the lock in a jar of water - on the high end - a time safe. The stimulation for me came in the exact moment when the girl agreed to this arrangement, took my instructions and locked herself away.
A few days after i found the italian autorista, now in full slash and burn obsession mode, i came across some old Devonshire Productions videos that featured the beautiful Simone Devon herself. I couldn't control myself. My appetite had peaked for scenarios of auto-confinement, and Mme Devon had the goods.
One particular video had her starting on a bed, taking rope and binding her thighs, then her ankles, and anchoring this to a crotch rope. Next, she took a pair of handcuffs, thread these through the loops that she had made on the ass-side of the crotch rope. She produced throughout the restriction, the most adorable groans and whines. These reached a peak when she pulled out from her bag of toys a ball gag. She was about to pull off one of the most arousing gestures i've encountered in this genre: self-gagging. I turned up the volume. I wanted to hear every squeak, ever frustrated yet inflamed vocal struggle. She completed her bondage by laying on her stomach and locking her hands behind her back in a respectable but not completely orthodox hogtie.
That her struggles indicated an inability to free herself from this predicament was not what tickled my mental erogenous zones. It was the fact that the camera was clearly there indicating that someone was nearby, and that this girl had, for the audience, bound herself up. She would increase the bondage in the two subsequent segments, with the last one dousing me in erotic fever when she actually pulled a full leather hood over her head, entombing her entire crown in tight restrictive darkness.
I can understand why it exacts such a strong response from me. In my pursuit to transform the girl into a creature overflowing with my appetites and desires, to be able to witness her go step by step, putting herself in these shackles signifies the purest acceptance of my lessons. She's not only saying that she wants to be there, but she's actively stepping in front of a camera in order to document and declare her need to be there.
I OBSESS. I obsess about obsessing. I do not have a severe form of the disorder where i need to have absolute, manic control of my environment - locking doors multiple times, scrubbing my hands arduously, following the exact same routine precisely to the letter - i have no impulse for any of that. But where OCD manifests itself in my sexuality is my unabashedly pinpoint and frighteningly precise attention to detail. I regularly notice when one of the girls in the office alters her hair color, her hair style, her makeup, even her perfume. I even notice when a girl who i encounter infrequently on the train platform waiting for the next one to arrive has changed something with her style. I'll usually offer this to them, to which they almost all bewilderedly confirm my hunch.
What is my point, you the reader, might be asking? I find something that entrances me, station myself in front of it, and then digest as much of the subject as possible.
My latest surfeit: self bondage
***I must preface the following, do NOT attempt this without the proper safety precautions installed. Safety and common sense is of the utmost importance when attempting any of what i'm about to discuss. I cannot stress this enough***
My recent splurge in the consumption of self bondage media happened innocently enough. I was browsing through YouTube looking for various mummification videos (there are some tremendous offerings and others that are just sadly disenchanting), when i came across an Italian girl who was interested in filming herself bagging for her boyfriend. This is an incredibly risky habit - INCREDIBLY - and if it appeared even remotely like she was at risk of putting herself in danger, the video would lose all of its appeal. It is not the danger or the risk that excites me. What got me aroused was that she was doing this for someone else.
I've controlled girls long distance before. The physical separation requires some creativity when trying to restrain the bottom. Obviously, i will not be able to bind her like i would if i were there, my shadow cast over her naked form. I quickly realized in these telephonic relationships that i would need to devise a way to imprison the girls in a thorough but safe way. I made the impediment simple, unobtrusive for safe activity like a chain collar, leather cuffs or - my favorite - a chastity belt. The situation called for real ingenuity when it came to the locking of these confinements. I devised on the low-tech end - freezing the keys for the lock in a jar of water - on the high end - a time safe. The stimulation for me came in the exact moment when the girl agreed to this arrangement, took my instructions and locked herself away.
A few days after i found the italian autorista, now in full slash and burn obsession mode, i came across some old Devonshire Productions videos that featured the beautiful Simone Devon herself. I couldn't control myself. My appetite had peaked for scenarios of auto-confinement, and Mme Devon had the goods.
One particular video had her starting on a bed, taking rope and binding her thighs, then her ankles, and anchoring this to a crotch rope. Next, she took a pair of handcuffs, thread these through the loops that she had made on the ass-side of the crotch rope. She produced throughout the restriction, the most adorable groans and whines. These reached a peak when she pulled out from her bag of toys a ball gag. She was about to pull off one of the most arousing gestures i've encountered in this genre: self-gagging. I turned up the volume. I wanted to hear every squeak, ever frustrated yet inflamed vocal struggle. She completed her bondage by laying on her stomach and locking her hands behind her back in a respectable but not completely orthodox hogtie.
That her struggles indicated an inability to free herself from this predicament was not what tickled my mental erogenous zones. It was the fact that the camera was clearly there indicating that someone was nearby, and that this girl had, for the audience, bound herself up. She would increase the bondage in the two subsequent segments, with the last one dousing me in erotic fever when she actually pulled a full leather hood over her head, entombing her entire crown in tight restrictive darkness.
I can understand why it exacts such a strong response from me. In my pursuit to transform the girl into a creature overflowing with my appetites and desires, to be able to witness her go step by step, putting herself in these shackles signifies the purest acceptance of my lessons. She's not only saying that she wants to be there, but she's actively stepping in front of a camera in order to document and declare her need to be there.
Monday, November 12, 2007
In the eye of the beholder
"As soon as you make contact with your life’s passion — which can mean finding your vocation, your life partner or even your sexual identity — you are going to experience a kind of spiritual suffering until you act on that passion. That suffering is actually a form of divine motivation, urging you to pursue a more authentic life."—Caroline Myss
We speak of many physical purchases on these pages. If i'm not abstractly obsessing over the curves that spill over the female hip, i'm regaling those who read here on how something looks to the eye, feels to the touch, and even occasionally smells to the nostril. I will not take away any of the importance these sensual satisfactions provide my life, but i have always inwardly understood that i pursue my sadistic agenda to accomplish some level of metaphysical harmony.
I received the quote at the top from a very dear friend of mine, who thought i would relate to the words "spiritual", "suffering", and "divine". She couldn't have been more wrong. I don't relate to those words. I am those words - they inform every breath i ever make. The general impression floating around these here walls may be that i'm a little obsessed with kinkiness and sex - that needn't be corrected. The only thing that comes close if not outright exceeds it is my fixation on spirituality.
Music moves me. Stirs me. Gets behind every single red blood cell and pushes them through my veins with great velocity. In fact, after "The Great Minimization" of my material goods in 2004, the only music i owned, the only literature i put on my shelves, and the only movies i ever watch are those that deliver me to some euphoric level of consciousness. I meditate frequently, several times throughout the day. I'm not doing it so that i have clarity which then allows me to leap on the next big financial deal or to come up with the crucial missing piece for time travel. When i take a shower, i anxiously await the moment at the end where i train the stream of hot, cascading water down on the base of my neck. Somehow the heat penetrating this part of my body signals my internal anchorage to let go of every muscle, ligament and tissue - instantaneous out-of-body experience.
I feel the same raw expulsion of energy burst through me whenever i give in to the heady demands of a strenuous and intense bondage scene. At those moments when my chest buzzes with so much electricity as i gaze down at the prone feminine figure rendered so vulnerably by my hands and power, what i'm engaging in rises and ascends above the pure base act of intercourse. Communion, of two souls, who must use unconventional methods to slip out of the mortal cloaks hanging from their spines in order to momentarily exist outside the narrow, unnatural confines of their physical frames. Communion.
I seek the Divine in every gesture, mistake and moment of passion. In fact, one of my most frequently (and perhaps too frequently) stated idioms is "There is not enough beauty in this world. We must use every store of energy in our body to do what we can to rectify that."
For beauty reminds us of the Divine. Beauty brings the Divine closer to us. Beauty supersedes all other woes.
We speak of many physical purchases on these pages. If i'm not abstractly obsessing over the curves that spill over the female hip, i'm regaling those who read here on how something looks to the eye, feels to the touch, and even occasionally smells to the nostril. I will not take away any of the importance these sensual satisfactions provide my life, but i have always inwardly understood that i pursue my sadistic agenda to accomplish some level of metaphysical harmony.
I received the quote at the top from a very dear friend of mine, who thought i would relate to the words "spiritual", "suffering", and "divine". She couldn't have been more wrong. I don't relate to those words. I am those words - they inform every breath i ever make. The general impression floating around these here walls may be that i'm a little obsessed with kinkiness and sex - that needn't be corrected. The only thing that comes close if not outright exceeds it is my fixation on spirituality.
Music moves me. Stirs me. Gets behind every single red blood cell and pushes them through my veins with great velocity. In fact, after "The Great Minimization" of my material goods in 2004, the only music i owned, the only literature i put on my shelves, and the only movies i ever watch are those that deliver me to some euphoric level of consciousness. I meditate frequently, several times throughout the day. I'm not doing it so that i have clarity which then allows me to leap on the next big financial deal or to come up with the crucial missing piece for time travel. When i take a shower, i anxiously await the moment at the end where i train the stream of hot, cascading water down on the base of my neck. Somehow the heat penetrating this part of my body signals my internal anchorage to let go of every muscle, ligament and tissue - instantaneous out-of-body experience.
I feel the same raw expulsion of energy burst through me whenever i give in to the heady demands of a strenuous and intense bondage scene. At those moments when my chest buzzes with so much electricity as i gaze down at the prone feminine figure rendered so vulnerably by my hands and power, what i'm engaging in rises and ascends above the pure base act of intercourse. Communion, of two souls, who must use unconventional methods to slip out of the mortal cloaks hanging from their spines in order to momentarily exist outside the narrow, unnatural confines of their physical frames. Communion.
I seek the Divine in every gesture, mistake and moment of passion. In fact, one of my most frequently (and perhaps too frequently) stated idioms is "There is not enough beauty in this world. We must use every store of energy in our body to do what we can to rectify that."
For beauty reminds us of the Divine. Beauty brings the Divine closer to us. Beauty supersedes all other woes.
Friday, November 9, 2007
I'll assume i'm on the naughty list
Hardly long after the last plastic Lil Orphan Annie mask is discarded and the final Necco wafer has been scarfed at the conclusion of Halloween, are we suddenly inundated with the festive vandalism of Christmas green and red decorations stapled all over every disgruntled employee, surface and product. Coinciding this forced change of colors, i begin to receive the first of many requests from friends and relatives wanting me to compose my yuletide wishlist.
I don't care for this task whenever i receive it for two succinct reasons.
The first being that i don't like to accumulate "things". I long ago abandoned my childhood hobbies of collecting stamps, business cards and fossils. A half dozen years or so ago, i relinquished my shelves of most of my CD's, books and DVD's - a near total purge of my vast collection. My bare bones media library now consists of those options i turn to regularly, with views, reads or listens in the dozens or more for each that remain. I'm loathe to fill up a list with titles of movies that i will invariably only watch once or twice just so someone can include me in their holiday shopping.
The second reason i abhor this task is that the objects i would really want to ask for would most likely trigger Mr. Claus' (notoriously sensitive) naughty alarms, which would then result in not only me not getting these gifts, but me also suffering the intense, scornful gaze from family members at the eggnog bowl due to my audacious request. Let me state what might be the obvious: the items on this list would receive exponentially more use than all of the Da Vinci Code copies i've opened with a quickly following grimace ever did.
It's for this reason and because i don't feel i'll receive the same judgmental scrutiny here on my own site that i jot down the following "If-i-could-ask-for-anything-Xmas-list".
Dear Sanity Clause*,
I've been a really decent (and by decent i mean i have actually helped more elderly ladies across the street than those i've pushed down the stairs - i'm kidding!) boy this year, and i hear you reward those of us who are on our best behavior. Please find the following list of items as gentle suggestions to what i'd like to receive as payment for my year-long decency.
At the top of my list:
Ballet boots - I'd like a pair of Mary Janes, Gwendoline knee-high's, Justine thigh-high's - all patent black leather - and one pair of white patent Wanda's. Women's size US 81/2. Most of these can be found here.
Continuing on:
Latex gear - Corsets, hobble skirts, catsuits, mitts, straightjackets, inflatable butterfly gags, mummy bags, and hoods. I'm quite fond of the items at http://www.marquis.de/ and http://www.demask.com/, but i'm sure i'm not telling you anything you don't already know
Vacuum beds - These are a must-have item to properly store your toys, St. Nick. I leave you the following two illustrations that demonstrate what i mean.
Chick-wrapper - Kind of self explanatory, but i wouldn't want to deprive you of a proper image to stimulate your imagination. I thought the festive green color of the wrap was a nice touch from the folks at http://www.houseofgord.com/, don't you?
Fucking machine - i recently wrote about my passion for these here. Feel free to leave a comment if you're moved to, i love the feedback. Well, here's another photographic example of one of my favorite models, ms. mila from Insex.
This set-up is pretty close to the one i'd like, so there's no need to really go into detail when PD nearly perfected the arrangement.
The rest: (i can make just a quick list of them. I know you're busy, and i don't want to appear greedy)
a St. Andrew's Cross
a suspension frame
female chastity belt
1,000 yards of jute, hemp or cotton rope
a selection of gags, ring, inflatable, dental, etc.
2 pair of Large black leather police gloves
2 pair of Large black leather driving gloves
Oh, and one last thing, for the lass, a corset dress from Vollers.
I know it's a long list, do what you can with it. I'll make sure to leave some milk and cookies out because that's the kind of sport i am.
Happy Noel,
Deity
p.s. it's been a long year, i'm sure you're already exhausted, and it's not even December yet. Why don't you pick out something for you and Mrs. Bowl full o'jelly here. Go on, you deserve it.
*my sincerest apologies to the Marx Brothers, who i hold in the highest of esteem
I don't care for this task whenever i receive it for two succinct reasons.
The first being that i don't like to accumulate "things". I long ago abandoned my childhood hobbies of collecting stamps, business cards and fossils. A half dozen years or so ago, i relinquished my shelves of most of my CD's, books and DVD's - a near total purge of my vast collection. My bare bones media library now consists of those options i turn to regularly, with views, reads or listens in the dozens or more for each that remain. I'm loathe to fill up a list with titles of movies that i will invariably only watch once or twice just so someone can include me in their holiday shopping.
The second reason i abhor this task is that the objects i would really want to ask for would most likely trigger Mr. Claus' (notoriously sensitive) naughty alarms, which would then result in not only me not getting these gifts, but me also suffering the intense, scornful gaze from family members at the eggnog bowl due to my audacious request. Let me state what might be the obvious: the items on this list would receive exponentially more use than all of the Da Vinci Code copies i've opened with a quickly following grimace ever did.
It's for this reason and because i don't feel i'll receive the same judgmental scrutiny here on my own site that i jot down the following "If-i-could-ask-for-anything-Xmas-list".
Dear Sanity Clause*,
I've been a really decent (and by decent i mean i have actually helped more elderly ladies across the street than those i've pushed down the stairs - i'm kidding!) boy this year, and i hear you reward those of us who are on our best behavior. Please find the following list of items as gentle suggestions to what i'd like to receive as payment for my year-long decency.
At the top of my list:
Ballet boots - I'd like a pair of Mary Janes, Gwendoline knee-high's, Justine thigh-high's - all patent black leather - and one pair of white patent Wanda's. Women's size US 81/2. Most of these can be found here.
Continuing on:
Latex gear - Corsets, hobble skirts, catsuits, mitts, straightjackets, inflatable butterfly gags, mummy bags, and hoods. I'm quite fond of the items at http://www.marquis.de/ and http://www.demask.com/, but i'm sure i'm not telling you anything you don't already know
Vacuum beds - These are a must-have item to properly store your toys, St. Nick. I leave you the following two illustrations that demonstrate what i mean.
Chick-wrapper - Kind of self explanatory, but i wouldn't want to deprive you of a proper image to stimulate your imagination. I thought the festive green color of the wrap was a nice touch from the folks at http://www.houseofgord.com/, don't you?
Fucking machine - i recently wrote about my passion for these here. Feel free to leave a comment if you're moved to, i love the feedback. Well, here's another photographic example of one of my favorite models, ms. mila from Insex.
This set-up is pretty close to the one i'd like, so there's no need to really go into detail when PD nearly perfected the arrangement.
The rest: (i can make just a quick list of them. I know you're busy, and i don't want to appear greedy)
a St. Andrew's Cross
a suspension frame
female chastity belt
1,000 yards of jute, hemp or cotton rope
a selection of gags, ring, inflatable, dental, etc.
2 pair of Large black leather police gloves
2 pair of Large black leather driving gloves
Oh, and one last thing, for the lass, a corset dress from Vollers.
I know it's a long list, do what you can with it. I'll make sure to leave some milk and cookies out because that's the kind of sport i am.
Happy Noel,
Deity
p.s. it's been a long year, i'm sure you're already exhausted, and it's not even December yet. Why don't you pick out something for you and Mrs. Bowl full o'jelly here. Go on, you deserve it.
*my sincerest apologies to the Marx Brothers, who i hold in the highest of esteem
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Dom-i-Nation
When our schedules allow, we meet once a month, usually over a meal like two predators. On the surface, our appearance assumes that of two urban men who have commuted back to their neighborhood from work and are now relaxing by patronizing a local eatery. We do not have bags containing coils of rope, a collection of shackles, clamps or gags sitting at our feet, nor are there whips hanging from our belts. To look at us, you would never guess that our sexual proclivities involved the sado-masochistic actions we project onto our female partners nor that these activities made up the bulk of our discussions when we commune monthly. Luckily, our waitresses have not been in range to hear such words as "knifeplay", "breath control", "Shibari", or "nooses" to arouse suspicion.
I lose track of time when i meet with my dominant friend K. We could've just sat down, and in a flash, we will have digested three hours. One explanation for this comes from how engrossing our discussions tend to be. I have a limited number of people in my life i can stretch out a palaver over the issues arising in a power exchange. From our first conversation, i felt like i was swimming in an endless stream of water. On occasion, i needed to stick my head above the surface to breathe, otherwise, i was practicing a new form of respiration - fully submerged - one that i had not had the opportunity to try before. Most of my vanilla friends have no clue as to my sexuality, and those that do, treat it like something they'd wished never to gain more than the small inkling they possess. This has led me to filling up hundreds of notebooks with stories, fantasies, doubts, questions and one-sided dialogues in order to express the deep-seeded wellings of my psychology. With K, i not only gain the opportunity to receive experience-derived feedback, but i learn about an entirely different experience and approach to SM. And yet, there is much common ground between us, which makes our dialogue even more fulfilling.
We've recently turned our discussion to negotiating an evening of us together with our partners. I proposed the idea to K first, and him being the AMAZING sport that he is, accepted the offer. Since my girl reads this journal from time to time, i won't go into detail about what K and i have decided upon (i won't even apply the "my girl" label as i know she insists on reading those posts specifically). The negotiations themselves have been a learning process for me, bringing up all sorts of questions and uncertainties that i hadn't expected. Luckily, K has been more than forthcoming in letting me express these and respond with sincerity and understanding.
I suspect the girls (who also meet together, on their own) do not look upon these gatherings of two tops as being completely beneficial to their well-being. It's sort of tantamount to two super-powers gathering for a summit and exchanging methods (i.e. pillaging, plundering, raping) they use to carve up little nations in order to exploit their natural resources. But as K i'm sure would assert, we come in peace.
I lose track of time when i meet with my dominant friend K. We could've just sat down, and in a flash, we will have digested three hours. One explanation for this comes from how engrossing our discussions tend to be. I have a limited number of people in my life i can stretch out a palaver over the issues arising in a power exchange. From our first conversation, i felt like i was swimming in an endless stream of water. On occasion, i needed to stick my head above the surface to breathe, otherwise, i was practicing a new form of respiration - fully submerged - one that i had not had the opportunity to try before. Most of my vanilla friends have no clue as to my sexuality, and those that do, treat it like something they'd wished never to gain more than the small inkling they possess. This has led me to filling up hundreds of notebooks with stories, fantasies, doubts, questions and one-sided dialogues in order to express the deep-seeded wellings of my psychology. With K, i not only gain the opportunity to receive experience-derived feedback, but i learn about an entirely different experience and approach to SM. And yet, there is much common ground between us, which makes our dialogue even more fulfilling.
We've recently turned our discussion to negotiating an evening of us together with our partners. I proposed the idea to K first, and him being the AMAZING sport that he is, accepted the offer. Since my girl reads this journal from time to time, i won't go into detail about what K and i have decided upon (i won't even apply the "my girl" label as i know she insists on reading those posts specifically). The negotiations themselves have been a learning process for me, bringing up all sorts of questions and uncertainties that i hadn't expected. Luckily, K has been more than forthcoming in letting me express these and respond with sincerity and understanding.
I suspect the girls (who also meet together, on their own) do not look upon these gatherings of two tops as being completely beneficial to their well-being. It's sort of tantamount to two super-powers gathering for a summit and exchanging methods (i.e. pillaging, plundering, raping) they use to carve up little nations in order to exploit their natural resources. But as K i'm sure would assert, we come in peace.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Sugasm #104
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 #105? 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
Awkward Sex Attempts (and Other Common Experiences)
“This put a slight damper on the “sexy” feelings I was trying to work up.”
Do You Want Me To Call You A Whore?
“Who doesn’t like having their hair pulled during sex?”
Two Fer
“Neither of us heard the front door open when Jason’s roommate came home.”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
Girls and Guns
Editor’s Choice
Being a Feminist in the sex industry
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
BDSM & Fetish
Fucking machines
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Toying with her
I've been entirely obsessed with the idea of complete female immobilization and objectification. Engrossed and focused - purchased a one way ticket for the one-track mind express. Every inference of sexuality, every indulgence in a video from my collection, every plot twist/device/structure of erotica i've read involves some aspect of a girl's entrapment in extreme total bondage, and then put away for her internment, only to be used later - once her confinement has effectively altered her mind and transformed her into a willing and desirous object. Unfortunately, this pedestrian approach to providing me the necessary nutrient wasn't enough.
I took pen to paper. I started crafting a narrative involving the most convoluted story about a girl who inherits an estate, but in order to qualify for it, she must live precisely like the person who had bequeathed it to her. Of course, as was wont to happen in the Victorian era, it turns out this person lived her life as a household object, constantly confined to some body-entombing sarcophagi - as a lamp, as a table, as a statue, as a fountain, etc. The girl, in order to enjoy her outrageously vast inheritance, would have to endure similar bondage. I wrote quite extensively on the subject, going into great detail over each imprisoning contraption, and dissecting her gradual metamorphosis. All very enjoyable, but not nearly satisfying enough for me. I needed more.
I pulled out my sketch pad and drew out illustrations of the images salaciously tantalizing my mind. Contorted feminine bodies, held tightly by wicked bindings, forcing their forms into extreme curvatures and postures. Each drawing progressed the captured female towards a greater reduction of identity and autonomy. I'd stare at the page, stimulated by both the bold and shocking portrayal and the parade of ladies galloping by the windows of the cafe where i sat. I compared the two contrasting exhibitions: One had the girl restrained and manipulated, while the other was a free form of lithe limbs and flowing fabrics. Sitting there, i realized there was only one way i could find satisfaction.
------------------------------------------------------------------
She came into my study to ask a general question about my plans for the day. I smiled because it just so happened that i was about to embark on my plans for the day.
"I'm going to mummify you."
She looked at me with a precious desire to be interested in my agenda but with the body language that lacked the resolve. An embarkation of this sort was the furthest notion in her mind of what to do with her rainy weekend day. Acknowledging her reticence, i proceeded.
I arranged her on the edge of the bed, positioning her so that her naked body faced me, legs hanging over the side. I told her to bend her arms closed, laying her palms against her shoulders, which held her elbows aloft and pointed out. I grabbed the readied roll of shrinkwrap and began to encase her folded limbs in tight layers of plastic. Her hands sandwiched against her sternum, giving her the appearance of wings. I rolled the shrinkwrap over her chest, making sure to carve out exposure to her tits. Soon, her upper torso, rising up to her neck was completely cocooned in plastic. I then began to apply strips of black duct tape, which immediately erased the human quality of her features seen through the sheer layers of shrinkwrap. Each strip got meticulous application, to ensure the tightest seal, but to also allow the easiest escape should an emergency arise. Her armless, winged figure sat before me, taunting me with the voluptuous white droplets of her tits, a significant counterpoint to her now, blackened flesh. On to her head.
Her head. I always tend to leave this part for last. At this point, her confinement could resemble that of one locked in a nautical life vest - incapacitating, mildly inconvenient. The step of coating her head in thick anonymizing layers always ramps up the objectification. I put between her lips a piece of one inch PVC pipe, cut two inches in length, which had a long leather chord knotted around it, when anchored to the back of her head, holds the piece of pipe in place. I methodically spread constricting layers of plastic over her cranium, which covered up every millimeter of skin. The only access to her upper body remained her mouth held open by the round plastic tube and, of course, her exposed tits.
The first strip of black duct tape went over her shrink wrap-coated eyes, which symbolically put my girl away. I made quick work of the rest of her head, smoothing the foot long segments of tape to the skin-tight plastic skullcap. I coated her entire head and her neck, joining this cocoon with the one on her upper torso. I left the final encapsulating touches to the area where her mouth lay beneath, and the breathing pipe gag jutted out. By the time that i am satisfied with the entombment, there is no visual evidence of a human girl lying beneath these multiple layers. No, what remains is my transformed fucktoy.
I left the fucktoy lie for a period of time, returning to the work that had my attention when my girl had initially interrupted. I checked on the stationary object every ten minutes, to monitor all vital signs. A half hour into this session, i carried a digital camera with me on my rounds. I took a dozen photos of the inanimate toy lying completely still, breathing a heavy gust through the black tube of a mouth. The thing i enjoyed the most about taking these photos was due to her complete sensory deprivation, my girl had no clue i was clicking away with a camera until i showed her a few hours after her release. I put the camera within a few inches of the toy's face, and it gave no indication of sensing the flash exploding all over its black duct tape epidermal. I left the toy lying there a bit longer.
No longer able nor willing to withhold myself, i re-entered the room where my toy lay, surveying the state of its immobilization. I pulled back the covers that had served to keep the toy warm, exposing its naked, glistening cunt into the open air. I ratcheted up a vibrating g-spot stimulator, touching it to the exposed flesh of my toy's tits. I moved it quickly to the folds of the moist vulva pointing up at me. Parting the thick fleshy lips, i moved the vibrating penetration deep inside, pushing it up against the thick, spongy g-spot. My fucktoy reacted, lifting its hips in the air, its winged limbs fluttering a momentary desperation. I reached for a bullet-sized vibrator, applying this to my fucktoy's blushing and engorged clitoris. I palmed the large intruder, stroking it against the hungry internal humpspot, while tracing circles around the flaming pink mound of skin with the vibrating bullet. Locating a rhythm, i rode my toy with this onslaught until it erupted into hip-thrusting convulsions. I spoke to the thing jerking in my hands, asking it if it was my hole, my fuckslut, my cunt. Gasps of exasperated accord and exclamation burst out of the plastic tube jutting out of my toy's mouth.
I withdrew all mechanical forms of stimulation off of the throbbing sex organ, watching the tape-encased form shudder beneath me with erotic confinement. I pulled out my own erect and throbbing member, and extrapolated punctuation on what was the cap of an entirely fulfilling afternoon.
I leave the reader with the following two photos that document a little of what i enjoyed this afternoon (touched up for aesthetic reasons).
I took pen to paper. I started crafting a narrative involving the most convoluted story about a girl who inherits an estate, but in order to qualify for it, she must live precisely like the person who had bequeathed it to her. Of course, as was wont to happen in the Victorian era, it turns out this person lived her life as a household object, constantly confined to some body-entombing sarcophagi - as a lamp, as a table, as a statue, as a fountain, etc. The girl, in order to enjoy her outrageously vast inheritance, would have to endure similar bondage. I wrote quite extensively on the subject, going into great detail over each imprisoning contraption, and dissecting her gradual metamorphosis. All very enjoyable, but not nearly satisfying enough for me. I needed more.
I pulled out my sketch pad and drew out illustrations of the images salaciously tantalizing my mind. Contorted feminine bodies, held tightly by wicked bindings, forcing their forms into extreme curvatures and postures. Each drawing progressed the captured female towards a greater reduction of identity and autonomy. I'd stare at the page, stimulated by both the bold and shocking portrayal and the parade of ladies galloping by the windows of the cafe where i sat. I compared the two contrasting exhibitions: One had the girl restrained and manipulated, while the other was a free form of lithe limbs and flowing fabrics. Sitting there, i realized there was only one way i could find satisfaction.
------------------------------------------------------------------
She came into my study to ask a general question about my plans for the day. I smiled because it just so happened that i was about to embark on my plans for the day.
"I'm going to mummify you."
She looked at me with a precious desire to be interested in my agenda but with the body language that lacked the resolve. An embarkation of this sort was the furthest notion in her mind of what to do with her rainy weekend day. Acknowledging her reticence, i proceeded.
I arranged her on the edge of the bed, positioning her so that her naked body faced me, legs hanging over the side. I told her to bend her arms closed, laying her palms against her shoulders, which held her elbows aloft and pointed out. I grabbed the readied roll of shrinkwrap and began to encase her folded limbs in tight layers of plastic. Her hands sandwiched against her sternum, giving her the appearance of wings. I rolled the shrinkwrap over her chest, making sure to carve out exposure to her tits. Soon, her upper torso, rising up to her neck was completely cocooned in plastic. I then began to apply strips of black duct tape, which immediately erased the human quality of her features seen through the sheer layers of shrinkwrap. Each strip got meticulous application, to ensure the tightest seal, but to also allow the easiest escape should an emergency arise. Her armless, winged figure sat before me, taunting me with the voluptuous white droplets of her tits, a significant counterpoint to her now, blackened flesh. On to her head.
Her head. I always tend to leave this part for last. At this point, her confinement could resemble that of one locked in a nautical life vest - incapacitating, mildly inconvenient. The step of coating her head in thick anonymizing layers always ramps up the objectification. I put between her lips a piece of one inch PVC pipe, cut two inches in length, which had a long leather chord knotted around it, when anchored to the back of her head, holds the piece of pipe in place. I methodically spread constricting layers of plastic over her cranium, which covered up every millimeter of skin. The only access to her upper body remained her mouth held open by the round plastic tube and, of course, her exposed tits.
The first strip of black duct tape went over her shrink wrap-coated eyes, which symbolically put my girl away. I made quick work of the rest of her head, smoothing the foot long segments of tape to the skin-tight plastic skullcap. I coated her entire head and her neck, joining this cocoon with the one on her upper torso. I left the final encapsulating touches to the area where her mouth lay beneath, and the breathing pipe gag jutted out. By the time that i am satisfied with the entombment, there is no visual evidence of a human girl lying beneath these multiple layers. No, what remains is my transformed fucktoy.
I left the fucktoy lie for a period of time, returning to the work that had my attention when my girl had initially interrupted. I checked on the stationary object every ten minutes, to monitor all vital signs. A half hour into this session, i carried a digital camera with me on my rounds. I took a dozen photos of the inanimate toy lying completely still, breathing a heavy gust through the black tube of a mouth. The thing i enjoyed the most about taking these photos was due to her complete sensory deprivation, my girl had no clue i was clicking away with a camera until i showed her a few hours after her release. I put the camera within a few inches of the toy's face, and it gave no indication of sensing the flash exploding all over its black duct tape epidermal. I left the toy lying there a bit longer.
No longer able nor willing to withhold myself, i re-entered the room where my toy lay, surveying the state of its immobilization. I pulled back the covers that had served to keep the toy warm, exposing its naked, glistening cunt into the open air. I ratcheted up a vibrating g-spot stimulator, touching it to the exposed flesh of my toy's tits. I moved it quickly to the folds of the moist vulva pointing up at me. Parting the thick fleshy lips, i moved the vibrating penetration deep inside, pushing it up against the thick, spongy g-spot. My fucktoy reacted, lifting its hips in the air, its winged limbs fluttering a momentary desperation. I reached for a bullet-sized vibrator, applying this to my fucktoy's blushing and engorged clitoris. I palmed the large intruder, stroking it against the hungry internal humpspot, while tracing circles around the flaming pink mound of skin with the vibrating bullet. Locating a rhythm, i rode my toy with this onslaught until it erupted into hip-thrusting convulsions. I spoke to the thing jerking in my hands, asking it if it was my hole, my fuckslut, my cunt. Gasps of exasperated accord and exclamation burst out of the plastic tube jutting out of my toy's mouth.
I withdrew all mechanical forms of stimulation off of the throbbing sex organ, watching the tape-encased form shudder beneath me with erotic confinement. I pulled out my own erect and throbbing member, and extrapolated punctuation on what was the cap of an entirely fulfilling afternoon.
I leave the reader with the following two photos that document a little of what i enjoyed this afternoon (touched up for aesthetic reasons).
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