I recently photographed a friend and fellow kinkster, Sassy.  Check out the pics at Little Lamb.

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 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.

I found myself at a midtown hotel one recent evening, with two dominatrices, a gentleman submissive and several hundred feet of rope.  It was going to be an entertaining few hours…

Miss VictoriaX answered the door, a sparkle in her eye.  She’d already spent several hours with Charles that day, shopping at Leatherman and lunching, and they now stood attached via a metal ball clamp and leash.  I was invited in along with Miss Eliza, who was also joining the scene (see her post on it here).

This was the first time I’d been involved in a bdsm scene with pro dommes and wasn’t sure what to expect.  Uncertain of whether I should speak to the submissive, I kept quiet. Victoria’s style turned out to be quite relaxed and we all took a seat in the living area, conversing about the hotel decor and the benefits of a metal ball clamp over other types.  It was rectangular in shape, locked by a large metal key that hung around Victoria’s neck.  Charles was relagated to the floor and his hands tied to the leg of the sofa.  The plan was that he would be a model for a bondage demonstration–the ladies had kindly offered to share some of their expertise with me.

We started with some basic wrist and ankle binds, Eliza and Victoria showing their versions then me having a go.  Both of these women are very smart, accomplished and free from pretense, neither fitting the sterotypical image of a latex-clad dominatrix barking orders and humiliating her subject (not to detract from the legitimacy of humiliation as a technique).  Nor did Charles seem particularly submissive, for a submissive.  He struck me as an articulate and worldly guy who was there for the sensory and pyschological journey, rather than out of masochistic need. He graciously responded to all requests and endured discomfort without complaint, but there wasn’t so much a sense of servitude as an understanding.  It was subtle(ball clamp notwithstanding)–roles had been defined and were inhabited freely and willingly.

Eliza and Victoria demonstrated their versions of a cock bind.  I’ve always been a bit of a minimalist and liked the idea that one item, rope, could serve so many purposes.  I tried my own cock bind, which wasn’t bad for a first try.  It occured to me that three women making art of a naked man might have resulted in burning at the stake in another time.  Following some head and face bondage, safety foremost in mind, Charles was moved to the bed and stretched out, spreadeagle.  The room fixtures at the Royalton lend themselves perfectly to activities of the rope, with circular curtain rod hooks and a bedhead design providing sturdy anchor points.  I got to do some freestyle creation and wanted to make something pretty.  With rope rigged from four corners and two sides of the room, attaching to one or another of Charles’ limbs, it was time for Eliza and I to depart and leave the other two to the rest of their evening.  That final image has stayed with me, it reminded me of a gentleman I tied up quite some time ago.  Although I was physcially in control, mentally he was unshakable.  I liked that.

This shibari tie is known as the Gunslinger.  Rope is secured diagonally across each hip, creating a secure bind from which to suspend your model.  Photo Jan Baracz   Rope work Dov