Chastity

Some sad stuff has happened in my world this week (there was a death in the boy's family), so I am firmly not going to talk about those things here and instead write about something fun and amusing.

Recently, realizing a fantasy of his, the boy bought a CB6000 chastity device.

As I've said before, he's already on orgasm denial, so even if this wasn't something he desperately wanted, it was probably a logical progression anyway.

We went to Mannhaus, which is an excellent store and we always try to buy there as the service is amazing and we want to support the business. The boy chatted to the guy working there and learned quite a bit, since apparently he had also worn one for two weeks previously. We bought the cage, then came home.

Now, here's the thing.

It's very, very difficult to get a chastity device onto someone who is turned on by chastity.

Even though the boy did a lot of it himself, he needed help for some of it. Besides, I wanted to be a part of it - I was the one locking him into chastity, for goodness sakes.

So, we would do a part, then he'd have to lie down and relax and meditate for a little while to calm things down. Then there'd be a mad rush to get another part done, then more relaxing.

It took half an hour.

Never let it be said that living a BDSM lifestyle isn't hilarious as much as it is serious and sexy.

Reactions, Denial, and the Blogroll

I really need to update the links on my blogroll on this blog, I noticed a few of them don't exist anymore. This is pretty sad for me as I really enjoyed those blogs, so I'm sad to see them cease to exist.

Anyway.

Recently I've been being amused by people's reactions.

The boy has been on orgasm denial since December. He has not had an orgasm (aside from nocturnal emissions, which I do not count because I am neither ignorant of anatomy nor excruciatingly cruel) in 2010. Being that it is now the end of April, people's reactions to this can be pretty amusing.

Without fail, they will be astounded or amazed at first. Then they will either proclaim loudly about how they could never do that, never go that long without an orgasm - or they will smile, sometimes a little shyly, and say that that's kind of cool.

I never used to be interested in orgasm denial - I only got into it because it interested the boy. At first it was just extended teasing, then denial for a couple of days, then a couple of weeks, then a bit over a month. At this point, at four months, I can safely say that I've become a complete convert.

The strangest side effect of it has been that I am more secure in our relationship. I feel like I truly am dominant over him at all times, because I am controlling his sexuality at all times.

This means that - as we are polyamorous - that even if the boy has sex with someone else... he is not allowed to come without *my* permission. He also should not ask for permission. Oh he *can* ask for permission... but I'm always going to say no.

And all this... all this leaves me feeling very secure in our relationship. How can I feel jealous, how can I feel possessive, how can I feel threatened or afraid or even just a little worried, when I control the peak of his sexual pleasure? And more importantly, when he *consents* to me controlling the peak of his sexual pleasure?

Yes, I'm definitely a convert. And I keep joking about making the boy wait an entire year before his next orgasm, so it would be in December this year. But every time I say it it feels a little bit less like a joke....

Responsibility

Responsibility is a pretty big part of D/s and Leather. Whether it's being responsible for your submissive, or being responsible for fulfilling your duties to your dominant, it's a pretty important part of this type of lifestyle.

Recently I have been coming into a place of further responsibility towards my community.

Over the last couple of years, but much more intensely in the last couple of months, I've been approached by people. People asking my advice, my thoughts, my recommendations. People asking for my help. People finding comfort and safety in my company.

While a large part of me is stunned at this, being that I am but a baby of the world (I am only 24 years old), I am doing my best to not respond with self-deprecating nonsense. I am doing my best to not say "But why me? I'm crap!" or anything like that.

Instead I am doing my best to take this responsibility seriously.

If people are coming to me asking for help, it is my responsibility to take that seriously. To listen to them, to do my best for them within my abilities. To care for them as much as I am able to do without compromising myself.

If people look up to me, it is my responsibility to do my best at being a person worth the faith they put in me.

It is, of course, not my responsibility to demand an unreachable standard of myself, by any means. But I believe I can find the balance between being a person who holds up to people's ideal of me being a person of good regard - AND being able to care for myself and allow myself my human flaws.

Or at least, that is what I am aiming for.

Differences Between Boy and Slave

My boy is my boy, he is not my slave.

For a lot of people in D/s relationships, the line between D/s and M/s can be very blurry. For others, it is so far apart it's ridiculous to think of them together.

I'm a terrible black and white thinker. I can't do it. I just... don't think in black and white, at all. Black is just very dark grey, and white is just very light grey. They're there, but they're on a spectrum. This is how I see most things in life, and D/s is no exception.

This post is not meant to explain all the differences between boys and slaves. As with everything in life (ah, here is my grey thinking) it all comes down to the people involved and how it works for them.

But for us? Definitely my boy, definitely not my slave. I am his Daddy, his mentor, his guide, his partner, but not his Master.

I think one of the key distinctions for us about this is that rather than control the boy's behaviour or life, I support him and encourage him to build his own. This doesn't mean that I don't tell him what to do a lot - on the contrary, he has a bed time and set gym times, and I can order him to do something at any time of day - but it does mean that I don't utilize that to its logical conclusion. I do not desire to do this for him, and I think even if I tried, he would resent it.

I do not tell my boy who he can socialize with or even when he can socialize. He is free to make his own connections with other people and to interact with them however he likes. Sometimes I will make suggestions, for example I have told him I would like him to attend the local submissive's munch when he can, but they are suggestions, not orders.

I encourage my boy to follow his heart and do what he loves. I do not seek to control that for him. I encourage him to work as he likes, play as he likes, see who he likes, experience life as he likes.

Were I to have a slave, this would not be the case.

In a slave I would expect to have rights over their life (within reason - some people's hard limits may involve things like "no removing me from my career" for example). I would have no qualms sending them to TAFE to learn skills that would be useful for me, modifying their bodies without asking (shaving heads, for example), or installing annoying protocols in their lives that I find arousing (not being allowed to use furniture, for example).

A part of me feels odd laying this out here on my blog for people to see, because the truth is that I'm a very flexible individual. I am open to most types of relationships with most types of people. I like that no two relationships are the same. I like being able to build a relationship from the inside, rather than going in with expectations.

But after a lot of self work in the last few months (well, last few years really!) I find myself in the position of actually seeking a slave. And it means that I have very clear ideas on where a slave differs from a boy - after all, I already have a boy.

What it does seem to come down to is the level of control and authority. While I have an enormous amount of control and authority over the boy, it is not total, nor would either of us wish it to be.

I do not seek to mould the boy into any particular type of person; rather, I seek to assist him in fulfilling his potential as who he is and who he desires to be.

That, dear readers, is a very important difference.

In a slave, I want near-total control and authority. But that doesn't mean I want a doormat, which I am finding means that I am having trouble finding suitable people. I want a slave who is stubborn and ambitious - the type of person who, while they do seek to be a slave, seeks to be the best possible slave they could be.

I'm looking for the elusive slave-minded person who thinks, "I won't settle for being locked in a cage all hours of the day, only used for sexual service. I can be so much more. I can be anything, I can be amazing. I can and will be the most impressive slave anyone has seen. People will compliment my Master on how incredible I am. Master will wonder how he ever did without me."

To be fair, I do actually already know someone who thinks like this - but he is one of my best friends, so that isn't going to work ;)

Eight Hours Leaves Me Sore

At a local event on Sunday night, the boy and I were out for eight hours. I'm quite fucked now, unsurprisingly.

It was a really excellent night. We pooled money together with a couple of other people and bought two people at the slave auction, who we tied next to each other and four of us went around them beating them up a lot. It was amazing, and they totally won the masochistic lottery... having at two people beating on you at any given time, sometimes three? Winners all round. Both of them are total pain sluts too so we could go really hard on them which was a lot of fun. It's been so long since I had that much fun doing impact play - I've been a little off impact play the last year or so, it hasn't been worth the effort, but last night was totally awesome.

Then I tied up and suspended this gorgeous girl and it was one of the most enjoyable amazing suspensions I've ever done, we had this amazing chemistry. When I was initially tying her up she would lean back into me, and when she was up and I put my hand on hers to see if her hands needed to be untied (checking the temperature), she grabbed hold of my hand and entwined her fingers in mine. And at the end she kind of puddled against me on the floor and we cuddled for a little while.

I feel energized from it all, I think perhaps I haven't been getting enough BDSM in my life recently, which is a little odd considering I live D/s. But it can be very easy to let things slide a little, and considering my libido has been extremely high recently, probably not that weird that I've needed bigger doses than usual.

Sorry this entry isn't more interesting - I'm still recovering!

Snippet

Boy: I need to get out of bed.

Myself: I can help you, if you want.

Boy: I don't like it when you help.

I tickled him until he got out of bed. :)

Marking Territory

Let's talk about something much, much more fun.

Recently I gave my boy orders that once he has used up his current supplies, he is only to use scent-free deoderants, shower gels, aftershaves etc. My reasoning for this is that I'm rather like a dog - smell is extremely important to how I perceive the world.

And what do dogs do? That's right, they piss on things so that they're theirs. A dog can smell their own scent on something and know that it belongs to them.

Now, I'm not actually going to piss on the boy. Firstly, neither of us get particularly excited about watersports, secondly, I don't particularly like the smell of piss, and thirdly, it would be awkward sending him off into the world always smelling of piss.

But I'm still going to mark him with a scent. I'm either going to buy, or more likely I'm going to make, some kind of cologne/perfume. Then when I see him, I'm going to spray him with it. That way he'll smell good, and every time I smell his good-smelling-goodness, I will be reminded that he is mine, and he is wearing that scent for me.

The only hard part is actually picking a scent. I'm quite partial to things that smell like baking, or things that make me want to eat them, so I've been tossing up between vanilla or artificial strawberry. That way there's either delicious irony, or strawberry lollipops. Although it has been suggested to use both, which I might do, which may well end in the boy smelling like strawberry cupcakes.

I'll keep you updated. :)

Life and Death

BDSM is dangerous, squeals the media.

BDSM is safe, squeals the kinksters.

The truth is that both are correct.

Last night, after performing suspension totally safely and without any hiccups for years, I had my first emergency.

It was nothing I did wrong. Everything went fine, until the bottom became overstimulated, perhaps a little motion-sick, and had an endorphin dump, and became nauseous, light-headed and dizzy.

When this happened, everything continued to go fine, in the sense that it was under control. A couple of wonderful bystanders helped hold the bottom while I cut the ropes and we lowered her to the floor. We cut the ropes off her, checked her responses, let her slowly recover before giving her some water and a cookie.

Fortunately, she was fine. All that was damaged was the rope I had to cut. But it reminds you, doesn't it?

There are risks to what we do. Sometimes, even if everyone involved does everything right, things go wrong. When they do, it's best to know what the hell you're doing... and also to know when you're over your head and need to call an ambulance.

In a sense, I'm grateful for last night, because it reminded me that I am paranoid about safety for a reason. My paranoia has almost certainly helped me avoid being the type of dominant that has frequent emergencies. And it also reminded me that there are risks to what we do... and that sometimes even if you do everything right, things might go wrong, so you had better be prepared.

Build it and they will come doesn't always work.

I'm excited about an upcoming exclusive play party. It's being held at a very large, very awesome venue, later on this month. I've been trying to convince everyone eligible to come that they should, because it will be a great experience.

Whenever I try to convince friends to come to things I enjoy, the inevitable question is raised:

"Will there be any other queers there?"

At which point I need to shuffle awkwardly, say "Well I'll be there, and my boy, and I'm sure there will be at least a couple of others too..."

Queers (at least the type that people mean when they ask if queers will be there) aren't very common in the pansexual kink scene here in Melbourne. Sure, there's a handful of us who are at every event, but in the bigger picture... most of the kinky queers either stay in the dyke scene or the gay scene. The exceptions being, of course, bisexual & pansexual folk (who are often not welcome in the dyke/gay scene) and some transfolk (though many transfolk stay in the dyke/gay scene anyway... usually whichever one their assigned birth gender matches, unfortunately, because trans politics has a long way to go in the world).

And of course the question of "will queers be there" means "I only want to go if there are other queers".

Which is awkward. Because if queers aren't there, queers won't go, and if queers won't go, queers won't be there.

You can see the problem with this.

I really do wish that queers could handle the idea of trying out the pansexual scene, even just a couple of times, without worrying too hard that "it's full of straight people". Just come out and have fun. Bring a friend, that way you won't be alone with the scary heterosexuals.

I do understand the desire to be with other queers. I have it, too. But sometimes it's worth venturing outside the ghetto. You never know what you might find.

Rope

I am a rope top. I flag grey on the left whenever I am flagging.

I am spiritually, emotionally, psychologically connected to everything I do. Rope is not unusual in that capacity.

But with rope...

Rope feels like the serpent swallowing its tail. Rope is the red string between lovers' pinkie fingers. Rope is strength and ugliness and beauty and it's a gladiator pacing in their cage as the crowd screams for blood.

Rope is an extension of me. Rope flows from me in ways that I cannot describe, ways that people do not believe until they see.

People see me when I use rope. They watch my hands and my face and they feel everything that is happening. People talk to me about my rope work more than anything else. People ask about my rope work more than anything else.

People ask to be beneath my rope, in my rope, between my rope... more than anything else.

Rope is my martial art, the one that has replaced karate.

Rope flows from my feet and my chest, rope gives me control over every situation. Rope is hard, soft.

There was a beautiful moment once, when I was to bind a submissive, and I had the choice between handcuffs or rope. After a moment's consideration, I chose the rope, because I knew it would be faster.

Rather than mess with buckles and keepers that are so delicate and precise, I throw my rope. Two seconds, bound arms behind the back. Safe, secure, and with more precision than I could ever wield a buckle.

I know my rope.

Tomorrow I have a suspension. Tonight I went over my rope, laid it out, ran my hands over it. Checked each and every part of it, so that it's ready for tomorrow.

I know my rope as intimately as my own body.

I know every piece. I know how long it is, just by looking at it, even in a messed up pile on the floor. I know how old it is, and who treated it, just by touching it. I know which pieces are are safe for suspension, and which pieces can only be used for simpler ties. I even know which piece was used on every body it has ever touched, whose body it was, where the rope lay.

I own a lot of very high quality rope. My rope collection alone runs my toybag value to about $900 Australian. I have amassed it over time, ever since I was eighteen years old.

I often wish I had less expensive tastes. My tastes run to hemp. There is nothing 'better' about hemp, or jute, or cotton, or nylon, or any type of rope. It is all about preference, and what speaks to you. I still remember picking up my first piece of hemp. It was love at first touch, and I knew nothing else would ever compare.

I still have my first piece of rope that was bought purely for bondage. I often wear it as a belt, keeping it with me at all times, so that I am always prepared. It is not hemp, it is a nylon rope, bright red in colour, ten meters long. I keep it braided in such a way that should I need to use it, I pull one of the 'threads' and it comes undone in a flash.

Rope is my soul.