The first thing I ever saw of E was his toned, pale ass.  As instructed, he was on all fours facing the window and my favorite champagne was chilling on the table.  Isobel (a kinky acquaintance) and I changed from street clothes to gloves and corsetry, et cetera before sitting down to observe our slave-for-the-evening.  Neither of us had met him before but he came with trusted references and an impressive openness to experimentation.  Fresh out of a bad marriage, he could have bought a motor cycle or grown his hair long but instead put his hand up for an ass-fucking by two unknowns.  We didn’t let on but we were impressed–he’d followed our instructions exactly.  He’d gotten a hotel room at the requested establishment, acquired a specific vintage of Laurent Perrier and Marcolini chocolate, and was ready and waiting when we arrived.  He’d told us that this was going to be his first experience as a submissive and requested that we be gentle, especially with any strap-on activity.

One of the purposes of the evening was for me to try out a strap-on.  Isobel had done it many times and when we came up with the idea of playing together, I said I wanted to learn. It was a personal play date and a chance to do whatever I wanted.  Still, I’m always cautious about other people’s boundaries/limits, while Isobel couldn’t care less.  She openly admitted that if someone doesn’t please her or do what she likes, she just gets rid of them.  Her approach to domination is more like annihilation–if you’re a slave you have no boundaries or limits, that’s why you’re a slave. Philosophically, she has a point and the truth is that our prior communications with E didn’t delude him into thinking that we’d be gentle or considerate.  Still, I feared for E’s ass on his behalf and decided to be a little bit of a buffer by fucking him first.  It was interesting, not really erotic but clearly a powerful act.  I didn’t push it too far and E seemed ok, although he wanted a cigarette pretty desperately afterward.  Then I sat back with a drink to watch the other two.  Isobel’s strap on was quite a bit larger than mine. She took a hold of the collar around E’s neck before inching in from behind, while he gasped for air out of nervousness.  It wasn’t funny but it was.  A few minutes later he let out a really loud scream and I could tell that it wasn’t from pleasure.  There was some commotion and he ran to the bathroom in a panic.  Although anal play can hurt if not done carefully, it’s rarely physically dangerous.  I told him he’d be ok and he said he was fine but that he didn’t think ass fucking was for him.  Glad he tried it though.

I found an interesting article on sexuality and sociopathy recently.  Sociopathworld was created by a self-proclaimed/confessed sociopath advocating the acceptance of sociopaths’ viewpoints on life–it makes fascinating reading.  Sociopaths lack the ability to feel emotion in the way that ‘neuro-typical’ people do and have no sense of empathy, identity or commitment outside of their own agenda.   I’ve a particular interest in this pathology, along with narcisissm, having crossed paths with a number of these folks and their self-interest.  The tendency toward highly rational and logical thinking is something I find attractive, along with their propensity for risk-taking and indestructibility.  They also seem to get by without much sleep.  Ultimately though, if you’re a person with actual feelings, any attachment to someone without them is a slippery slope.

I recently had an interlude with a sociopath.  He was particularly charming and quickly identified my needs and desires and adapted to them.  I had the feeling all along that he wasn’t completely sincere in what he was saying, but said to myself that that could be many people.  He was overly complimentary, obliging and considerate.  Other warning signs were there: prior gambling addiction replaced by heavy smoking, extreme risk-taking in business and persinal activities, sexual promiscuity, infidelity.  He was also very funny, energetic, dynamic and capable.  He was honest about what he had to offer, I’ll give him that.  But I soon caught him out in a complex and detailed lie and confronted him on it, only to have him deny everything before saying he didn’t have time to deal with these sorts of things.  It was bemusing and somewhat annoying to have what seemed like a good thing, ruined.  I guess it never really was what I thought it was anyway.  Here’s an academic essay on the sociobiology of sociopathy.

I’ve been going through some old emails and found one from a former patron that I thought I’d share.  This blog has, for me, been an experiment in personal expression and a way to solidify my beliefs about what I do.  It’s been pretty cathartic, actually.  Still, there’s a lot I leave out for reasons of self-preservation, so it’s impossible to get across a complete picture.  I’ve decided to start separating my professional site from this one, so I can be a bit more open and personal here.  We’ll see how that goes…

I’ll preface this excerpt by saying that the author was prone to extremes of romantic flattery but I still take the following as a great compliment.  It was written in the middle of last year and I think what he says was true at the time.

“S–I love that you are “overtly smutty.”  I finally see something about you. Most people use blogs and networking sites to create a persona, an avatar that represents their ideal of themselves or someone they wish they were courageous enough to be. These people are often disappointing when you meet and “unmask” them. You on the other hand are the opposite. You expose the raw inner self – you try on your “outrageous” statements as a test – not for others but you want to see if you yourself believe these things when you hear yourself saying them. Your “real world” persona therefor is much softer and more complex than the Avatar. You are like a wine with absolutely superb tannin - a little stringent at first taste but you leave a lingering aftertaste that grows and expands in complexity and opens up as it does with more and more gentle flavor every moment one lets you linger on the pallet.”

I didn’t expect to like E all that much after our hotel session (see post of Feb 5) but thought it was worth meeting him for a drink anyway.  That’s what you get for judging a book by its cover, or its naked-on-all-fours submissivemeness, in this case.  He turned out to be anything but submissive in person.  Full of funny stories, engaging, perceptive, open-minded and sexually coherent.  Given his all-out willingness to be dominated by two unknown entities (Isobel and I), I felt good about turning the tables and seeing what he had to offer on the dominant side.

He was no longer a stranger by the time I found myself underneath him with his hands around my throat, the possibility of air making it’s way through the compressed tube of my oesphageus increasingly unlikely.  Just as the room around me started to fade into a black nothing, I pulled at his wrist and he let go.  “You could….” my words trailed off.  “I could what?” he asked.  “You could kill me” I said.  And no one would know.  Ok, I know this is a bit dramatic, but it’s what crossed my mind.  I found the idea intriguing rather than frightening.

It took some time to like having sex with E–at first I didn’t expect it would ever be good.  But the more times we met, the harder his cock seemed to get and the more I wanted it.  We moved in and out of roleplay easily so when I received a text telling me to get downtowm to a particular lingerie store, I just did it.  The instructions were to talk to Tracy, the sales assistant, upon arrival.  I’ve no idea what he’d said to her over the phone but she wasn’t particularly welcoming or helpful.  Perhaps pretty lingerie is just for nice girls who have missionary position sex.  I picked out five things and tried them on, according to further text instructions, and asked Tracy if she’d mind photographing me in each one, so I could send the pics to my boyfriend.  She declined and I took my own pics.  E picked out a few things via email and Tracy rang them up.  Next instructons were for the following day–I was to arrive at his apartment at 6am in the purchases, a coat, and nothing else.  It was 30 degree day in NYC and the wind and cold permeated my every fiber as I waited for a cab.  It was worth it, I told myself, to be able to turn up as expected.  I find perverse joy in following instructions perfectly.  Alas, E was in the shower and had left the front door ajar and my suffering went unappreciated.  I took the coat off and was left in bra and (if you can call them) knickers (basically three pieces of string).  And heels.   I laid out the tools of my impending punishment; a flogger, a paddle and a crop, then tied a blindfold over my eyes and stood, hands over head, against the mirrored wardrobe.  I heard the shower turn off and the beeps of his phone in the bathroom, then the door opening and the padding of his feet on the carpet as he crossed the room.  He lit a cigarette and I imagine, examined the girl in his room under the bright sunlight that poured in from the terrace.  My irritation at being up so early subsided and turned to excitement and arousal.  This is my kind of submission: sexual control and objectification.  I felt a finger run down my back and over my butt before the sting of his hand slapping my ass hard brought back the harsh reality of the early hour.  He proceeded to hit me with the tools I had laid out, but not very well.  It’s a treat to receive skilled corporeal punishment and something that takes time and effort to perfect.  I’m still working on it.  The eroticism in being dominated comes from true control–it’s best to find your skill and refine it. E did not warm up and his strokes were sloppy. The impact of a spanking or flogging comes from the slow building of tension, from the giving and deprivation of pleasure, from pushing just beyond the receiver’s threshold.  A kiss alone is nothing compared to a kiss following fifty lashes, just as the pain of crop hitting the skin is much more intense after that skin has been touched softly.  I think he got the idea that it wasn’t happening and removed my blindfold, kissed me a little, said he needed to learn more before he hit me again.  I respect that and feel the same way–one of the main reasons that I submit is so I can learn to dominate well.

As we sat on the floor talking E put his hands around my throat.  This time I tried to relax as much as possible, submitting completely to the pressure until a black film clouded my mind.  The next thing I felt was my body shaking.  I didn’t know what was going on except that I could feel the shaking but do nothing about it.  I opened my eyes to find myself lying on the floor, asking what happened.  I’d passed out, only for a minute and my muscles had reacted in spasm. Were he not a medical professional, I might have been more concerned. I actually felt pretty relaxed afterward and crawled over to the bed, beckoning E to join me.  This time he fucked me as he restricted my breath.  It was kind of like being fucked for the first time–completely consuming.  We were there for a while, fucking and choking and I let go more than I have in a long time during sex.  I ran my nails down his back and with each scratch, he yelled in pleasure.  I’m more of a quiet player but I kind of like hearing other people let it out.  When he left, every inch of his back was streaked with red.

Sex Histories of American College Men was written by Doctors Phyllis and Eberhard Kronhausen in 1960 (Ballantine Books, NY).  It’s based mainly on the personal histories of around two hundred students at an all-male college where Phyllis Kronhausen taught a Marriage and Family Life Education course during the 1950s.  The following excerpt is a quotation from one student in  a chapter entitled ‘Sex Without Love’:

While I was”playing” around with other girls during my relationship with ____, I learned much more about sex in a practical manner.  As I mentioned before, I went to dancing school after the regular high school day.  There, all kinds of girls took lessons.  I found many of these girls were wild.  One of the other boys in the dancing class told me of his experience with a girl named _____. He related to me how easy it was for him to get anything he wanted from her.  He was now finished with her, and told me that I could get her to like me quite easily.  He was right, for in a few days I was making out with her up on the roof of the building …She invited me over to her house one night so that we could get to know each other better …Within ten minutes after arriving, I had removed every vestige of clothing from her body.  It was the first time I had ever seen a girl’s body in the nude.  I petted with her below the waist, which was also a first for me.  The thing I remember most about that evening was how disgusted I was with that particular sexual play.  I nearly vomited from the feeling I experienced.  Suddenly, she unzipped my pants, and proceeded to masturbate me.  I rather enjoyed this compared to what had transpired before this.

After this night I never went to her house again because I had definite guilt feelings about having sex with a tramp.  A marked change had come over me because of the influence that she had exerted over me.  I now felt that it was much better to have sexual experiences with nice girls instead of tramps.  And although I still had the utmost respect for nice girls, I wouldn’t hestitate to have sex with them (p215).

And:

One further statement about my beliefs about girls and how you should act towards them.  When I meet the girl I want to get married to and spend the rest of my life with, there won’t be anything I won’t do for her.  In other words, that’s the time that I’m going to change my whole attitude.  No longer will I say that my happiness comes first, and no one else matters, because my wife’s happiness will be my happiness (p217).

I’d love to hear some some thoughts and reactions to this little gem…