Tuesday, January 31, 2012

We can never know about the days to come
But we think about them anyway, yay
And I wonder if I'm really with you now
Or just chasin' after some finer day

Anticipation, anticipation
Is makin' me late
Is keepin' me waitin'

    --  Carly Simon - Anticipation

Monday, January 30, 2012

Many things can change and mostly they do. . .

Music for Monday - Dead Can Dance

Some of our favorite music for lovemaking and BDSM scenes is performed by Dead Can Dance . . .

Dead Can Dance is an interesting group, their music is very eclectic, often ethereal, and always entertaining.  The band is made up of Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry, with a rotating cast of supporting musicians accompanying the core duo.  We've written and shared Dead Can Dance music on two prior occasions - free music for your BDSM scenes and a gift of scene music.

The attached YouTube video is from the Toward The Within, a film made about the band that is mostly a live performance, with a few interviews.  
Skip ahead in the video to the 22 minute and 40 second mark to get a good idea of what Serafina and I enjoy for BDSM playtime music.  Another tune that illustrates what I love best about the band starts 38 minutes and 20 seconds into the video, and a third great example starts at 43 minutes and 40 seconds.

The sounds and instruments are exotic, the rhythmic percussion becomes infectious, they build to a frenetic pace that's perfect (in my opinion) to accompany a peak flogging or other intense sexual moment.

Serafina absolutely loves Brendan Perry's voice, she says it's rich resonance reminds her of my singing voice.  Who am I to argue?  I take it as a great compliment  I mean, at one point in life my coworkers called me the "singing chef" - and Perry is absolutely glorious to sing along with as I drive . . .

I think Lisa Gerrard's voice is just as entrancing.  Her unaccompanied voice singing "The Wind That Shakes the Barley" is prone to bringing a tear the wizened old eyes of a dom I know very well, admittedly the song's topic has something to do with that.

The fairly brief movie gives and idea of breadth and range of music produced by Dead Can Dance, but it misses many of our personal favorites, there's much more to explore . . .
Your desires are never the problem. It's only how you act, based on your desires.

    -- Stephen Elliott

shamelessly nicked from the always voluptuous - Curvaceous Dee!

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Samadhi, that's Italian?

If you've read even a few of my postings, you know I almost always have an odd story to tell, and today's no different.  Perhaps, it might be said, that today's post is odder than most, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and truth is almost always stranger than fiction . . .

Anyway, the other day I'm wading through my email inbox, deleting spam that slipped by the filters, responding to friends, when I see a subject that was not at all familiar.  It read . .
"sono una donna matura desidero essere schiavizzata"
Now, French I can read, that was one of the few things in my favor when considering immigration to Canada, you get a bonus from Canadian immigration authorities for speaking both of their native tongues, a language combination I call Frenglish.

I guarantee that message ain't Frenglish, and it doesn't look like German or Spanish either!

Fortunately, it's easy to translate foreign language phrases online these days, and online translators are smart enough that finding a translation didn't require any guessing on my part, it knew the note I had was written in Italian.  And the translator said that my message read . . .
are a mature woman want to be enslaved
Well, that translation made perfect sense, and it explained the naked photo of a middle aged woman I found attached.

And while I'm flattered certainly by the offer (kinda - maybe - ok not so much) I'm certainly not in the market to add another international slave to the household.  I mean I've already been grilled by the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement people over bringing my one true love here from Canada, it was a nerve wracking experience, and we'd done almost everything right, all our paperwork was perfectly "by the book" . . .

I mean do I give the impression that I run the local office of "Slaves Without Borders" or something?

And I have to be honest, this wasn't the first time I'd had mail show up in Italian.


Not that long ago I'd read a worldwide poll reporting that German girls are the kinkiest, that they have the highest percentage of interest in BDSM and fetish activities.  Another ethnic group showing up high on the chart were Hebrews, although I wasn't clear if they meant just individuals from Israel or otherwise.  The Netherlands was also high on the list if I remember correctly, not a huge surprise considering the fair city of Amsterdam is known not only for it's hashish bars, but also for it's red light district.

Ladies from Italy barely made the lowest of the low poll numbers, I think they were neck and neck with countries where Islam is practiced.  I mean the relative lack of kink in Muslim countries makes sensein a way to me, who needs restraints and paddles if the mere glance of a woman's face is considered risque.

All the thoughts about Hebrews and Muslims are not what's terribly important to my point, although it does give hints as to which side of that deadly divide has more fun in my eyes, Hookahs and Harems notwithstanding.  Nope, sorry, I digress.  My real point is that Italian women didn't show up as being incredibly kink oriented.

But I get ladies from Italy writing . . .

It dawned on me the other day why this was happening.  It's the name, because Samadhi ends with an "i", it looks Italian to some eyes.  Ferrari, Puccini, Guicci, Lamborghini, Giovanni, Alighieri, DeVinci, Vanzetti, Brunetti, Sisti, Antonelli, Parducci, Piccirilli, not to mention Manicotti (yum) - all Italian names ending in "i" - and that list is like the bite of a horsehair whip, it barley scratches the surface!

So let clarify.  The name "Samadhi" is actually Sanskrit in it's origin.  I've bestowed myself with a name, a word from a dead language.

When I first became interested in the combination of BDSM and Tantra, back around 1990, I began by studying a variety of texts on Tantric Buddhism.  There I ran across the term "Samadhi" which I was told translated to mean "peaceful transcendental bliss".  Today, thanks to the wizards of Wikipedia, I can present a more complete description.

Samadhi (Sanskrit: समाधि) in Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism and yogic schools is a higher level of concentrated meditation, or dhyāna. In the yoga tradition, it is the eighth and final limb identified in the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali.
It has been described as a non-dualistic state of consciousness in which the consciousness of the experiencing subject becomes one with the experienced object, and in which the mind becomes still, one-pointed or concentrated while the person remains conscious. In Buddhism, it can also refer to an abiding in which mind becomes very still but does not merge with the object of attention, and is thus able to observe and gain insight into the changing flow of experience.
Back in 1990 it wasn't a word you'd run across commonly.  That's less true today, as I see things like "Samadhi Yoga Center" and other uses of the word showing up commercially in some larger cities.

So just to be clear, the name's Samadhi, it's the Buddhist name I've adopted.   I'm sorry to disappoint the small but apparently unfulfilled population of lovely Italian ladies in need of a Master.  There's no "International House of Slavegirls" in my basement.

Serafina needs and deserves all my time and attention until she's ready to try her hand at also being a Domme, and then we'll see how she'd like to play.

At that point, if she and I were looking, I know the goal would be neither Italian nor German nor Dutch, and neither Hebrew nor Christian nor Muslum nor Buddhist.  Nope, none of that would matter in the ultimate search.

We'd be stalking the most exotic and elusive creature of them all, the Perfect Unicorn!

strip steaks sizzling on the the indoor grille
Have a great Sunday, my dear readers and friends.

I'll be putting on the Chef's hat again later before tonight's Pro-Bowl football game. I'll be grilling up some nice thick Ribeye steaks, with sides of baby 'Bella mushrooms sauteed in garlic butter, and loaded baked potatoes.

Wish you were here!


Are you "Guys and Dolls" or "Gone With the Wind"???

An old friend, one of the few people I'm in contact with from my school days, had an interesting question for their status at that popular social networking site with "Face" in it's title . . .

There are a lot of different ways to go with this one, it can be good fun, so please take just a moment and participate with a comment . . . 

Describe your sex life with a movie title . . . 


I went with . . .

Hang "Em High!


Well before we met, she would have said . . .

Much Ado About Nothing!

Thankfully, now that we've found each other, the title she'd choose would not be so bleak . . .

Her current choice?

The Thrill of It All!

So please, dear reader, take a moment to ponder what movie title might best describe your sex life, and then share it here with a comment.

What movie title best describes your sex life?
Hey I was just a skinny lad
Never knew no good from bad
But I knew love before I left my nursery
Left alone with big fat Fanny
She was such a naughty nanny
Heap big woman you made a bad boy out of me

    --  Freddie Mercury

Saturday, January 28, 2012

come on over for breakfast!

The dish is called "Prime Rib Hash" - Finely diced Prime Rib of Beef sauteed w/ fresh ground garlic, diced onion, and other assorted seasonings.  It's lightly browned before adding potatoes.  

I can never give exact measurements for seasonings, as I always flavor to taste, and I use whatever seasonings are close at hand that will fit the bill.  If I'd have had some Bell Peppers available, they also make a nice addition, as they add color, texture, and nutrient value.

I usually use diced 'taters with this recipe. I used to call the style "cottage fried potatoes" - but when you have fresh shredded hash browns available like today, they serve just as well.

Even when I was a chef, we'd adapt and adopt recipes to fit the best ingredients at hand, I see no reason to do it differently in my home.

Additional compliment of two eggs in a Sunny-Side Up styling.

The battery want kaput on the good Nikon camera just as Serafina was shooting some pics of my work at the stove.  So, to produce these shots of the final meal, we had to hustle and capture these images instead with a cell phone camera.

I usually let Serafina do the majority of the cooking, growing up as the eldest in a large family, she had to learn to cook form an early age, so her kitchen skills rival or exceed my own.  She's definitely a better Baker than I'll ever become too.  But on the weekends, especially for breakfast, I do enjoy stepping in to make a tasty treat for my slave/wife.  She deserves it!

Not today, but upon occasion, I'll prepare only a single plate for the meal.  Serafina then knows she'll be kneeling at my feet, and I'll be feeding her from my own plate, off of my own fork.

It's unbelievably sensuous to have her there, waiting patiently with her mouth open, as I bring a bite up to her lips and mouth.

I chose not to go that route today because Serafina has been refinishing and redecorating our kitchen.  We are pretty much done with the project except for the floor.

The floor is not currently in a state I'd wish to crouch or kneel upon without some protective clothing, (and perhaps a mask.)  So, I certainly will not have my precious Serafina there.  The dust that was formerly the backing of a old carpet is the primary issue, we'll have to deal with it next.

When we do a scene (someday) in a derelict building, or a cave, I'll have no issue with making my slave wife into a filthy mess, but there it will have a point.  And, it wouldn't be stirring up dust that might land in my carefully cooked eggs!

Serafina started this post, as the cell phone pictures were hers.  She titled it something about Master Michael and brunch.  I had to change it . . .

We've been up since 5AM (you might say I woke the whole house up for an early morning "booty call") so when I served our meal at 9AM it felt like brunch.  Most of the world probably didn't get woke up with a stiff cock nestled between their ass cheeks, so I'd say it's safe to say that Sera's perspective is unique today.

9 AM Saturday morning is going to be breakfast time in most households, so I'd like to thank you for sharing this virtual breakfast with us today.

I wish, dear reader, that I could invite you all, one by one, to share a breakfast with us (kneeling or not - your choice!) as I'm sure the wonderful conversation would make the food taste even better.

It's all compliments of the chef, with his regards,

across the pond . . .

Serafina, being Canadian, is essentially a British Subject (they have the Queen mum on their money and everything - in case you never looked.)  There's a bunch of legalities that go along with such a status, and those darn Brits do change what being part of the Commonwealth means from time to time, which brings to mind slippery slope analogies, none of which would be terribly important or even relevant to the topic at hand, except who doesn't love slippery things?

Instead, without much further ado, and with only slight alliterative wordplay, I'll move directly to the subject of today's post, sex slang from jolly old England.

Compliments of Liberator.com blog . . . Very voluptuous vocabulary, patiently, perspicaciously, and perhaps prejudicially pilfered and purloined . . .
Boff: to have intercourse with someone. “She took me back to the flat and boffed my brains out.”
Cop Of: to make out with someone. “I’m pretty sure I saw your friend copping off with some guy in the corner of that crowded bar.”
Johnny: A condom. “She had to wait for him to stop and put on a Johnny before they could continue.”
Knob: can have three meanings. The first being a name for the penis. “My pants are tugging at my knob” The second meaning is to use the penis for sex. “She took a good knobbing from old Tommy boy.” The third is used as an insult. “My boss is such a knob. He’s always looking at my breasts.”
Leg Over: Talking someone into sex. “I believe she is still trying to get her leg over on that blonde guy at the office.”
On the Pull: Looking to hook up with someone for the night. “Going out with my blokes tonight looking for girls on the pull.”
Romp: Exerting, recreational sex. “She decided a romp with the boss is exactly what she needed to get ahead.”
Tidy: A hot girl/guy. “Check out the tidy girl with the big boobs over there.”
Slapper: Another word for slut. “That slapper has been trying to get my boyfriend’s attention all night!”
Kappa-Slappa: A low class girl. There seems to be a lot of names for low-class girls. I wonder what the standard for low class is.
Rumpy pumpy: Sex. That word almost sounds too cute to be about sex.
Snogging: To tongue/French kiss. Although, I’ve been to France and they have no idea what a French Kiss is. If you ask them, they look at you like you are crazy.
Vinegar Strokes: Masturbation. I honestly don’t even have a sentence for this one. How do you get masturbation from that?
For sure I knew boff, knob, and romp, but the rest are rather new to me.

I do love the part about the French not knowing the meaning of the term French Kiss.  Perhaps then, it could be said that Frenchmen speak the language of love, but that they don't understand it's meaning?

If you, my dear reader have any interesting international or regional sex slag that's out of the ordinary, please feel free to share it here with a comment.  I'm not looking for vinegar stroke material, as long as it's about a tidy slapper, or somehow related to the old rumpy pumpy, it's on topic here!

walk-in smoke rings -- a parable

I've been many things in this lifetime, it's been an incredible journey.  Depending on perspective, I'm really "just" to my '40's, either that, or I'm "already" breezing past my '40's - but I already feel as though I've lived a richer life than most will experience . . . I've witnessed more than my share . . .

I've done my share of stupid things, brave things, bold things, even illegal things, and I'm working on doing my own share of inventive things too - I've got a bucket list!  I've been good, bad and (worst of all) indifferent.

I've traveled less widely than some, more widely than others.  I've camped and backpacked and explored my country, my homeland.  I've dug deep in our earth, crawled through the tightest of caves, I used to teach rock climbing and rappelling, I have a great love for river rafting.  Many have seen more, a few have done more, most have seen and done far less.  I'm happy with that!

In terms of BDSM, I'm sure there are some who can match or exceed not only my 30 years of experience but also my many hundreds of hours of play (regular 8 hour LSD fueled scenes for most of my 20's and lots of my 30's add the hours up fast ya know!)  I also know there are many who only wish they had once experienced a single session of the kind of play I've known as routine.

The jobs I've had?  Wow, they run the gambit, each fulfilling in their own unique way.  A select few have worked one or two of the jobs I've held, but I'd honestly wager everything I own and have that nobody can perfectly match the wildly varied list of professions I've managed to use to put food on the table, a roof over head, and toys in the toychest.

And Serafina in many ways surpasses my experience.  The things she's done, her accomplishments and creations, are still amazing to me to this day.  I guess in her case it's a testament to what unbridled, untapped, and absolutely unused passion and sexual energy will do in a sexless marriage, it's going to express itself somehow!

I'm not sure why I'm even adding all those details and notes about our lives, other than because this piece is a parable, and as such, it has a multitude of levels and meanings, the reader can take what they will from the tale, ponder it (or not) and develop their own conclusions about the ultimate meaning of all these words . . .

I once worked as a Chef at an exclusive resort, in what was then a 4 or 5 star restaurant, it's still similarly exclusive to this day, although I personally have no idea how restaurant ratings might work in this day and age of food bloggers.

I did my bit as a Sous-chef‎, among other positions I worked which would include: pastry chef, commis, chef de partie, and aboyer.  The kitchen in an exclusive restaurant has a hierarchy as strict as any formal BDSM Family, and position in the hierarchy was hard earned.

I preferred working days.  The stress was not as great and I actually preferred making some of the lighter dishes that were served before supper.  My particular version of Niçoise salad was renowned (a number of world travelers told me it was easily the best they'd ever experienced ) and I loved all the knifeplay in cutting up and presenting a really proper steak tartare.  I also loved getting my work day finished before the Executive Chef, a notoriously temperamental Cuban who was also a night owl and drug fiend, and his hand picked night line crew came into work.

One day, as I was bundling up my knives and changing into my street clothes, I heard a tremendous clatter from the back, where the walk-in coolers were located.  Normally it was something I'd investigate, but among the voices I heard raising was not only the Executive Chef, but also his boss too, the "Head of Food & Beverage" - at least that was one way I heard his title expressed.  Most of us called him "Big Ass Bob", at least that's the name we used behind his back.

The voices also seemed to include the hand picked crew of line cooks that made evenings at this particular restaurant run to management's satisfaction.  Our Executive Chef hand picked and personally trained that particular crew, they were each assigned a single station where they worked exclusively night after night.  My day crew rotated stations and cross trained, but they'd have none of that among the evening cook staff.  Having a single specialty did make the line of night cooks a productive bunch, I'll admit, but after any extended time in their position they also began to feel more than a little irreplaceable.   

I didn't really like dealing with any of them, everyone's ego was terribly out-sized, so I pulled off my chef's hat, put my head down, and disappeared out the back door.  I often wonder if there was any way I could have managed to stay behind and witness the drama that I know occurred, oh to have been a fly on the wall.  I also will be eternally grateful for the good judgement I had in walking out the door.

Before I tell you what really happened that night, I need to tell the story of what happened when I returned to work the next morning.

I got to work at 5:30 AM, used my keys to unlock, bleary eyed but ready to brew some coffee, fire up the grill to make my own breakfast, find a nice scoop or two of Hagen Daz ice cream (chocolate / chocolate-chip) to top it all off, and then have a cigarette.  All before the rest of the food staff arrived at 6:00.

Instead of breakfast, I found an angry excited Cuban, something like 500 pounds of chicken he was boning - his razor keen knife flashing faster than I could follow, and a crisp stack of disciplinary forms, one each for everyone in the night kitchen.

I was curtly instructed to take the forms over to the personnel office (in a separate building of the resort.)  When I asked my Executive Chef what had happened, he began cursing loudly in Spanish (normal) and then he sharply stabbed his blade directly into the surface of the cutting board table (abnormal) which I took as a punctuation mark and signal for my departure.

The forms were delivered.  Yes, along the way I stopped and read them all.  I poured over the detail, at least at first.  I quickly discovered each form looked the same, each form was identical in detail.  Every single individual in the night kitchen had been written up for - "Smoking in a food preparation zone" - a serious offense but not a firing offense for anyone with an otherwise clean work record.

When I was done with the quizzical looks over in personnel, I returned to find the Chef gone (thankfully) and his pile of boned chicken finished.  He'd completed in less than a third of the time it I would have taken to do the job, and I'd always been proud of my ability with a knife, I was a meat-packer's son after all!

It took me some time to find out what really happened that night.  Nobody involved in the incident would say a word.  Questions got silence and an icy stare.  I'd never particularly liked that crew, but we'd always gotten along well enough, now that was no longer the case.  Even my best friend at the resort, a guy who'd been part of my day crew but had transferred to nights, refused to give me the slightest hint.

Eventually, after leaving that particular resort, I met up with my buddy, the guy I'd worked with on days before he transferred to the "dark side" and the night line crew.  He was catching a bus home to his family in a few hours, he told me, wouldn't I have a few drinks for old time's sake and to help pass the time?

After more than a few drinks, as the clock at the bar creeper closer to closing time and his departure, I eventually decided I had to ask . . .

And to my great surprise, he answered.

"Well, you have to understand," he began.  "We all knew you didn't like cocaine, that's why you were never going to be part of the hand picked crew we had on nights," he said.

"We preferred to all meet in the storage room downstairs,"  the story continued.  "Remember the storage room that had the table, the one with the mirrored glass table top?" he asked.

I answered with a bit of a knowing grin and a nod.

"We used to cut our lines of coke there," he said, grinning back at me.  "The ventilation was good too," he added.  "I bet you didn't know that storage room was climate controlled?"

"Nope" I said somewhat curtly, eyeing the clock that was creeping ever closer to the story's end.

"Well it was," he intoned.  "About the time we finished our lines and somebody had a doob rolled up and lit, these big old fans would kick on and suck the smoke right away."  My friend seemed to be reveling in the story's telling now, enjoying the fact that I was hanging on every detail.

"So what happened that ONE night," I asked anxiously as I watched the bartender getting ready for last call.

"Everything was out of the storage room for a banquet, so Chef, Cheech, and First Cook decide we needed a new place for the party," he confessed.  "We ended up back in walk-in-four," referring to the most remote and least visited of the restaurant's four walk-in coolers.

"While First Cook rolled and started to burn one, Cheech produced a mirror, and Chef a little blade.  Chef had just snorted up a big line and was in the act of passing the mirror on, when Big-Ass-Bob come bouncing into the cooler, nearly upending Chef, who'd had his back turned against the door.  The mirror goes flying, the cocaine goes flying, and there I am standing there like the fucking Cheshire cat, a grin on my face, and a lit joint in my hand."

Now I'm starting to understand where the story is going.

"We were all really scared at first, I mean you know Big-Ass-Bob was the one who'd written the zero-tolerance policy about drug use. Here we'd all been caught with drugs at work, and Bob's threatening to call the police, everything but involve the fucking FBI.  Then one of the line cooks spoke up . . . He asked Bob how it was going to look for his career to have the high honor of closing one of the world's elite restaurants after firing every single one of the cooks," it was explained.

Oh how the worm had turned, I thought to myself.

"You see, there was no way Bob could fire the entire group without dramatically impacting the operation of the resort, especially if Chef went with them, it would close the restaurant for what could turn into weeks, it could be months before proper replacements could be found and trained.  Because of the "zero-tolerance" policy Bob had written into our contracts, drugs or drug use couldn't even be mentioned when he wrote us up on discipline," he continued.

I saw the bartender heading our way, ready to tell us it was time to go home, but I'd found what I'd needed.

"So that's how you managed to get written up for "smoking in a food prep area" when instead you'd all been snorting coke and smoking dope right there under all our noses?" I asked.

"Yup, that's it," he called back over his shoulder as we parted company.

So there it is my dear reader, the true story of smoke rings in the walk-in.  A modern parable, if you will.  There's a message there among the rings of smoke, you just need to know where to look!
There is no passion in nature so demonically impatient, as that of him, who shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a plunge. If there be no friendly arm to check us, or if we fail in a sudden effort to prostate ourselves backward from the abyss, we plunge, and are destroyed. 

    -- Edgar Allan Poe

Friday, January 27, 2012

Time to move? Wouldn't you want to "Stay Moist at Wet"?

For over a decade I was a caregiver to a sick parent.  I'm an only child, so it never felt as though I had any option, the only thing standing between Mom and institutionalized health care was me.  I have nothing personal against nursing homes, but I do know that their residents wait longer for pain meds etc., and Mom's conditions caused enough agony that she was on methadone the entire time I cared for her.

My Father's still alive, but he choose to leave about a decade ago, he just couldn't handle everything that goes along with Mom's progressing illnesses, especially the changes in mental condition that often are associated with terrible chronic pain and opiate drug addiction.

My ex-wife left me, at least in part, because of my devotion to family.  It was her opinion that I was wasting the prime of my life (and hers) caring for an individual that didn't really appreciate my efforts, a person who expected rather than appreciated.

I was released from my caregiver duties last year, when Mom passed away after an extended hospitalization.  Watching Mom's monitors, I saw indications that the end was near, so I asked Serafina to go grab us lunch and tend to Mom's dog, hoping the tasks would last long enough to spare my slave/wife from having to sit and watch Mom expire.  I was alone there by her bed speaking softly into her ear as Mom passed.

Which leads us to where I find myself today, pondering what direction Serafina and I should take . . .

It might seem strange to some, watching me ponder the direction to take our lives.  I mean I'm fully empowered to make any decision I'd like, and I have a slave/wife who'd follow me to the ends of the earth should I choose.  I didn't inherit any funds when Mom passed, but Serafina and I find ourselves in possession of a house in pretty decent shape, it might need a new roof, but it's a house with no mortgage!

The only problem?  This isn't Seattle or San Francisco or Vancouver, not even close.  Hell boys and girls, it's not even Chicago. (The "Windy City" is not exactly a town well known for it's kink community, but at least there's one there.)

If you count the dogs, Serafina and I now live in a village of about 5000, the size is half that if you just count people.  I'm thinking that the closest thing we've get to a BDSM community in this town is when the local postal workers gather around the latest box of goodies I've ordered from the Stockroom (or Mr-S-Leather, Adam's Whips, Happy Tails, etc.) speculating about what might be inside.  OK, I'll admit that the UPS guy has delivered enough Liberator.com gear to our door that he now honks as he drives up, but I'm starting to get off topic with that observation.

I'm not sure that Serafina would want to go to a play party, although I'm also sure she could be dragged to one on a leash.  So perhaps it's not so much the BDSM community itself that I'm longing for, but instead simply the opportunity that goes with living in a larger and more progressive community.

If we lived elsewhere, I know Serafina would be enrolled in a class learning the art of Burlesque dancing.  Serafina's an artist in a number of different mediums, it would be so wonderful to be able to give her more support and opportunities in those pursuits.

But that would mean again assuming some kind of mortgage, while our home has no mortgage it's not exactly prime real estate either, the house itself would be worth two or three times as much if located in Seattle, San Francisco, or Vancouver.  Meaning to move to those areas, we'd  have to live in relative poverty for some time while reestablishing ourselves.

So while I'd love to live someplace like Toronto, where the Kink Engineering is having their Latex Party next month (the advertisement/illustration that accompanies this post) I'm not really willing to make the great leap and experience all the upheavals inherent in moving.  Serafina is very content where we are, and our intended focus is each other, not play parties and/or events.

So the answer to the post's title is - No, it's not time to move - our location's advantages outweigh disadvantage.  With the internet, location isn't even that important anyway.  We're building our own "community" here through SpiritualBDSM.com, our friends and readers who join us here are priceless!

And there's always travel!  Meaning, now I just need to figure out how to enroll Serafina in a Burlesque class.   It's something like an 8 week class, so it's not one we can just catch on the fly in a weekend . . . I wonder if we could convince Miss Indigo Blue to release a video version of the class she teaches in Seattle?   Where there's a will there's a way, and every great idea starts with a simple spark!

Serafina, this is your next slave assignment - Please write Miss Indigo Blue and ask the deliciously sexy Burlesque goddess if she ever plans to release a video version of her Art of Burlesque class . . .   I'd also encourage you to write other well established Burlesque instructors (wherever they may exist) with a similar question.

file under - VISIONS (not sugarplum)

WARNING - the further you get into this post, the weirder it gets - the humor and imagery get dark - the topic becomes absolutely taboo and even sick in nature - the fantasy role-play near the post's end (if enacted or even discussed) could bring the wrath of B'nai B'rith and the Anti-Defamation League upon you . . . 
it is strongly suggested you do NOT read this post . . . 

Introducing the Paul Seville Human Hair Whip in Blonde . . .
photo from cocodemerusa.com
Yes, ladies and gentlepersons, you read right, the flogger is made of human hair.

Did I mention that it is also available with tresses from a redhead?
Paul Seville Human Hair Whip Red
This whip is made from human hair by master leather artisan Paul Seville. And it has an overlapped leather handle. It was inspired by the Surrealist movement. It’s incredibly soft, yet if used properly can carry just enough sting. The human hair whip is delightfully different and extremely sensual. 
Serving Suggestion:
Try swishing this whip between your legs – it feels fantastic. Try tracing the hair around the back of your lovers neck and up and down their torso. It is so soft and wakes everything up. It is a brilliant tool for beginners. 
inspired by the Surrealists
The accompanying product photo looks more Auburn to me, but I'd suppose it's difficult finding good sources of human hair when you are not a wig maker. I don't know for sure.  I mean I do know they didn't get the tresses from Locks of Love, right?

I will admit to being intrigued, but at the very same time I am feeling at least a little bit repulsed.

Intrigued because it's so unique, because I am a fetishist, a somewhat sadistic sensualist.  I've blogged about being a gear slut, so there's always going to be room for another flogger in my collection, and I do like the exotic!

Repulsed because the flogger isn't made of tanned leather or horsehair, it's freakin' human hair folks . . .


I'm an amateur historian, I have a real passion for history. Military history is my actual specialty, primarily focused on the "great wars" of the 20th Century, the First and Second World Wars.  My greatest concentration of study is the Soviet-German campaigns of 1941-1945.  My personal library on the topic is significantly larger than any library coverage short of a full graduate research library.

I know that the Nazi's stockpiled human hair.  It's told that some 14,000 pound of human hair were found in liberated concentration camps.

Granted, Facist Germany wasn't stockpiling hair for use in whips.  I'd think that the mere suggestion of such a use in some circles might get one sentenced to a camp as a sexual deviant.  In other circles it might get you a date I suppose, I don't know for sure.  I mean, I'm an old man, I do look rather dashing with that certain style of black military cap, but I wasn't there, I'm not THAT old for God's sake!

a modern version of that black cap
In case you were curious about the actual purpose of the tons of stockpiles of human hair, it's my understanding that human hair made excellent electrical insulation for use in German U-boats, hence it's essential nature to the war effort.

It's human hair folks, and that carries with it a few more connotations, a few more connections, a bit more stigma, at least in my mind, than that special black military cap with the brim that comes down over my eyes.

Hmmmm, I mean there are folks who role play absolutely taboo subjects, I do know that.  If it's safe, sane, and consensual and done away from the open gaze of one's Hebrew neighbors, then anything goes, right?  At least that's what I've read!  (See for yourself, for instance, by reading Toybag Guide to Playing with Taboo by Mollena Williams . . . )

I do look good in Black, and there would be a certain "effect" to be had by saying, in scene - "You do realize this whip is made from human hair . . . My what a lovely mane you have yourself wench . . .  I don't know whether to keep you, or turn you into another whip!"

Like I said, I'm a little bit disgusted . . . with myself.

I feel dirty and probably need a shower.  Serafina's probably going to keep her hair cut short now, and damn, I may have nasty dreams too, no fucking sugar plums for Daddy tonight . . .

If this post disturbed you, please note I did warn you not to read it.  I don't know how to feel about a human hair whip, I don't know how to feel about playing with taboo.  Part of me is fascinated, and part repulsed.  The odd tone and dark turn to this post are deliberate in mimicking (to the best of my limited artistic ability) the oddly attractive nature of some dark subjects.  It's like the car wreck by the side of the road.  Nobody wants to see hurt or maimed bodies, but nearly every car slows down to have their own look.

Human nature is deliciously complex - a trait that's both interesting and disturbing . . .  You know - like the whip!

Think I should buy one?
Anybody who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography.  

    --  Robert Byrne

Thursday, January 26, 2012

The beloved is the ultimate fetish.

    -- Mason Cooley

Loving My Library - MsAwake

Today, for the first time here at Spiritual BDSM, we will be featuring a guest post from a friend and fellow blogger, Ms Awake.  Here are the highlights of how she describes herself on her tumblr blog:
I am Ms Awake - Mother of 4, entrepreneur, soon-to-be-divorced, adventurer, runner, Groove facilitator, optimist, graphic designer, traveler, porn aficionado, kinkster, sexually liberated, passionately curious, and lover of life . . .  My blog is called 'Awake', because now that I finally am, and not sleepwalking through my life, I am never going to take my Awakening for granted. I have discovered, been shown, a side of myself that is a part of me that I no longer want to hold down and in. It is a gift to have had my eyes opened . . .  My life is a gift, and I'm living it the way I want to, proudly being me. It's now or never, baby.
Ms Awake is a beautiful young submissive who we are just getting to know better as friends.  Were Serafina in the market for a submissive of our own, we'd probably be looking for somebody like this!  I mean, what's not to love about an individual who conceives an erotic short story set in a library?  Books are my primary non-sexual fetish, in case you didn't know!  On a less impressive note (at least for me) - I'll admit I did have to ask her what the term "groove facilitator" means, perhaps it's an indication that middle age is taking it's toll on my 48 year old brain, as it appears now I have become tragically unhip - hahaha.  But, enough about me!

Without further ado or introduction, here is Ms Awake's very nice erotic short story . . .

(illustration by Sonia Kretschmar)
He wants the library to become a regular part of our routine together. He had already picked out 3 books, and had had them waiting for me and now it was time to return them. He told me we  would sit down and review each book - a summery, what I enjoy the most, least, and things I learned, discussion, etc. I love learning, and he loves to challenge me to be the best I can be.

When we got to the library, he had me return the books at the counter and get a card, then gave me his new reading list and told me to go and find them.

“I’ll be on the second floor in the back corner at the table, it’s quiet there and we can discuss the books you returned. You have 15 minutes to find the new books on the list. Do you understand your instructions?”

“Yes.” I say smiling, I do love going to the library. And I was looking forward to discussing the books! I’d been anxious after I finished each one, but he had always given me the look and simply said, “We will discuss them all in due time. Patience my little slut.” and kissed me softly. I had tried to tell/explain to him that I didn’t want to forget anything, to which He smiled indulgently at me and said, “Take notes.” So I did. I was excited and thought, I am seriously going to talk his ear right off about these books! I had a few pages of notes per book, but more than that I loved just talking with him and sharing thoughts.

I made it to the table he had described with time to spare (I always tried to be a little early) and sat down with my notes and put my new books to the side.

“Excellent, you got them all! Now before we begin I want you to get your special purse dildo/vibe out.” he said smiling. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment, since it took me a second to digest what he said and comply.

“Y-yes, of course.” I said, as pulled my purse off the corner of the chair, brought it into my lap and dug out the special case that held the vibrator that he had given me for the purpose of toting around everywhere. He had written “For emergencies” on the tag.

“Good girl. Insert it all the way in. Leave it off for now. Once it’s inserted you may begin with the first book.”

He had instructed me not to wear any panties, and when I was sitting with him to always have my legs slightly spread, so I took the vibe out, put it under my sundress and pushed it into myself. My face felt hot and pussy was wet and ready. I tried not to groan as it went in. Unsuccessfully. My face felt hotter. He chuckled. With a smirk, He tilted his head, “Ready?”

Determined I started on the first book’s notes. At first, it was so hard to concentrate but I loved talking about it with him and we got into a lively discussion. After we had finished, I turned the page to to my next set of notes and was about to start in when he looked at me pointedly. I quieted and looked at him, waiting.

“Before we begin the next book, I am going to have you fuck yourself a bit, baby girl. When I say ‘Out.’, you pull it out and when I say ‘In.’, you slide it all the way in again, right to the end. You will do this without cumming. If you feel you are getting too close, you are to tell me little one. And we will do this until I say you are done. Understood?”

“Y-yes.” I say shakily. Was every trip to the library going to be this way?

“Good. Out.”, he looked right into my eyes as I pulled the now very wet and slippery vibrator out of my throbbing cunt, “In.” I shuddered as it slid in. Not coming was going to be hard. He called out his commands five times and i had begun to sweat and pant. On his last ‘In’, he said, “Good, good, girl… now stop. Ready?”, I could hear the amusement in His voice and see the lusty twinkle in His eyes. We went through the second book, had another fantastic discussion about it and when we were wrapping it up, I looked up at him trepidatiously.

Chuckling, “Hmmm…yes, you know what’s next… Out.”

And this time, at about set number 7, i said in a trembly voice, “I’m close… ohhh.”

“In. And stop. So good, my little eager, clever slut. I have to say, I am really enjoying your perspective on these books. And you are such a good girl , doing just as i command. What love?” He said, clearly seeing my distress.

“Thank you so much but if You keep praising me, I’m not going to be able to hold on… ” I said, trying not to whine, still breathless.

“Let’s get started on the last book then, shall we?” He smiled. And we did, and once again I poured through my notes, he and I getting into the finer points and the discussing characters, writing style, morals, and I fell even more in love with him.

“You have put so much thought, and care into this assignment, I am so very proud of my girl. Take the vibe out and come here.” he says and I feel warm all over from his sweet words. I ache to please him always. I walk around the table to his chair and stand beside him, he pulls me over his lap and runs his hand up under my dress and rubs my ass. “Give it to me now…that’s it… I’m going to stick this nice and deep into your ass and then your going to sit on my cock beautiful.” I wiggle and groan and spread my legs as He pushes in it deep into my ass. “I love how much you need your ass fucked my little whore. And you do, every day, isn’t that right? Tell me.” He commands.

“Oooh, yes please… uhhh, every day… please…”, I pant as he rubs my ass and legs.

“Stand up.” he orders and I do, “Pull my cock out and sit down on it facing me. That’s it, good cunt.” He praises me as i slide onto His hard shaft. We groan into each others mouths as He kisses me deeply. Reaching behind me, he twists the vibrator and turns in on, “Now ride my cock and cum for me.”, he says and I fuck myself on him as hard as I can and just as I am about to cry out, He clamps His over my mouth and pulls my face to his so we are eye to eye and I cum so hard I tear up, and I see his eyes roll a little and then feel as his cock shoots his hot cum deep into my pussy, and I cling to him, sweaty, breathless, shaky and dizzy. I bury my face into His neck as He strokes me, whispering loving words.

“I love you.” I whisper back.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

and the winner is . . .

Final results from the "How should Serafina be punished?" poll have been qualified, objectified (just a little), certified, justified, and perhaps even quantified (anything but dignified!)

We'd like to thank everyone who took a moment to participate!

For posterity's sake I snipped a shot of the results, which can be seen to the right, before restoring the blog's sidebar to it's normal state.  While it may seem as though the total number of votes are relatively low, participation was actually better than we expected.

For Serafina's posterior's sake, the poll results indicate that her first real caning is imminent.

Obviously, there's a certain special mystique to the cane as an instrument of punishment.  To me it's evocative of punishment sessions given out by a proper English Schoolmaster, but the cane certainly has far wider appeal than just that single role-play scenario.

There were also comments indicating that the prospect of this punishment being Serafina's first caning was the deciding factor in a few votes.  The sentiment seems to be that corporal punishment isn't always real punishment for submissive masochists, an idea I agree with wholeheartedly.  My slave/wife would openly admit to being submissive, but she might debate the masochistic label, at least publicly.

That thinking does hold true on a certain level.  I'm rather sure that our readers choose the option Serafina feared the most.  I'm not sure Serafina really and truly feared any of the other options, as she's withstood a few nights of "everything Master can offer" as play, loving every minute of it.

I'm scheduling my slave/wife's punishment for this Saturday evening, to coincide with the next live show on The Upper Floor.

I've mentioned before that we enjoy "playing along" with the shows, so I thought I'd add some technical details.  Our current playroom has a 42" television, with a beautiful sounding but very unobtrusive surround sound setup featuring Mirage MX 5.1 speakers, so it's not quite cinematic, but it's nice enough to add interesting atmosphere.

As for for the technical details of the caning, there are actually three different canes I'll use, each of a different thickness.  Here's the description of the specific cane making process by their maker:

  Carefully selected real rattan cane is steamed, stretched and then completely submerged in a linseed oil compound for several weeks, dried and varnished to achieve this look and performance. We think it's worth every minute!
    This method enables the oil to fill the capillaries of the rattan, making The DeLuxe Cane denser, more flexible and less likely to break than an ordinary rattan punishment cane. And the feel? -- Iit has to be experienced to be appreciated! The DeLuxe Cane raises the ordinary rattan cane to a new level of elegance and performance.
These three canes were made by Adam’s Sensual Whips and Gillian’s Toys, a wonderful couple who make a wonderful range of various implements of correction, as well as a few other unique adult toys.  I've been shopping from them for so long that our email exchanges feel like notes between old friends, but I'll save any more praise I have for Adam and Gillian for an upcoming vendor review I have planned.

Finally, I do plan to document the occasion to the best of my ability.  As long as I don't end up somehow smearing lube or other sticky secretions on our camera lens, I hope to post some "evidence" of the caning next week.  Serafina's bottom doesn't stripe real easily, and I don't plan to be absolutely brutal either, that's not my style.  So, we'll have to wait and see what kind of "Zebra stripe" images I can produce using my slave/wife as the canvass.

I want to feel that I can't stop it. I want to be really mastered, taken over by someone who isn't going to stop doing things because I'm not getting off on it. Someone who knows enough not to endanger me, unless that was what was intended...

    -- Laura Antoniou, The Slave

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

gold, glitter, shadows and wandering - some things that are stolen, can never be replaced . . .

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring . . . 

    --  J. R. R. Tolkien
Some things that are stolen, can never be replaced - A Cautionary Tale by M. Samadhi

Serafina and I have a wonderful new friend who's going to be venturing off to see a prospective new dominant tomorrow . . .

While thoughts of romance and wonderful good times of dominance and submission are always exciting, the "mother hen" in us is always filled with a bit of trepidation, a touch of anxiety, when contemplating the risk/reward equation that needs to be considered when approaching situations like this.

We ourselves are living proof that online meetings can end in true love, happiness, and all the good things you see in our relationship.  We also know that meetings of this sort can go in the opposite direction.  We know both sides of this coin all too well, I had a close friend who became victimized by one of the predators who inhabits the fringes of the BDSM community.

I once knew a beautiful submissive lady I'll call Victoria, since that was her name.  Victoria's story is one of great loss, it's a cautionary tale that isn't about a single meeting gone wrong, that alone would be tragic enough, but instead she became the kind of long term victim of which horror stories are made.

It began simply enough, in middle age my friend Victoria discovered her submissive tendencies and began to explore them.  It seems like it was just yesterday I met her online for the first time, but the cold hard reality of life is that time flies by quickly, and I now realize that our first encounter was 15 years ago.

When we met, Victoria had just been collared by a charming man who also happened to be a radio personality in a pretty substantial southern US media market.  I'll call this would be dominant John, because once again, that was his name.  I know he called himself Master John on AOL back in the late 1990's, and I believe his radio name was John Masters, although that's a detail I never really got close enough to confirm for myself.

I also know that John had a hypnotic voice and knew how to use it.  I know this first hand because the one time I allowed my former submissive and ex-wife (Blissful Torment I had named her) to talk to him on the phone it evolved into a glorious disaster.  I left Ms Torment alone on the phone with him for a few minutes, and returned to find her attempting to perform fellatio on my dog!

I'm not making that up, and there's no special background or back story that would have led to this being something I might have suspected could happen.  We're talking the kind of shock that occurs if an individual walks in on a spouse involved in an affair.  I think my heart stopped, you could have knocked me over with a freaking feather, and I'm a big burly guy who has played and coached football. I stand six foot tall and weigh in at well over 200 pounds . . .

Before anyone jumps to the conclusion that my ex and I must have been into bestiality, I can assure you that's simply not the case.  Yes my ex and I had read books like Anne Rice's Beauty trilogy that have occasional mild bestiality references, but that was it.  Sex with animals had always been a hard limit for both of us.  Let's be honest, sex with critters is a hard limit for most folks, and it should be, as there's no way that an animal can consent to being used in that way.

Let me be very clear about my position on this topic.  Critters are not capable of consent.  Bestiality is a form of animal cruelty.

The reality facing me was that my ex had allowed herself to be hypnotized, I'm of the opinion that John had managed to place Ms Torment into a hypnotic trance with just a little prodding and some simple instruction.  I'm not trying to absolve myself or Ms Torment of any culpability in what happened, it's more simply an explanation of my best understanding of how things got so weird so fast.

OK moving on . . .

As might be expected, John and I had some really select fucking words.  I called him every name the son of a packing house worker might know, and I do believe my nasty vocabulary is extensive.  I threatened him with a variety of actions that would cause his physical demise, and made clear enough my ability to follow through on the threats that I never again saw him in an AOL chat room.  For his sake that was just as well anyway, I spread the alarm about this so called dominant far and wide, passing the word along in chat rooms as a cautionary tale.

A lot of good that does, right?  Screen names and handles are a dime a dozen, ruin an online predator and they just reappear in a different guise, the relative anonymity of the Internet makes that all too simple.  I would have been better off with a more discrete campaign to raise the alarm, but I've always been the type to attack problems head on, and that's exactly what I had done.

The only individual I tried to warn but couldn't convince was his submissive, Victoria.

In response to that failure, I'll be damned if Ms Torment didn't decide to make Victoria a "project" - just like the predator, my ex changed screen names and befriended Victoria under false pretenses.  I can't say that I approved, but it's not something I forbid either.  I knew at that point that forbidding it would have simply made Ms Torment hide her actions from me, she had become obsessed with "saving" Victoria.

I wish I could tell you that somehow, though efforts of my former submissive and myself, Victoria was saved pain, embarrassment, humiliation and/or financial ruin.  I wouldn't be telling the truth if I said we saved her from anything.  All the good intentions and gentle direction in the world wasn't going to save Miss Victoria, and the subterfuge of befriending someone to "save" them wasn't something that sat well with my own personal sense of honor.

Like I said, despite it all, we saved her from nothing.

Before it was all said and done, John had "borrowed" every bit of savings Victoria had managed to accumulate, cleaning out her bank accounts, cashing in CD's, etc.  Before it was all said and done, John had maxed out every one of Victoria's credit cards.  Before it was all said and done, John had even managed to have Victoria borrow against her future retirement!

Once John had built his own home recording studio, once all the money and loans and credit cards were gone, once he'd had one last visit where he had her perform every debauched and debasing action his sick mind could conceive, including a special performance with his guard dog, she was dismissed without concern or care.

Not even a thank you.  Hell, she didn't even get a, "Fuck you".

All she got was a dispassionate, "You can leave, now," and not another word.  Not another word despite crying, pleading, begging, offers to further debase herself, offers to somehow find more money for him.


I know it's hard to read this tale, it's even harder to write, and it was harder still to watch.  Can you imagine what it was like to live?

Victoria came to my ex, asked if we wouldn't take her as a submissive, wouldn't we show her how it was done right, that D/s didn't have to mean abuse, couldn't we heal her?

I tried.

I was motivated by compassion more than desire, but I tried.

John's voice was still inside her head, and while she didn't want the abuse, Victoria still craved the kind of attention John had given her over the phone, with the hypnotizing voice.  This poor lady had been possessed and debased to the point that she had no idea who she was herself, and she was simply looking for another to fill her in the only way she knew.

Just because it has a label
  does not guarantee genuine gold

My heart was never in it.  It's with tears in my eyes that I tell you, dear reader, that after one meeting in person I dismissed Victoria.  I had no choice, I couldn't do it.

I know after that Victoria totally left the D/s community behind, returning to her conservative rural southern Baptist roots.

I ran across her briefly not long after I'd met Serafina and fell in love.  She asked bitterly if she'd been "replaced" and I honestly said that a submissive lady had captured my heart, but that she was married and lived in another country.  I could almost hear the plaintive wail in her voice, as the words came over the chat box on my computer - "What does she have that I don't?"

I told her "Nothing!" then said I had to go.  I guess that was goodbye too . . .

The answer, had I been brutally honest, would have been . . .


We all have desires we want, we need, we have to have fulfilled.  Some of us wait a lifetime for the opportunity.  In the end, the pleasures can be fleeting, and the consequences rather long lasting.

That last time I talked to Victoria she did tell me she was on a financial path to have everything restored by 2012, so I'd guess by today she's finally had her financial recovery.  I wish I could have given back the part of her that other dominant stole, but some things are beyond even the grasp of even the most experienced Master.

And that's the conclusion of today's heart-wrenching tale.  Sometimes life is ugly.  There's no tidy moral to my story, I've quite obviously gift wrapped nothing, and I'm not going to wrap the ending in a bow.  Some things that are stolen, simply cannot ever be replaced.
“Tie me up, please..." Chantal said. They looked above at some vines and roots hanging down from the grassy area above the depression in the canal they were standing in. She was in his hands—he had to comply. 

A little bit of kink was one of the most delicious of erotic pleasures. Catholic school girls were often the horniest—Brett could hardly contain his elation.

    -- Jess C. Scott, Catholic School Girls Rule

Monday, January 23, 2012

Please answer with a comment!

Short or long all comments are welcome, and will not be moderated unless they are clearly spam.
I totally understand why men love their cocks. I love being a woman but there is something different about sliding a cock in a hole and pumping away. It’s really intense.

  --  Emma Kelly - Mrs Kelly's Playhouse

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Miss Indigo Blue - Goddess of Burlesque

from The Mod Club Theatre - Toronto ON - July 2011

Last night Serafina and I watched A Wink and a Smile, a 2008 documentary about the art of Burlesque dancing.  We enjoyed ourselves greatly!  I've asked Serafina to write a review of the movie for our blog, and I'm thinking the topic of Burlesque will be showing up more frequently.  My slave/wife is seeming rather fascinated with the topic, she was already playing the video that accompanies this post before breakfast this morning!

A Wink and a Smile actually served as the night's early entertainment, the appetizer if you will.  A live show from The Upper Floor served as the main course.  Serafina was feeling a little under the weather, so we didn't "play along" with the party from our own home, as we've been prone to do lately.  But, when all the entertainment was over for the evening we'd managed to save enough energy for some quiet passion in the deep shadows of our bedroom.

All the whips, restraints, floggers, and fetish clothes are the fuel for my fire, but there are times where it's nice to just turn down the lights and make love to your slave/wife.  And isn't that the point of Burlesque for most folks anyway?  They watch the sexy performers and then go home to fuck like bunnies.

We did all that, and Serafina asked permission for every orgasm, just like always, she got to the point of begging a couple of times.  I mean I said it was quiet passion, but I didn't say I'd been slathered in vanilla or anything . . .

Now go watch the video, perhaps even see A Wink and a Smile before the day is done, Miss Indigo Blue is more interesting than anything else I've got to say this morning!
The Carmelite nun, Caterina of Cardona, continuously wore iron chains which cut into her flash. She flogged herself with chains and hooks as often as possible and would sometimes flagellate herself for two or three hours at a time. It was said that through these practices, she was subject to mystical ecstasies and visions of heavenly grace.

    -- Dorothy Hayden - Masochism as a Spiritual Path

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Damn if I don't hate Plagiarists. You know the kind, I'm sure you do . . .

Plagiarists are people who quote others without attribution or any kind of credit at all! The Plagiarist makes it seems as though the other's words are their own.

In some cases imitation is a form of flattery, and in this case imitation isn't like that at all, it's an outright form of theft.

The following quote isn't by that blog's author, yet it's posted without attribution or any kind of credit for the person who wrote the words you are about to read.

It's not the first time I've seen this particular blog use other's words uncredited. I'm pretty sure it won't be the last either!
The two participants in this BDSM exchange of power are connected – emotionally, psychically, even spiritually. Successful BDSM scenes require a level of communication and honesty beyond what one usually finds in vanilla sexual encounters. A skillful Dom intuits the sub’s psychological and physical state from her breathing, her skin, her body language. To the sub, it can feel as though the dominant is reading her mind – and maybe he is. She cannot lie about her arousal or her agony. Both are plain to see. The experience of being seen and known so deeply is intoxicating, magnifying the sexual excitement.

http://ohgetagrip.blogspot.com/2009/03/joys-of-writing-bdsm.html is the original . . .

Beware people, everything is not as is seems with the Erosplagiarizer.

Please don't think I'm picking on this individual, he knows what he's doing is wrong, he's been asked privately to properly attribute the work he posts, yet he can't help himself. It's sad, it's pathetic, and it's one of the lowest things an individual can do to a writer, to steal their words.

Before we knew he was a plagiarizer, this man's blog was in our blog roll. We apologize for the oversight. Once we discovered his work was less than original, his blog was quickly removed from our listing. In the interim, if you also began following this individual, we apologize to you, for the fraud that was foisted upon you when you trusted one of our links. Mea Culpa!

There's more good BDSM blogs than people can follow, just know that Erospainter's blog ain't one of them!

Watch me pull a dildo out of my hat . . .

This photo is the one that is pictured at JT's Stockroom order page
Serafina and I are making today's post in hope it will help to facilitate an appropriate exchange of information with customer service at the Stockroom . . . It's also an example of the perils of our love of exotic and expensive glass pieces.

Back before Christmas we ordered the Blue Unicorn Dildo (thick) from JT's Stockroom.  From the advertising picture we expected a very special and unique piece, looking like the examples to the right of this paragraph.

What we got when the order arrived was NOT the Blue unicorn.  Not even close.

Hey, mistakes happen, it's usually no problem to correct a mis-shipment with excellent vendors like the Stockroom, it usually takes an email or phone call and everything's set right again.

So when the Stockroom staff apologized for the inconvenience, said they'd ship out a replacement that very day, we sat back thinking all was right in the world, and we'd be playing soon with our new toy.

The "replacement" arrived via USPS a couple days ago, and sadly, the new dildo was the same as the old dildo, and it sure doesn't look like a Blue Unicorn to me!

This is the item that we questioned.  It is not thick, nor shaped the same
Now we have 2 the same!!

Part of me is wondering about the things that I’ve blocked off as hard limits. Have I missed something by not being willing to dabble? Do I need to reconsider? What happens if I open myself up and allow his limits to guide us? We have a strong dynamic that is rich in communication, and I feel confident that we can safely explore all sorts of places that most people don’t even dream about…

    -- SapioSlut - Deep hard fucking

Friday, January 20, 2012

which route?

BDSM is both the the path and the destination (photo of unknown origin)
There are times in life where actual the route to your final destination is more clear than others . . .
Belief in myths allows the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.  

    --  John F. Kennedy

Thursday, January 19, 2012

monogamy or non-monogamy? that is the question . . .

Eagles pair for life (photo by Serafina Samadhi)
I don't know if there are accurate statistics for anything regarding the BDSM community, we're a disparate bunch, and, as a community in North America our history is relatively short.  There's also a lack of necessary funding for any truly large scale studies of the kind necessary to establish accurate demographic information.

With that in mind, I can't tell you what percentage of BDSM lifestyle couples are monogamous and how many instead live lives with an element of non-monogamy or polyamory.  It seems more and more that the most prominent examples in our community are poly, that they play with multiple partners, so I'm guessing that group is the majority.  It may also be the case that poly couples are simply more visible, so they perhaps they just seem more prevalent, I can't say for sure . . .

Which brings us to today's topic for thought and consideration, the question of monogamy . . .

Serafina and I have been together for about a decade now, and over that time we've been in both poly and monogamous relationships.  We started as a triad, supposedly using the "tricycle model" - I was to be the "lead wheel" setting the direction for the three of us, just as the front tire directs a trike.

My former submissive and ex-wife was bisexual, and it was her strong desire to include another woman in our relationship the led to the eventual inclusion of Serafina to our home.  We were long distance at first, while she untangled her personal affairs and worked to become truly available to join our family.  Some time after Serafina joined us however, my former wife had a change of heart, and decided to end the triad.

Since that time, Serafina and I have been monogamous.  And, while we had a master/slave relationship in title since the beginning of the relationship, I can honestly say the M/s aspect of the relationship has only truly blossomed since we've become monogamous.

Serafina believes that a true slave can only serve a single Master, and my darling slave/wife expresses her viewpoints with such passion and clarity that I often come around to see her way of thinking.  I know the psychology of giving a "temporary extension" of authority to another on loan, it works for some and not for others.

My ex-wife ex-sub actually performed far better as a submissive when I allowed another to dominate her.  She was driven by different desires, and her supposed motivation was that she was representing me and my training in those performances, so she was especially alert to be at her best.

In the end, everyone out there has their own answer to the monogamy question.  Having played both sides of the coin, so to speak, we aren't here to endorse any particular lifestyle, nor do we wish to detract from the choices that may be a better fit for others.  Our desire is to help forward thought and debate about the choices, even if the debate is simply internal.

I know Serafina truly has no desire to ever serve another.  I promised her long ago that I'd never require anything from her that she was truly incapable of delivering, and I don't think she's capable of delivering proper submission to any other.  I've also described for you, my dear reader, a previous submissive who was the exact opposite, she thrived on being shared.

Mated pair with a youngster (photo by Serafina Samadhi)
One Master might justly be most impressed by my former submissive, nothing could make them feel prouder than to exercise their power by loaning, or giving it, to another.  For me, this was something that worked better in fantasy than it did for my reality.   The whole thing sounds good, but it meant I never got my own sub's best, and that's not the way I wanted to live.

So it's now obvious how the right "fit" was found for myself and Serafina.  She wants to give everything, to give her all, to one man, and one man alone.  I find such service to be not only gratifying and fulfilling, but to be ultimately what I am seeking in return for the great commitment I give to a slave.

Will we be monogamous forever?

Who can say really?

We aren't going to play out any fantasies that could endanger our own relationship. I won't be sharing my authority, nor will Serafina's services be shared.  But it also should be remembered that Serafina has a bit of a dominant streak of her own that she'll want to express some day.  Who's to say we wouldn't entertain an individual wishing to serve a couple, or perhaps even a sbmissive couple?

The timing wouldn't be right for that today, and obviously an individual wishing to serve a couple would have a different mindset than Serafina's in terms of their desires and service.  Perhaps that's why I've deliberately brought this little "discussion" full circle, from poly to monogamy and back.  Because there really isn't a "correct" answer to the debate between poly and monogamous lifestyles, there's just the answer that's right for you, for today.
The leader can never close the gap between himself and the group. If he does, he is no longer what he must be. He must walk a tightrope between the consent he must win and the control he must exert.

    -- Vince Lombardi

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

can males properly internalize submission?

It's very curious how you refer to submissive and slaves exclusively as female. Why is that?AnswerI am breaking my standing policy to answer to anonymous posters but would tell you that in my experience male submissive struggle to internalize how to truly be submissive so I usually post my learnings from the women I have trained…educated along life’s path
    -- Erospainter
While I do get considerable inspiration from the various blogs I follow, it's exceedingly rare that I'd address one directly, let alone address a post simply to contradict and disassemble.  If you don't mind odd little metaphors, it's time to say - this is the exception that proves the rule - whatever that is supposed to mean.

Do male submissives really struggle to become truly submissive?

I do know that male submissives are (generally) a bit different from female submissives.  There's no real surprise there if you stop and think about it, vanilla males and females differ considerable, as do male and female dominants.  Heck, it's not just sexes that differ, every submissive and slave are unique and different, not only in appearance, but also unique in mind and spirit.

I'm not a cookie cutter dominant, I'm not going to try and shape every submissive I play with to fit the same mold.  Each is going to internalize submission in their own way, and an enlightened dominant isn't likely to be rigid in approach.  My preference is adapting to guide each in their own way as that is certainly the most productive path, at least that has been the case in my experience.

With all of that in mind, I do not believe that males are inherently incapable of properly internalizing submission, not at all!

I've seen truly slavish males who would do literally anything to please their Mistress, I've known males who lived every bit as submissively as any woman I've ever met.  The trail they follow to get there is usually different than a female submissive's path, but that in no way changes the end result.

We are all entitled to bad moments, to speaking off hand, not meaning exactly what was typed, not typing exactly what we mean.  I hope that's the case with Erospainter's quote.

When I look at the quote for what it actually says, it's not a sex positive message, it's not a message that's positive in any way to the BDSM community as a whole.  It's said there are actually more male submissives than female out there in the world, looking for a guiding hand and more.

With that in mind Erospainter managed, in a single sentence, to disparage more than half of the submissives in existence.  That's not a good or wise thing to say even if it's qualified by the common apologist phrase used by the prejudiced - "in my experience".

You ain't painting eros when you are insulting and disparaging others out of hand, there you are talking words of a significantly different color.  When I hear ignorance couched in those terms, I really need to advise that somebody needs widen their circle of vision, or their circle of friends.

The BDSM community is not above criticism, far from it. I don't know any community that should totally disregard constructive calls for change.  But there's no sense in tearing others down, there's nothing positive that's going to come of treating half of a community with absolute disregard and dismissal.  We all have our own desires, but by making those desires absolute, by saying that one sex can't do it right, the message becomes absolute and negative.

If somebody asks me about referring to my slave/wife and female slave directly, rather than trying to put things into more gender neutral terms, it's not that difficult a question to answer.  That is my current experience, and it's the majority of my sum experience as a dominant, acting as a dominant for female submissives.

My previous sub/wife and I had a "house boy" for six months, something like 20 years ago.  We also had at least two different male friends that the ex-wife dominated under my direction, never on a regular basis, but at least occasionally.  We corresponded and chatted with a number of others through the years, so while my experiences with and around male submissives isn't greatly extensive, it is a topic I can discuss with at least a little authority, having lived with and hosted a male sub.

But is dealing with a male sub going to be my primary frame of reference?  Not as long as I'm being faithful to my own perspective and experience.  There's just no need to disparage anyone in saying that . . .

The Joy of Kink is Open

Joy of Kink Now Open New Home Please come join me at my new home... The Joy of Kink I'm joined there by some new friends... ...