whipslave20

06 December 2011 @ 01:18 am

Sometimes I'm just not that good at kink

Or I'm just not up to it. That may be a more accurate take.

I was at a party on Saturday with a bunch of people I generally get along with well. Things started off fine. Then took a turn for the worse in short order.

Part of it was probably related to coming down from a recent high. On Friday I did 2,442 pushups as part of a running campaign to raise money to fight depression. I felt accomplished and useful, and people were telling me I was inspiring. The next day there was a story about me in the local paper. All in all it was a positive experience in fighting off the gloom, but inevitably there is a come down from the high. The endorphins run out, fatigue sets in, I'm no longer doing pushups at lunchtime in a crowded town square, and the problems I had before are still there. (I'm starting to think they may always be there, and it may be a matter of managing them.)

The crash came at the party. A friend asked me if I would make tea, which I have done in the past and am generally happy to do. I found the tea, but it wasn't like any tea I had ever seen before. It looked like partially caramelised sugar. Not knowing anything about it, how much to use, or how to prepare it, and having nobody around and available who did know, I froze in a moment of fatigue/tea related mental paralysis.

A little while with no tea forthcoming, the comment was made that I had a lot to learn if I wanted to be a "tea bitch". And that set me off for a further crash. I'm fine at making tea in general, but if I was going to be asked to make some bizarre kind of tea I had never seen or heard of before, I would have thought that special advice would have been given. Besides, I never claimed to want that title. I was just trying to help and felt as though my willingness to do so was being mocked.

Then, as Sekoma was talking to me having noticed my declining mood and harried mental state, came the final straw. It was Madam's birthday, and a guy who was the semi-official photographer came by and said I was expected in another room immediately. Except he didn't say it like that. He said "Insert my name here. The next room. Now."

I didn't take kindly to that.

My reply was a seething "what?"

He repeated himself, and pointed out that it wouldn't be a good idea to disappoint the birthday girl.

If I was the kind of guy who punched guys, I would have punched the guy. With a snarl on my face I said I wasn't going anywhere regardless of who was disappointed. His rejoinder of "oh come on" was met with a "do I look like I'm f*cking kidding?" on my part.

It pissed me off to be spoken to like that. I had very little mental bandwidth left at that point and soon found myself outside feeling detached with a thousand yard stare on my face.

The thing is, my tea related friend was understanding about what had happened and we had a nice long chat later on about my mental state. Madam also understood that I wasn't up for the kind of play we had enjoyed the previous weekend. I went to the party intending to give her a birthday gift of a body to smack things with, and it turned out I wasn't able to follow through. I did feel bad about that. The realisation crossed my mind that sometimes I'm just not up to getting into kinky shenanigans. Sometimes I can't make the tea. Sometimes I can't take a beating. And sometimes, maybe I'm just not up to being as dignified a subbie as I would like.

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16 October 2011 @ 01:49 pm

A moment of exclusion that didn't last

I've been to a lot of kink events this year and I am quite keen to keep going.

This month I contacted the organisers of one of my favourite events to get myself on the guest list. Apparently it had filled up faster than normal and I had contacted them too late. It was a let down but it didn't bother me for too long, especially after speaking to one of my friends who had a cancellation in her party and who contacted the event to get me in the now vacant space.

I drove up to Sydney with plans to get into all sorts of kinky shenanigans, but my pre event giddiness was interrupted by the bad news that I was not going to be going after all.

Apparently the event was at capacity and there were already a lot of men going. So when my friend had a cancellation in her party they opted to cut her allocation rather than allow another man to attend. I didn't flip out or fly off the handle, but I did go all quiet.

In the immediate aftermath of hearing this kind of thing, sometimes you start imagining all sorts of things. I wondered if complaints had been made about me. I wondered if I was being cut out of the loop. I like this event and have been many times without incident. Still, it was hard to escape drawing the conclusion that I was being excluded on account of having a Y chromosome.

There are events that strictly exclude men from the outset. I have no objection whatsoever to that. There are other events that charge more at the door for single men than they do for couples or for single women. I understand why some events do this. This event doesn't. Nearly every time I've attended this event I have attended on my own and there has never been any problem with getting in on account of my gender. I've never found a lot of creepy guys at this event, so I was surprised to hear that there were "too many men" attending.

It also bothered me to feel like I was being lumped in with the guys who make these kind of policies necessary. I'm not. I bring something to the events I attend, I have a good reputation, and I have a lot of friends who respect me and can vouch for my bona fides. Still, I was out on account of something I can't change.

But my moments of speculating about the various underhanded plots to exclude me from my favourite events passed pretty quickly. What helped was going along to visit some friends at home as they prepared for the evening. It was nice to be reminded that there were a lot of people who wanted me to go and who felt let down just as I was that I couldn't. It was nice to be around and to feed off the energetic giddiness of people about to go to what I consider to be a gold standard kink event. It was nice to learn a bit about corset lacing. (I am quite keen to learn more about this, as I think it would be a useful talent to have. Also I really like corsets.) It was nice to help some of my friends with their boots and in so doing indulge some of my fetishy interests. It was nice to get a brief flogging from one of my "newish to kink" friends to make up for the heavier flogging I wasn't going to get. It was nice to spend the night dozing on a sofa watching films with others who didn't attend and eating pancakes at 5:30am before greeting my friends as they returned home.

I will be back next month. I may wind up registering as a group with one of my female friends just to ease things along. If I was never able to attend again, that would be a real let down. But as much as I enjoy all of the events I regularly attend, I also know that I have plenty of friends who respect my kinky talents even if I never attend another event. And that is a good position to be in.

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15 October 2011 @ 12:12 pm

Birthdays and other traditions

"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

Is what I said to Mistress Jadis before my traditional birthday session.

Having been recently influenced by Fight Club, I have found the intensity of getting hit and pushing myself to the brink to be a useful tonic as I battle a sense of gloom that occasionally surfaces.

So she stood me up in the corner with my arms behind me and repeatedly punched me in the chest and stomach. She said it was lucky that Mistress Servalan, a martial arts expert, wasn't around.

There was also flogging and caning and singletailing and getting smacked with a leather strap that didn't look like much but was quite stingy and was far heavier than I expected.

There was also plenty of me feeling fragile. Not so much during the beatings themselves, but in moments when we were quiet and it felt as though the whole world outside of Carisbrook had disappeared. Naturally, there were a few tears as there so often are when things get emotionally intense in the dungeon.

What came through to me in a very powerful way was the fact that on every birthday weekend since I had known her, I had been broken apart and built back up. Three years earlier, I cried while in subspace for the first time ever. It was a transforming moment for both of us, and it led me to get more deeply involved in the kink community. With endorphins rushing through my system and fresh welts on my back, it struck me that over the past three and a half years since I first met her, Mistress Jadis has been closer to me than anyone else in the world. It has been an interesting three and a half years both in kink terms and in vanilla terms, and she has known more about all of it than anyone.

Some things have changed, but there are some traditions I have been happy to maintain.

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06 October 2011 @ 01:11 am

Fun with Midori (WARNING - Explicit Content)

I got an e-mail a little while ago asking if I would be interested in being a demo dummy for a workshop being staged by the people at Uber. The world renowned Midori was coming to Australia and I was needed for her predicament bondage workshop.

I had never been demonstrated on in front of so many people, but I do like a challenge and there is a bit of an exhibitionist in me so it was an easy call. Midori and I had exchanged e-mails establishing strengths and limits, and I turned up on the day ready to take on whatever was thrown at me.

So I found myself on a stage in front of about two dozen kinksters without a stitch of clothing on. I have never been one for being tied up and I had never had any interest in predicament bondage. The idea that any way you move and anything you do has consequences, either positive or negative, did appeal to me on one level. The options for challenges were prevalent.

Having informed Midori that my last gym session had emphasised chest and shoulders, Midori first asked me to go into a slight crouch to I could work my legs. A spreader bar was attached to my ankles and my balls were then tied to the bar. This meant that if I wanted to stand up to relax my legs, the string would pull uncomfortably on my balls. The next predicament was to involve my nipples. In our e-mail exchange I had told Midori that my nipples were sometimes extraordinarily sensitive. This was one of those times. After a couple of minor touches and before she could actually do anything substantial with them, I hit my freakout threshold (which was probably lower given that I was already partially tied up) and collapsed backwards to the stage. Luckily there was nothing wrong aside from a momentary panic, and I was eventually able to get back into a standing position.

I was, however, all bent over at the waist and in an uncomfortable position. I could see little drops of sweat collecting on the floor below me before Midori chose to lengthen the string tying my balls to the bar so I could stand up and the attendees could see the sense of exertion on my face. Next, a string was tied around my cock and ran down to the bar then up to the pipes overhead and then down again to my wrist. This meant that letting my right wrist drop meant the string was going to pull on my cock. To complicate things further, a water jug was placed in my right hand giving me more weight to support. Luckily for me, I occasionally train at the gym by carrying 10kg/22lb weights on the treadmill for up to ten minutes at a time, so my "death grip" as someone put it was well developed.

My left wrist was tied to a string that ran up and then down to a pair of clamps that grabbed on to my chest hair. Again, lowering my wrist would pull on my chest hair, causing me further discomfort. Balancing holding these three difficult positions was difficult enough in itself, but then Midori showed a couple of examples of how to add further predicaments. An egg, and then an electric fly swatter was placed under my raised heel, meaning that lowering my heel to a comfortable and normal position would result in a broken egg (and a consequent punishment) or an electric shock that might cause me to spill from my water jug or cause me to move my legs or hands, with all the additional discomfort associated with that.

Midori knew that I am more into getting hit by things than being tied up, so she issued me a challenge. An egg was placed between the cheeks of my ass, and if I could hold it in place without letting it drop to the floor for five minutes, I would earn a flogging. I was already gaining bragging rights by being tied up by a world renowned kink educator, and getting a flogging from her would be a feather in my proverbial cap. I was determined to hold it, even though it felt like it was constantly about to fall. Apparently drops of sweat were forming on my back, and later Midori remarked that it looked as though I might be able to crack it with my "rock hard butt muscle control." I didn't, and though the time passed slowly, I managed to make it past the five minute mark, and continued on until I could eventually feel it slipping bit by bit by bit before falling to the ground. I had earned a flogging.

But first I had to get free of my predicaments. That wasn't going to be made easy for me either. A pair of scissors was suspended just out of my reach and I was told to free myself. I got my left hand to the scissors, and though they were tied shut, I was able to get them open just enough to be able to get a bit of string between the shears and cut them one by one. I cut all of them without even spilling a drop from the water jug. There was applause.

Then it was time for my well earned flogging. This too would incorporate predicaments. I had my hands flat on the wall, and a number of coins were slipped under my fingers with the instruction that I was not to drop them. I didn't, and I even managed to keep my hands in a set of hand outlines that were traced around them.

The flogging didn't last long as there was a female demo dummy to be tied up. I did speak to Midori the following day, however, as she insisted on checking up on me. Apparently I made a good impression, and the offer of a more intense and longer beat down was made in the event that we were ever in the same place. That may happen some day, but that will be another story.

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26 September 2011 @ 09:45 pm

Odd Kinky Dreams

I've had two in three night last week. I made a special effort to remember them.

On Wednesday morning I woke up from a dream based on Inglourious Basterds. I was the Bear Jew and another basterd and I had just taken out the guards outside Hitler's cinema box. Before we could charge in and do some Fuhrer shooting, a kinkycatlady came around the corner with nothing on. She wasn't a Nazi, but she was going to interrupt our plans and I couldn't have that, so I tied her up with some twine that happened to be nearby. She didn't fight back or struggle and I managed to tie her up pretty well (though not in a safe way) but I woke up before we could go in to kill Hitler. Throughout, I had an vengeful attitude, just like the Bear Jew in the movie. I was angry and quite determined to finish my job, killing Hitler and as many Nazis as I could, and bringing down the Third Reich.

On Saturday morning I woke up from a dream that was set in New York. I was visiting Mistress Katya at her dungeon where some playing was done, but they playing was not central to the dream and I can't recall much of what happened. What happened afterwards, however, I remember quite vividly. We went to a park where there was some gym equipment for some reason. We had planned on me doing some personal training and on the two of us working out together. I put together a workout that involved pushups, kettlebell swings, and sprints across the park and back. We were about to begin when a tall, drunk guy came by and started harassing her, making suggestive comments and getting quite grabby. She got angry, and so did I. I wound up applying my rugby skills and tackled the guy to the ground before pounding on him Ultimate Fighting style. Again, it was a dream where I was angry and violent.

That's twice in three nights that I have had aggressive and violent dreams involving kink. I don't know what to make of it, but a sense of annoyance and frustration seems to be combining with my kink and coming out in my sub-conscious.

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16 September 2011 @ 02:38 pm

You DO NOT TALK ABOUT KINK!

So I finished reading Fight Club the other day.

I had seen the film and it was slightly different from the book in that it was more of a narrative and less chaotic. The film made an impression on me when I first saw it years ago, and it has had a renewed impact on me in recent weeks and months as I've had an increasing sense of gloom.

There are quite a few things in it that resonated with me.

"We don't have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. The great depression is our lives."

I've had a pretty cushy upbringing and I still have a pretty cushy life all things considered. There has been, however, a numbness permeating my life for a long time that I have become more and more aware of recently. I feel like one of "the middle children of history."

And this week the insomnia is back. Insomnia, and now the whole world figures to stop by and take a dump on my grave. The insomnia distance of everything, a copy of a copy of a copy. You can't touch anything, and nothing can touch you.

I don't have insomnia. I'm sleeping well enough. But the sense of distance I understand very well. Nothing touches me and nothing matters.

So there's Fight Club.

Or perhaps, in my case, there's kink.

"I want you to do me a favour. I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

I've never said those words to Mistress Jadis. I've never said them to anyone. But I may as well have. I still maintain that I'm not really a masochist, but on some level, there is something wonderful about getting broken to pieces. And about marks.

Someday I'd be dead without a scar. Since fight club, I can wiggle half the teeth in my jaw. Maybe self-improvement isn't the answer. Maybe self-destruction is the answer. Tyler explained it all, about not wanting to die without any scars, and wanting to know more about himself. About self-destruction. I just don't want to die without a few scars. It's nothing anymore to have a beautiful stock body. You see those cars that are completely stock cherry, right out of a dealer's showroom in 1955, I always think, what a waste.

I have the same feeling about people. My recent rant about dom guys who couldn't handle a beating comes to mind. You are capable of handling the kind of heavy flogging or caning you are dishing out, but you won't. What a waste.

I don't get off on pain like some masochists do. But I do like the physicality and the focus that comes with a beating. Falling apart can be wonderful. I've been beaten to the point where my whole body freaked out and I've fallen to the floor contorted from pain and the exertion that comes from holding yourself up. In those moments, everything else goes away.

You aren't alive anywhere like you're alive at fight club. When it's you and that one guy under than one light in the middle. After a night in fight club, everything in the real world gets the volume turned down. Nothing can piss you off. Your word is law, and if other people break that law or question you, even that doesn't piss you off. I could finally get my hands on everything in the world that didn't work, my cleaning that came back with the collar buttons broken, the banks that says I'm hundreds of dollars overdrawn. My job. This guy trusts himself to handle anything. There's grunting and noise at fight club like at the gym, but fight club isn't about looking good. There's hysterical shouting in tongues like at church, and when you wake up you feel saved.

I've been having a tough time finding a place to fit in the world. I feel like I haven't got a handle on anything. I feel lost. I feel like a fraud, with no purpose, incapable of doing anything useful. But in those precious moments on the floor of a dungeon, all of that goes away.

When we invented fight club, neither of us had ever been in a fight before. If you've never been in a fight, you wonder. About getting hurt, about what you're capable of doing against another man. Most guys are at fight club because of something they're too scared to fight. After a few fights, you're afraid a lot less.

The fear goes away too. There is less fear in the dungeon than there is just about anywhere else.

I'm not going to start getting into fights with random strangers. I'm not going to assemble an army of space monkeys to wreak mayhem against society. Overall I'm a fan of society. But the ethos and the appeal of Fight Club is something I understand. Kink helps me to understand it.

I don't know what is going to happen to me and the sense of depression I have. In the meantime, I'm going to keep doing kinky things.

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12 September 2011 @ 08:39 pm

Suddenly I'm playing heaps

I went to RnR on Friday.

I've been going to more kink events recently, and I've been doing more at them. I suppose I seem to have more friends who are interested in playing with me, and I have been getting more comfortable about playing in public. This year Mistress Scarlette and I showed a whole dungeon full of people what a single tail whipping is meant to look like. Miss Lyss and I made a good impression on the crowd and she made plenty of good impressions on me. Madam put a nice beatdown on me in front of the Canberra Under 30s.

At my first party I told myself I almost certainly wouldn't play. I didn't. It was quite a while before I felt comfortable playing in public, and quite a while longer before I knew enough people who had similar interests to me to ensure that almost anywhere I went, someone complimentary would be there.

Last Friday I had plenty of friends around, plenty of confidence, and plenty of play. I broke my personal record for foot worship. By the time I left, I had worshipped the feet of ten women, mostly friends, some new friends with whom I enjoyed playing, and one friend of a friend at the request of that friend. I also gave Nerva_Chu an outlet for her new favoured hobby of trampling. I walked into one of the upstairs rooms and met Lady_P, a pro-domme who was chatting with Alictronic about riding crop techniques (and who also bears a striking resemblance to a very vanilla housemate of mine. Seriously, they are the same age, have the same colour hair, they facial features are very similar, and if Lady_P wasn't wearing six inch heels, they would probably be about the same height.)

Lady_P then proceeded to ask if I would be willing to help her teach what she was talking about. Alictronic learned how to wield a riding crop on me. I'm pretty sure she enjoyed it, and I certainly enjoyed being involved in someone's early steps into kink.

I got the chance to help someone else take some first steps into a kink when Lady_P asked if I would also act as a crash test subbie for her apprentice. Chloe had never flogged anyone or spanked anyone before but she learned and she learned on me. I gave her plenty of feedback about how it feels to get flogged and spanked so that when she next gets a chance to dish out some discipline, she will have greater perspective and experience. It was awesome. It's really cool being able to have that kind of influence at such an early stage. Mistresss Jadis trained me into being the kinkster I am, and I know she is proud of that fact. It's not the same thing, but to a degree, I got to help influence someone's kink.

Let the playing continue.

P.S. Some of the flogging was done on my chest. Almost all of the beatings I've ever taken have been on the back. Having it on the front was great, because it meant there could be eye contact. Eye contact gives me a happy subbie feeling.

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06 September 2011 @ 02:19 pm

Hey creepy naked guy... F*CK OFF!

I was at a kink event about two months ago when I first encountered creepy naked guy.

Now I've seen plenty of people dressed and undressed in plenty of different ways at plenty of different events without being bothered by it. In fact, the fact that creepy naked guy was naked wasn't a problem. The fact that he was creepy was a problem.

I was playing with a new friend, quite happy to be on the floor licking her boots as she sat on a bed above me. That is, until out of the corner of my eye, I saw creepy naked guy sitting in a chair just a few feet away, fiddling with himself. I was sufficiently into a nice subspacey place to be able to continue without being distracted by him provided that I remembered not to look in that direction.

All the same, I was aware that there was someone nearby who was imposing himself into my scene in a particularly creepy way. I saw him later in the evening a few times, and at no time did I see him talk to or engage with anyone. He just lurked in the background wearing nothing but a string around his waist from which a few chains hung down in front of his junk (chains which were frequently pushed aside if he felt like exposing himself to everyone) and a pair of Crocs. All night he just hung around in the background being creepy.

Last weekend I saw him again, wearing the same thing and doing the same things he did the last time I saw him. I raised my discomfort with this guy with some of my friends and they tended to agree that they could do without him being there. A lot of people enjoy going to events to meet up with their scene friends, but as far as I can tell this guy has no scene friends. He just seems to turn up to parties to perv on others and play with himself.

I've not said anything to him (in part because I don't want to have anything to do with him, even if that is telling him to f*ck off) but if I keep seeing him and he keeps doing what he is doing I might raise the issue with the organisers.

I guess I'm now kind of a veteran in the scene and I'm not going anywhere, but if I were a new and fresh face on the scene this is the kind of thing that would turn me right off to the point of alienating me. I know there are creepy naked guys in every kink scene. This guy isn't alone. Having guys like this around is bad for the kink community.

So how do we get rid of them?

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29 August 2011 @ 12:02 am

So... I may be a bit sexist.

I've written before about how taking a beating makes me feel tough. There is a sense of pride that I get though playing when I endure all that there is to be dished out. Plenty of times I have gritted my teeth and made sure that I am able to give Mistress Jadis something to hit until she decides she is done.

Recently I have been playing more and more in public. I like being able to demonstrate the level of intensity I can take, enabling a domme to demonstrate the extent of her sadism, and showing off to the kink universe what Mistress Jadis has trained me into.

I repeatedly picked myself off the floor after collapsing during a singletail whipping at the hands of Mistress Scarlette Stangata in front of a crowd of onlookers who couldn't fail to notice the intensity of our scene, and some of whom asked me afterwards how I managed to take what I took.

Miss Lyss also laid some pretty impressive marks on me at a party in a basement in Brooklyn that I got to wear around with pride for the rest of the evening.

A few weekends ago there was a party in Canberra and for the first time I played with my friend Madam who hit me harder than anyone else had hit anyone that night as I growled my occasional "getting hit with things" mantra of "I am a stone." Later she remarked that it was wonderful to be able to play with someone who was not a pussy.

At times in the world of kink subbie guys can be made to feel like lesser men. (Some don't need to be made to feel that way, and act like lesser men all on their own.) Nearly every time I have taken a beating, I have come away feeling like more of a man. Every mark that I carry around with me is evidence to that fact.

At a lot of the parties I go to I see dom guys dishing out floggings and spankings, and often I find myself largely unimpressed by them. Let me be clear, I have many friends amongst the ranks of dom guys whom I like and respect, but sometimes when I see a guy (particularly a guy I don't know) dishing it out, my instinct is to scoff that he couldn't take it.

Now I know that some guys who enjoy putting the beat down on subbie girls can take what they dish out. For my part, I have enjoyed caning friends of mine whom I know liked being caned.

Seeing a scene involving, say, a man flogging a woman, I can feel a lot of empathy and respect for her, but I often feel unimpressed by him. In those moments, she comes off as being far tougher than him. I can respect the skill, but on some level I feel like showing my marks and saying "you're not so tough. Behold the marks of a man! RAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

The thing is, I don't have the same reaction when I see women dishing out discipline. I know that some of my female domme friends have taken what they dish out. Some of them have told me about beatings they have taken and I've seen their marks at times, but I don't expect them to endure what I would expect a man to endure.

And I guess that's the sexist part.

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21 July 2011 @ 06:31 pm

Unkinky Service

Every Wednesday in my house we have a communal dinner and take it in turns to cook.

Last night was my night to cook for myself and four women. I cooked up some Korean beef that got rave reviews. Afterwards without a word being said made the tea as I do every Wednesday, remembering to make one weak with half a sugar and milk, one mid strength with half a sugar and milk, and one chamomile. Then, as usual, I brought in the chocolate. After we ate and as the ladies watched the season finale of their usual Wednesday evening television programme, I did the washing up.

And amongst preparing dinner for four women, making the tea, bringing in the chocolate, and doing the washing up, there was nothing kinky happening.

Two of the four know that I'm kinky, but they're not and they don't know a whole lot about my kink. I don't think it would occur to them that people might enjoy service in a kinky setting.

I did enjoy this little evening of service, but there was nothing kinky about it. I gave them a pleasant and worry free evening during which corsets and heels gave way to track pants and ugg boots in the midst of an Australian winter. No flogging or foot worship was done.

And it was wonderful.

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