Saturday, October 15, 2011


On Monday night I attended the "Serious Bondage Exploratorium" held at GLINT; my favorite kinky community center. I've gone on here about what a great place GLINT is in other posts but Yin has really created a friendly, safe, fun haven for kinksters of all stripes to meet, share, and learn. From rope bondage and writing to chit chat and pervy show and tell; GLINT for me is an extraordinary sum gain that has far more value than any of its enchanted individual parts.

The evening was part extreme bondage demo and part try-it-on-for-size. Yin presided as chief conjurer and was ably assisted by a coterie of experienced sous-wizards among them the legendary Erin Houdini and the dashingly dominant Sir Tony. The Exploratorium began with a demonstration by Yin of serious bondage technique. Erin, an immensely talented escape artiste served as the quite comely canvas for Yin's handiwork.

As she expertly ensnared Erin, Yin shared useful and facinating tips which were at once focused on the safe, the salient, and the oh-so-sexy. Meanwhile, at every turn, Erin tested the technique of our host. They were a fine pair; punctuating the lesson with laugh out loud humor. Fists wrapped in ace bandages were entombed in beautiful black leather, over the elbow, restraint sleeves. Brilliant red rope left a hog-tied Houdini to struggle in glorious, wriggling, gallantry in her never ending effort to valiantly free herself. This memorable demo went on for the better part of an hour.

Then Yin bought out her boxes, and crates, and steamer trunks full of gorgeous, custom made bondage gear. I swear it was Christmas morning for kinksters! For some strange reason, despite the fact that I've never really played seriously with it, I was magnetically drawn to metal. Dangerous and deeply sexual, metal just is and won't move.

I had come straight from the office and was wearing my slim cut Hugo Boss navy suit made of space age fabric that magically never wrinkles, a crisp white Charles Tyrwhitt dress shirt, and a dark blue bow tie with little sky blue dots on it. Yin had earlier pronounced me "dapper".

Sir Tony rigged up a steel head bondage globe thingy on a chain hoist and suspended it at the exact point my neck meets my shoulders. He locked my head into its menacing darkness. It was hot and humid in there instantly. There were little holes to let tiny shards of light in; or more ominously to allow the dominant to insert a prod here or a poke there. Tony maintained a running dialog with me about how everything felt. He pointed out that my sense of feeling would instantly be enhanced as my sight and hearing were now impeded by this perverted Diver Dan hat. He took a sound and ran it down my chest and then up my inner thigh. Oh yeah...

Then I was free. For the moment.

As I loitered by the gag box leering at the inflatable funnel gag, Yin came up to me and grinned.

"You know, you look so good in your bow tie. But I know what would just perfectly accessorize your outfit."

"Really?", I sputtered, barely disguising my glee.

"Yes, I think my iron mask would compliment your bow tie beautifully."

She grabbed a striking piece that I had noticed earlier. Made of matte silver colored cast alloy strips welded into a wide, cross hatched, head piece; the mask, complete with a nose and neck taper, looked like a full metal head. I followed her into The Pit.

Now I've read about The Pit. In her writings, Yin has described how she uses The Pit in session. It's a small, confining, dark little holy space separate from the rest of the studio. As she lay the mask on the floor and told me to kneel she described how she has playmates she knows well simply strip and lie back, placing thier heads into the iron mask. She then leads them in, attaches a chain to the top of the mask and fixes it to the point where The Pit's wall meets its polished hardwood floor.

And then in pitch black darkness she simply leaves them; the cold echos of her heels click clacking away.

She locked my head into the mask. At first my left ear didn't want to cooperate and was pinched by the hinge. I yelped and she calmly told me to just place my nose on the mask's schnoz. The bite of the metal reminded me that it held the unmistakeable allure of danger. Yin explained she was going to leave me, but this was not a scene. I should just yell, "Hey You, come get me!" if I was uncomfortable.

A second later I was in the dark, on all fours, with a heavy metal mask locked on my head. The weight of my steely captor was chained to the floorboard and though I could move around, I felt a little like a junkyard mongrel - kept around only for an owner's hidden purpose.

Periodically Yin would breeze in to check on me. Once she brought a foam pad for me to kneel or lie on, as the length of chain would not even allow me to sit up. Her form of mercy she said as she swept back out into the bustle of the well lighted studio.

I swiftly rejected her kind offer of lenity and went back to communing with the shiny, unforgiving wood. I experimented with the range of movement and the heaviness of the iron mask. I slid around, lay on my side, sprawled on my back. Gradually, I went somewhere else and in the religious alchemy of The Pit lost track of all my troubles and cares.

When she came in to let me go I was in full Child's Pose, head and mask against the floor. Yin gently knelt next to me and whispered that I'd really gone into full submissive mode.

A gesture of respect for the room, for her, and for all the wonder she had brought us that night.


Saturday, October 8, 2011

True Punishment

Punishment that's part of play isn't truly punishment. It's good hurt, not after you've been "bad" hurt. True crime, spot-on reprimand isn't fun but when it is administered fairly by a dominant I think it can be an integral part of a bdsm relationship.

However, for me, the line is fine. When is punishment fair and fit to the submissive's grubby little caper for which he's been caught red-handed and when does it cross over to the disproportionate? Should us subbie guys have any say either before or after the fact; or is correction the simple and exclusive métier of the domme?

I suppose I don't envision life in a dommy dictatorship. I like to think that I might be permitted to plead my case prior to the imposition of sentence; or at the very least file an emotional appeal after the fact in the hopes of future understanding, compassion, and lenity.

Obviously, that's the fast talking lawyer in me.

I do admit to the attraction of just going with my domme's mood and flow; but in my opinion that's ultimately a recipe for passive aggressive, misdirected, connection damaging retaliation on my part. I think in any relationship, there has to be some sort of positive dialogue and communication; the imposition of punishment shouldn't withstand exclusion from a list of relationship talking points.

My musings are inspired by my recent long weekend and current interactions with She-Who-Visits. My unique, long distance, challenging relationship with her is the closest I've come in my life to a "lifestyle" bond with a domme. Our ties to one another are deep, long lasting, and complex. We've been "together" for five years though most of the time we live thousands of miles apart.

This past trip was wonderful. But more than any other face time we've spent; she said very mean and cutting things to me and chose to impose real punishment. It wasn't so much the substance of the mean things she said which hurt so much but the way she delivered it.

Sometimes, I don't even think she realizes she says very cutting and hurtful things. I can't really give examples because they are so personal and involve her life and my life in a way I'm just not comfortable sharing in the blogosphere.

Should a domme get a pass on fairness and self awareness just because she's in charge? Should a submissive just suck it up and take it because that's what we've signed up for? I suppose I could try to answer my own questions. But I really don't have any answers. The answers I come up with all breed more questions.

My most recent crime was ending a self imposed stint of on-my-honor chastity. I was at about three weeks when She and I met up for our long weekend. When she asked about how long it had been since I'd come she mocked my pride at making three weeks. An obvious back handed compliment.

Then, despite preparing for a last night of play, punishment took the form of final night denial. No play at all. Very mean things were said.

The next morning I told her she'd hurt me deeply. She said it was very important that I understand my deep transgression and she wanted to drive the point home. Just before we left for the airport I thanked her for not allowing me release. I told her for me, it's win-win. She smiled.

Later, when we retreated to our respective corners of the globe she blithely set a date after which I could end my self imposed stint of chastity. I told her I wished she could watch me. She said if I waited until October 6th; she might be able to. I told her I would.

I didn't.

I suppose I should be punished. She hung up on me Thursday night when I told her what I'd done. She called me a dirty pig and said she wouldn't speak to me until after the weekend.

So here I am; stewing in the juices of my domme's displeasure with me and wondering will her punishment fit my crime - or will it be a cruel, unfitting expression of where she is with her life - essentially unrelated to my passive aggressive act of indulgent self denial.

Getting off would have been so much better with her voice urging me on over the phone.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

The Swimming Pool

"Do you see how easily you're replaced", she whispered a little breathlessly.

She was straddling a water jet in the warm darkness of our Gulf Coast resort's nightime swimming pool. The starlit small hours air and water were the same humid bathtub temperature. Every now and again she'd moan a soft little groan.

"Come over closer", she leered back at me. She'd suggested a swim. The off season cluster of cottages on stilts was silent, deserted, and still. We'd worn only our towels out to the pool. They lay on the chaises a few feet away.

"Here, put your finger down there. See how easy it is to replace you?"

I was in the middle of my third week of on-my-honor chastity. Pretty much self imposed as I knew I'd be seeing her. Makes it so much more interesting. I doggy paddled up behind her and grabbed the edge of the pool where she was fucking the water jet.

"Go on, right in between; feel the water shoot hard against me", her breath gaspy. She had thrust herself right against the fast spurting water.

"Do you want to hump my ass? Do you?"

I murmered something completely gutteral and unintelligable.

"Just don't bother me. Shut up and don't make your silly whimpery grunty sounds. And don't spooge."

With my finger against her water ravaged clit and my other hand gripping the slippery edge of the pool I moved up against her. She pushed back slightly and ground her sun tanned ass against my hard cock. She came almost instantly.

Later as we got ready for sleep and she turned on the static of the clock radio for the white noise she needs to drift off I made a lame excuse that the off channel hiss would disturb me and asked permission to sleep on the couch. Usually she lets me have a tiny sliver of her bed.

I ached badly for her.

But I just couldn't be that close to her after what had just happened in the swimming pool. Without betraying a hint of her own desire, She happily banished me to the sofa.

As I floated off perched on the narrow, uncomfortable couch I felt an inane sense of self righteous integrity. How I love on my honor chastity with She-Who-Visits.