The Challenge (episode 1)

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Second Honeymoon on Chastity Planet

This is the prequel to the dream I had the other night. It's send to end up in my new novel, "Chastity Planet"....

Elizabeth whirled into the apartment, arms outstretched, wavy blond hair flying, summer dress fanning out.”Darling! It’s wonderful!”

Lewis’s eyes flickered to his wife’s pirouetting bare legs and the groin cup seemed to tighten.

A warm breeze made the net curtains billow inward and brought with it the sound of a shuttle crackling up into orbit, back to equality and technology. Lewis set down the cases and eased a crick in his shoulders. He was going to miss the service droids more than he expected.

Elizabeth ran over to the window and pushed aside curtains and lent out. The posture made her calves tense against the leather straps of her high sandals.

Lewis's mouth went dry. Was this really his wife of ten years?

“You were right. It’s beautiful”. She turned. “And so much bigger than at home.” Her dark eyebrows lowered into a frown. “It’s not too much for you to manage?”

Lewis glanced around the room and imagined himself sweeping and mopping. His groin tightened and he was glad that the cup restrained his erection. It was what he came for, after all. But he wasn’t going to admit that. “It will be like reenacting ancient history.” He smiled. “It’ll be worth it for your career.”

Elizabeth’s toothy grin returned. “Well, come and look at the view.”

He wanted to start unpacking, but somehow found himself abandoning the cases and joining her at the window. They could see over the buildings between them and the beach, right across the blue water of the Minervan Straits.

“Beautiful,” breathed Lewis, meaning the warm electricity of her flank on his. He’d come here expecting to be turned on by the subordination and the danger. But it seemed the biggest excitement was his own wife. He slid his arm round her trim waist.

Out on the water, a whale breeched, flicked its tale and emitted a gout of white spray.

Elizabeth gasped.

Lewis drew her around and kissed her full on the lips.

She shook her head. “No. Get off.”

It was as if a magnet suddenly wrenched him backward. He found himself standing well inside the room, his cock beating against its prison like a second heart.

She turned and the sunlight shone through her dress revealing the shadowy curves within. “I’m sorry. It’s just I keep thinking about - you know.” She blushed.

Lewis managed a wry smile. “Well, you’re the boss at the moment.”

Her eyebrows lifted into a tragic expression. “Oh My God.” Her hand went to her mouth and she advanced on him. “Did I… When I said…”

Lewis fingered his red collar and laughed. “Your wish is my command.”

“Oh. Sorry sorry sorry!” She advanced on him and put a hand on his shoulder as if he were a wounded beast. “I had no idea that it would work this way.”

“It’s OK,” he said, trying not to smirk. He’d prepared a speech for this moment, but the throbbing in his groin made it hard to think. “I… I don’t think it will make much difference. I mean, this is your opportunity. So I’ll be looking after you anyway. And anyway I’d never force myself on you if I thought you didn’t…” He trailed off. It sounded so lame. She must realise-

-Elizabeth launched herself at him, drew his head down and kissed him full on the mouth. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue inside.

He kissed her back, his hips twitching of their own accord, driving his neutered groin against her navel.

She pulled free with a gasp. “You’re giving up so much for me!”

Lewis blushed and felt the guilt shrivel his abortive erection.

He had thought about her career, really he had. But that wasn’t why he’d nudged her to take a contract on Vesta and her gratitude made him feel like a heel.

He couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t a lie or a confession, so he reached his arms around her waist and drew her back to him and nuzzled her collar bone. Her skin was warm and salty from the heat of their journey and her musk went straight to his groin.

She emitted one of her snorting, deliciously dirty laughs and threw her head back to present her throat. “I’d forgotten how you could push my buttons.”

He walked his lips past her bead necklace, planting dry kisses all the way to the angle of her jawbone. Each contact of lip on skin, sent a jolt into his chastity cup, inflating his penis until it strained and prickled against its cell.

Elizabeth’s breathing quickened and she slumped against him.

Gently, as if handling a precious vase, he turned her around and gently lowered her to the bed, so her bare legs draped over the end.

She raised her face and brushed some stray locks from her forehead. “What are you… I mean what can you…?”

He put a finger to his lips. “Shh...” Then, kneeling, he slid his hands under her skirt, found the waistband of her sensible undies and gently drew them down her legs and over the straps of her sandals.

They lay on the tiles, frumpy and out of place in this world.

On the bed, Elizabeth sighed contentedly.

Lewis caught her behind the knees, drew her down the bed and draped her legs over his shoulders. The hem of her print dress furled back over her thighs, and there was her pussy - thick dark lips lurking behind a frizz the colour of her eyebrows.

Then her hot scent enveloped him. He dove forward, mouth open and kissed the her full on her labia, sucking the salty juices into his mouth, the taste churning his captive groin into a frenzy.

“Oh,” she said. “Yes please.”

A pulse went through Lewis’s down-pointing dick. He had to hold back the torrent! Clenching muscles he didn’t realise he had, he ploughed his tongue up through her slit, between the scritchy curls covering her outer lips and into the soft wet flesh beneath.

Her clitoris was waiting for Lewis, unhooded and hard like a nipple. He flicked it, then flicked again, lengthening his stroke so as to scoop up the juices overflowing from her vagina.

Elizabeth groaned, setting up another wet pulse in his groin.

Lewis tried to draw back on the building ejaculation, but then gave up - here on Vesta, he didn’t need an erection to pleasure his wife.

She gasped. “Gosh! Faster!”

Lewis made his tongue whir like a vibrator. She just lay there, unmoving, but whimpering while the seagulls cried beyond the window and the thirsty hardness in his groin ebbed and flowed like the tide, dripping semen into his briefs.

At length Lewis’s calves cramped from kneeling and the flap of skin under his tongue began to hurt. He slowed down, trying to bring things to a gentle close.

“No!” she gasped. “Don’t stop! Faster!”

And - thanks to the red collar around his throat - he could only obey his wife. All thought of his own pleasure forgotten, he worked on through the pain, lashing her clitoris with his tongue, slashing her juices all over his lips until his whole mouth blazed…

“Keep going!”

Again he could only obey.

The sense of his own helplessness clutched his groin like a mailed fist. His cock passed through a pleasant hardness into a prickling rigidity and—

—Elizabeth gave a long, long sigh and lay still. “Gosh. That was amazing. Come up and…” She half sat up, her hair wild and mussed, a flushed covering her face down to her throat and beyond. She grinned. “I was going to say shag me. But of course you can’t.”

Lewis clambered onto the bed and flopped down beside her. Lust was rippling over his body from the epicentre of his crotch. He wriggled out of his fisherman’s pants and clutched at the featureless bulge between his legs. The nano-plastic was warm to the touch, almost fleshy and tinted to match his skin. But he couldn’t feel anything through it… not yet, at least.

Of course! Since she’d had her orgasm, there was this brief window in which he was allowed his.

“Your ring,” he gasped. “Turn the stone.”

“Oh, of course.” She squirmed around to kneel beside him. Her eyes twinkling, she extended the ring finger of her left hand and reached for it with her right. “Let me see…”

Lewis pressed the tiny slit in the front of the cup. Any moment—

An electric shock went through his genitals. A disembodied voice said, “One Demerit.”

He sat up. “What the…?”

She gave a squeak of laughter and put her hand to her mouth. “I turned it the wrong way—can you forgive me?”

Two demerits left and he’d face a whipping! His cock pulsed and a squirt escape the slit. He really had to come, NOW. “I’ll forgive you if you twist it the other way,” he growled.

“Of course. One… Two… Three..” She made a great performance of turning the ring’s stone in the other direction. “Ta da!”

Nothing.

“I think the demerit cancelled it,” he said.

“Whoops!” She gave another dirty laugh. “Well, I think there’ll be more opportunities, don’t you?” She unfolded her legs, slid off the bed and pulled the dress over her head. “Come on, darling. Can you get the our swimming things?” She reached around to undo her bra. “I want to try the… (damned ancient design)… pool.” The undergarment fell away, leaving the skin of her breasts to glint in the soft light through the window.

Lewis’s cock twitched in its prison. He wanted to grab, grope, fondle, pet… but she’d told him to find the swimming things.

He handed her the bundled bikini top and bottom-

She grinned and reached out, making her breasts joggle in a way that caused a sympathetic squirm in his groin. “Thanks!”

—And he realised she had absolutely no idea that the software in his collar would take almost anything she said as an order.

A dream of Chastity Planet

Last night I dreamt of Chastity Planet and didn't know I was dreaming...

A very familiar looking English girl – Catherine - urged me out into the poolside. "Come on darling, It'll be fun!"

The sun beat down on my back and I felt everybody's gaze and blushed. Everybody knew my secret! Just being here meant that I'd agreed to having a chastity cup installed around my genitals.

But other men lounged around the pools - I was one among many. This was no private fantasy. This was a real place.

Catherine gave a happy snort of laughter. "This is fantastic! I'll get some drinks. Meet you in the water!"

She hurried off, all bright and brisk and leant on the bar. We'd been together ten years, but I feasted my eyes on her like a new lover.

Less than half an hour before, she'd clawed my back, screamed and grunted as I'd pounded the prosthetic penis into her.

Now, the love making was over, she was relaxed and normal. But part of me was still back up on the room and my groin throbbed and prickled with her every movement.

I kept getting flashes of how she'd looked sprawled on the bed, naked and spent.

I glanced down reflexively. On this planet, nobody could see my arousal through my swimming shorts. Even so, I felt dizzy and exposed.

I jumped down into the nearest pool, a gently bubbling Jacuzzi. The warm water embraced me, all, that is, except my sealed in genitals which felt like an island of dry in all that foaming wet.

"Crimped on at a cellular level," they'd said. I'd not really paid attention back then. Now it was as if I could feel all those nano-spikes rooted in my flesh and it suddenly seemed a that I'd done a terrible thing to myself.

There was a sharp twinge in my groin and a disembodied voice in my head said, "One Demerit".

"You splashed me," said a woman across the bubbling water from me.

I stared at her. She seemed normal, nice even, if a little wilted by the heat. There wasn't even any anger in her voice. But she'd brought me a step nearer a public whipping.

I had a vision of myself, stretched out on the frame, the lash drawing blood from my back. I should say something rude, provoke her, anything to get that whipping...

Except, I realised, I didn't want that whipping. It was one thing to have a secret fantasy, another to be really here.

This was too real.

The Chastity Belt: Cassandra's Double?

When I wrote the Chastity Belt, I imagined a book called "1930s Ladies" - the kind of thing Taschen were publishing a few years back. Alas, no such book exists.

However, this - courtesy of Vintage Scans - could be a page from it... one of those showing a lady not unlike Cassandra.

The Ultimate Chastity Belt (What the Victorians did for us)

The Victorians didn't fetishise male chastity, but OMG did they make male chastity belts!

You see the metal parts knocking around museums and of course online (left).

Masturbation, you see, was a bad thing. Sapped the will and the sanity.

Now the Victorians were great engineers, and not consciously satisfying a fetish. They were designing something for nightly wear, or even 24/7. Even though the wearers hardly consented to the things, they were onanistic youths and lunatics, rather than prisoners.

So the nutjobs forcing the guys into chastity were actually doing it For Their Own Good, and were probably keen to minimize discomfort and avoid health problems...

This means that what we didn't get was something based on the a supposedly Medieval original (Neosteel example, right).

Sure, they look good, but they require tinkering before they feel great, and most wearers will tell you that you have to adapt to the belt, not the other way around.

The problem is the rigidity.

Humans are three dimensional, and when we lose or gain weight, or dimensions change. So, you're simply not going to be able to slap a steel belt on a fiendishly masturbating lunatic without a lot of tinkering. And, if you get it wrong, he gets sores, or gangrene, or gets access to his dick anyway - for example by lying on a hard floor.

Similarly, you can't put this on a sallow youth because he's still growing, or at least filling out. And, presumably, you're expecting him to do healthy activities like physical jerks.

No, not being overt chastity fetishists, the Victorian engineers started off with the idea of preventing access to the genitals, and worked their way out. What they ended up with was lockable underwear like this example from a museum in Prague (left.)

Look at it!

All the design problems have been solved for us (see also the design, right).

The genital shell accommodates the testicles with no chance of using the scrotum to pull out. The buttock chains are adjustable - the hanging straps are adjusted behind shields which become inaccessible when the belt is tightened. The chain is fabric covered to prevent pinching and chafing.

Finally, the girdle itself is adjustable and will bend to fit with the wearer.

--because most of the parts are made of leather!

OK, I don't know whether it's shower proof, but a modern equivalent could easily be made so.

The genital shell rather flaunts the penis - but a cup design would fix that.

The aesthetics are very Steam Punk - perhaps too much so for most fetishists, but it could be done in other colors with modern materials... I've knocked up something myself using polypropylene webbing which does very nicely indeed, and dries quickly after a shower.

Think about it - no modern materials are indestructible. Anything you're going to get a belt made out of will by definition be something that workshop tools can cut. So - fetish aside - why go for more security than "requires tools and conscious effort, and requires breaking the device".

So, if you're on a quest for the ultimate male chastity device, here it is. Now all you have to do is find somebody to make it for you! That will enable you to concentrate on masturbation, just not your own...:)

20% off the Chastity Belt

Lulu has an offer on.

Designing the world of the New 3rd Sex

At the moment, people seem split evenly on the question of whether and how chyaste men ejaculate in my third sex stories. What's interesting is that most people either want orgasms through anal sex, or spontaneous ejaculation without orgasm.

Since Chastity Planet already has the possibility of anal sex, my instinct is that chaystes don't get to orgasm; I don't want it to be about needy men pestering women for strapon sex, I want self contained men who pay for wild erotic activity with frustration.

But I'm also tempted by the idea of creating a slave gender. Suppose the alien device lets you orgasm through anal penetration, but only with one person. So, get drunk and seduced into a one night stand, and now there's only one person in the entire world who can make you have an orgasm... you'd have to be pretty careful who you let near you with a dildo.

(Orgasm could simply cause loss of will, but though that makes a great fantasy, it makes for a poor story.)

I suppose it depends on whether the aliens are orgone harvesting, or social engineering. If social engineering, then it's straying into the territory of chastity planet.

Oh to be a chayste slave in this room!

The impossibilty of full consent in femdom

My friend Fur Sissy has an interesting post on consent in femdom.

I've written about the paradox of consent before - that strange way in which, even though this is your fantasy, you're not actually in control. Not only are the roles real as long as you stick to them, in voluntary slavery, just like in real slavery, there is a cost to withdrawing consent.

It's this last that possibly raises moral issues.

We are truly enslaved, not by our ostensible slave status, but by the consequences of using a safe word: we are afraid of losing the kinky relationship.

In a vanilla relationship, kink probably means more to us than to her. In a lifestyle relationship, there are far more available bottoms than tops. Supply and demand puts us in a very poor negotiating position. So, just because we are kinky, it's inevitable we'll do things we'd rather not do; things that are non-consensual.

And, of course, there's meta-kink where having our consent violated turns us on, so it's not always clear to us whether we're consenting or not!

I've come to think of this real power imbalance as a good thing. I like being a slave.

However, I can see that a dom might have qualms at never knowing whether a sub is actually consenting to something, or will give his retrospective consent once he's come down.

I think the answer is just to accept that you're playing with evil. The only limits consistent with such are came are...

• To ensure you can keep playing at evil: A very short laundry list of things that would boost you out of slave role - in my case, cross-dressing, and human waste would simply switch me off.
• To limit the impact of the evil: Firm boundaries to do with real life consequences, for example, "No harm done to health or body, social or professional identity, no risky games"

Beyond that, if you have a bad time, or the play goes places that you don't like or leave you feeling icky; Tough.

That's the nature of the game you're playing. Just like sportsmen, sometimes things won't go your way. You can always amend the laundry list after the event.

Polls...

I've reopened the Chastity Belt poll, since I've picked up some new readers.

I'm also curious about where I should go with what I'm starting to think of as my Third Sex stories, so I've added a poll for that.

I write and share my erotica for the interaction. So if you want to see more, please let me know what and why in the comments...

So do chayste men get to come? (You tell me...)

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of 5% of young men just randomly waking up with mysterious alien chastity belts nano-welded to their crotches - suddenly we have a true third sex; biological males with no access to their genitals.

But, do they get to have orgasms through anal stimulation?

Which is more interesting? Straight guys forced to seek out dildo sex, or with utterly no chance of any release except a bit of leakage? Or perhaps not even that.

What do you think?

Why most healthy relationships have a potential BDSM dynamic...

As promised in an earlier post, here's why I think most healthy relationships have a potential kinky dynamic, which I fall a Shadow Relationship:

a spot where your darkside overlaps hers. You're both acting spontaneously without a script, enjoying your roles for their own sake. Anything that happens is authentic, because it's what you'd both do if your roles were real. The relationship is a shadow one, but still an actual relationship.

If Robin Skynner, author of Families and How to Survive Them, is right, then we tend to share issues with our partners. He calls this the Shop Window Theory (no googleable reference - you'll have to go and buy the book...)

In short, when courting, we tend to try to escape our issues by putting the opposite in our "shop window". For example, if I have a problem with anger, then my shop window oozes with the calm I intuit will attract a living saint.

The snag of course is that she'll also have a shop window. If it's oozing with tranquility, then perhaps she too has a problem with anger; it's like two con-artists marrying each other for money!

So, the relationship can take two broad paths: the functional, in which we both help each other deal with our anger issues; and the dysfunctional - the fucked up - where we repress each other, or boil over into mental or physical abuse, or both.

Now - be honest - much of our kink is driven by our issues, and most of the kinky action, shorn of the context of consent and the trappings of BDSM, looks pretty damn abusive (and is often mistaken as such by outsiders).

So, based on my own experience, and that of others, I have a strong suspicion that the optimal BDSM mode of your relationship is just an eroticised version of the dysfunctional relationship you could have had; the Shadow Relationship.

If that's true, if you're drawn to one BDSM role, then, potentially, she may be more than comfortable with its counterpart.

Note, however, that I'm talking about roles and relationships, here.

Things you fantasise about because they scare you, probably don't represent a viable shadow relationship, because they go against your basic nature. You wouldn't expect your partner to share your love of extreme sports either (though she might).

S&M acts and rituals on their own - floggings and spankings - don't count either. Nothing wrong with them, but they're the BDSM equivalent of a blow job.

There's also a lot of mundane crap that can get in the way. Possibly the particular form of your fantasy puts her off, or your coping strategy. However, I think it's easy to forget the other barriers to play, including self consciousness, cultural imperatives against eroticism, emotional fragility, and plain old fatigue.

And you can screw it up yourself in so many ways....

Femdom reciprocity in a nutshell

Femdom play has reciprocity as long as she enjoys using the power. If she enjoys wielding the power as well, that's a bonus. She doesn't have to care about your experience.

(If she's "service topping" - doing it for your sake - then the play is not reciprocal, but may fit into a nicely reciprocal erotic relationship where you do other things for her at other times.)

Chastity Planet - Work In Progress

(Since 60% of you seem to prefer my Chastity Planet setting, I've started on a full length erotic novel set on that world. Here's a bit from first draft of the first chapter...)

Despite the tropical heat, a shiver ran down Robin’s spine and into his chastity cup.

The doorwoman had cropped white-blond hair and a build like an athlete’s under her tight black crop top. Across her small breasts, friendly pink letters spelling out, “My name is Ute. How may I be of service?” However, the long laser scar running diagonally over her face screamed “veteran”. Ute - if that was her real name - could probably snap Robin in two without so much as breaking a sweat on her muscular limbs. And she was leering down at him.

Robin forced himself to keep climbing the steps.

The sky lit up, casting a white glare into the narrow street, illuminating the two naked men strapped to the posts holding up the entrance canopy - naked that is, except for lipstick-red collars and chastity cups.

Hard on the heels of the glare came the crackling roar of a shuttle climbing up from New Athens Space Port to one of the orbital stations.

Robin froze. The sensible thing would be to get on the next ferry. He might still be stuck in the chastity cup, but at least he had rights back at the University.

Behind him, a cab whirred to a halt. Giggling girls filed up the steps, all tanned legs and bare buttocks glimpsed under the hems of spangled mini-dresses. As they passed the captives, each tweaked a nipple or drew a backhanded stroke across a bare chest or thigh, leaving the men writhing against their bonds as if dancing to the thud-thud music leaking from the misty strobe-lit interior. Linda was somewhere in there.

Robin took mounted the next step. As he reached the top, the doors swung shut, muting the dance music.

Ute treated him to another leer. Without breaking eye contact, she reached under her leather skirt, giving him a glimpse of stringy thighs and white pubic hair, made hooking action, then held her glistening fingers in front of the face of one of the captives.

The bound man whimpered, extended his tongue, and strained to reach her digits.

She let the bound man fasten his mouth around her fingers. He sucked crazily, and fluid started to leak from the front of his chastity cup. “Free entry to neuters.”

Will shook his head.

Ute grinned, not a reassuring sight. “Don’t worry….” She reached out to the other man, pulled his nipple and twisted, setting off a frantic whimpering and writhing. “…You won’t end up like these two wimps.”

“Really?”

“These bondsmen belong to Miss Lang. She’s just getting them nice and horny so they’ll go find themselves girlfriends.”

Bondsmen. That explained the red collar and cup, unlike his mat-black set. “Why would she want to get rid of her… property?”

“The girls always end up buying their bond.” The bouncer withdrew in her hands and swung the door open. “So, are you going in? Or—” She looked him up and down. “—do you want to know what time I get off?”

Robin whimpered and fled toward the threshold.

As he passed her, she pinched his bottom.

“Hey!” he began. Then the pain set of an echo of pleasure in his captive groin. He blushed and stumbled inside. He didn’t feel neuter . Not a moment went by when he wasn’t aware of his cock and balls trapped behind the nano-plastic mask. Would dating Linda would make things better? He frowned. It was hard to think these days, except in class—even in class, surrounded by all those beautiful unfuckable girls…

And there they were, over by the bar on the raised area at the other side of the dance floor: Cordelia, bushy black hair and as tall as the Ute, but willowy rather than muscle-bound. Next to her, as if hiding in the taller girl’s shadow, the angelic blond Linda sat with hunched shoulders, flashing her front teeth like a nervous rabbit. A craggy looking man perhaps five years older than Robin was craning his neck to speak to the tall girl. He lent closer to Cordelia and touched her bare arm. She shook her head firmly, making her frizzy hair fan out, and tapped her signet ring meaningfully.

The man shrugged, and stepped back from the bar, suddenly looking small before Cordelia’s towering presence. As if nothing had happened, the tall girl resumed a conversation with the woman in the next seat.

Robin grinned. He’d heard there was nothing like the threat of a demerit to bring a man down to size. Of course, now he’d left the safety of New Athens, he was subject to the same threat.

The stud reappeared next to the bar and slid onto a bar stool next to Linda. He said something and the blond blushed to the roots of her hair. She put her hand to her mouth.

Robin set his jaw and started across the dance floor. It was hard to believe there were so many men. He didn’t know what all the collars meant, but each guy’s lower clothing would conceal a bio-plastic chastity cup. Were they all like him, going crazy with pent up lust?

And the girls were crazy - dancing like harlots, rubbing groins and backsides on with wide eyed men, dancing with kick steps that made their short skirts flap and reveal bare thighs and buttocks. This was not a place where women bothered with panties when they went out. He really had to rescue Linda.

“Robin!” A plump girl with rather too many curves escaping from a wrap-round corset blocked his path.

“Hi Julia.” He made to slide past her.

She gave him a fleshy smile. “Dance with us.”

Stacy and Cat appeared behind her, making up what Robin’s classmates called the Three Witches - not that the trio of plump girls had ever been anything but nice to him.

Robin gave an apologetic smile. “I can’t,” he said over the sound of the music. “I need to get to the bar.”

Julia pouted and the three girls crowded round, chorusing, “Dance with us!” Hips and breasts undulated against him. The sensation bypassed his brain and went straight to his chastity cup, which tightened around his penis like a vise.

The rhythm of the girls enveloped him and he swayed on the spot.

Julia wiggled in front of him. His gaze plummeted into her cleavage.

She laughed, put her hot arms around him and drew his face down to hers. Her mouth opened with a scrape of teeth against his lips and her tongue shoved its way into his mouth setting off a pressure wave that made his penis inflate and try to rear its way out of its prison.

Robin stooped and put his arms around her waist. The flesh was sticky with perspiration and as yielding as dough. His hips twitched reflectively and he grasped her ample backside and slid his own tongue past hers to taste the sweet alcohol suffusing her mouth.

A flash of blond in the corner of his eye made him pull back.

The stud was leading Linda by the hand toward the door.

Robin pushed free. “Sorry. I have to go after Linda.”

Julia scowled. “You fucking prick.” She pointed a chubby index finger at him and twisted her signet ring.

A little electric shock went through Robin’s chastity cup. A voice in his head calmly announced, “One demerit.”

His hands dropped to his groin. “You bitch!”

She slapped his face. “Let him have it girls.”

Stacy and Cat pointed their fingers.

Robin’s heart pounded. “No! Three demerits means a public whipping.”

Cat grinned. “We know.”

“We’ll come and watch,” Stacy added.

They both twisted.

The voice disembodied voice said, “Mobbing is not permitted. If you are in distress, please seek help from a police officer.”

“Ha!” said Robin. He put his hand to his smarting cheek and looked for Linda. She was gone.

He staggered back to the exit and blundered into the Ute the bouncer.

“Steady on there boy,” she said, steadying him with both shoulders. “You drunk?”

He shook his head. “Got to save a girl.”

The bouncer laughed. “What from? This is the safest girls night out in the galaxy. No cocks and all the men fitted with violence inhibitors.”

Tom’s shoulder’s slumped and his stomach seemed to fill with butterflies. She was right. There was nothing to stop Linda doing anything she wanted. This world and everything on it belonged to women.

“It’s not so bad,” said the bouncer. “Say - I'm just about to get off.” Her grip shifted to his waist, then her iron hard fingers dug into his buttocks. “Since you’re so sober, why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

The Vanilla Dominatrix

I've always craved real female domination.

I remember, at 21, meeting a girl with ME, and being darkly excited by the thought that she'd need constant looking after. I didn't get her, but I did get a parade of mentally fragile girlfriends.

On some level I wanted my life to empty and another person's to pour in.

And, my first girlfriend - was I 16? - was a true psycho chick, lashing out with verbal and physical abuse. Even as I gradually discovered and accepted my fantasies, I still blundered around the spectrum of abusive relationships, being bossed around, verbally abused, slapped and punched.

None of all this made me very happy. A big chunk of me is not consumed by erotic darkness, and the particular darkness I did crave was never fully satisfied by fucked-up relationships... The fragile girls wanted a manly man to pwotect them, so it was like a race to the bottom. The bossy ice queens and psycho chicks were dysfunctional in the bedroom, but only in boring ways.

The take home is; you can't and shouldn't use unwitting broken people to satisfy your kinks.

Playing at femdom was never really satisfying either. Most people aren't natural actors, and even if they do get into role, it's hard not to be aware of the Russian Doll paradox - while you're ostensibly controlled by her, she's really being controlled by your fantasies. Worse, you miss the unfakable emotions, and the real edge of fear that comes from being in somebody else's power.

It took a long time - way too long - to realise the third option, what I think of as Authentic BDSM.

Just be yourselves. No play acting, no script, no expectations or shopping lists. You only have to pretend two things:

Her power is real, and it's OK for her to enjoy and exploit it.

Her power is real...
It's surprisingly easy to pretend the power is real. Most real world power we encounter isn't backed up by the immediate threat of overwhelming force. We grow up obeying teachers, professors, and bosses. Humans are naturally hierarchical. As long as you never do anything to break her authority during a session, you'll both start to believe in it.

...it's OK for her to enjoy and exploit it
Scarily, if you can establish the power, and give her permission and reassurance - without too much direction - then this naturally follows, especially because there are lots of non-kinky things for her to enjoy about being in charge.

Of course, this means you get a Vanilla Dominatrix.

Unless she's as obsessively kinky as you - statistically unlikely (Sorry!) - she won't start dressing up in uncomfortable PVC and latex. She probably won't be excited by your new chastity device, and she's unlikely to spend time devising new and cunning punishments, unless she already has a playful and mischievous bent.

What you do get is the dark thrill of really giving yourself to a real woman.

Femdom as shark cage (women are scary without the whips)

Women having a good time together are scary (left).

They don't need whips, or fetish wear. You know if you approached them, they'd mock you until you fled.

And yet, women are painfully desirable when they're splashing in a bath of shared femininity.

A woman wrapped in privacy is scary in a different way (right).

You don't know how she'll react if you interrupt her, but you can bet that the tranquility will erupt into something less pleasant.

And yet, there is something alluring about her in her unguarded moments.

Finally, a commanding, well-dressed woman is scary because she makes you seem so inadequate in comparison. You would feel like a fool approaching her.

But, my god she looks good!

What if your fears were misplaced? What if you can enter the picture without getting mauled?

Then the magic drains away. The crowd of women stop joking with each other and turn their charms on you. The sultry bookworm stops being self-contained and wants a snog. The vampy clothes horse gets her hair mussed.

One way or another, there's no place for a man in any of these pictures.

There is, however - at least in fantasy - a place for a slave....

The Glass Chastity Belt

The vacuum cleaner from Hell howled.

Julia groaned, untangled herself from the sticky sheet and sat up. She glared at the open window. The oppressively hot nights wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for that damn woman’s workshop waking them every morning.

“I suppose we’d better have breakfast,” she said, but found she was speaking to an empty bed.
Conrad had gone.

Julia set her jaw and mechanically set about tidying the room. She tried not to be angry, but as she tugged the sheet flat, she remembered Conrad stretched out on the bed. “I gave you an orgasm. What more do you want?”

She even had him tied up the way he liked. How long had she pumped away at his leaking penis? And for what? Half and hour of him complaining she wasn’t doing it right, then a few seconds of repulsive squirting.

She kicked Carl’s rucksack under the bed. Now there was no trace of him. Julia started to cry.
“I can’t go on like this.”

The machine stopped. Conrad’s voice drifted up from the courtyard, then Madame Etienne’s laughter. Their landlady was twice Conrad’s age, but she had a certain magnetism

“Damn.” Julia hated herself for being jealous, even as she ditched her T-shirt, and pulled on her summer dress and Birkenstocks. She glanced at herself in the mirror of the battered wardrobe. She would do for now.

She hurried out into the scalding sunshine and looked around for Conrad.

The voices came from the beyond the arched door of the converted stables – Madame Etienne’s workshop.

Julia stood in the door way and waited for her eyes to adjust to the shady interior. Conrad had his back to her. His tasty olive skin seemed to glisten slightly. His bare arms were leanly muscled. The walls of the workshop were bedecked with glass penises and all sorts of odd looking devices, including shackles. She gasped.

Madame Etienne noticed her. “Ah, Mademoiselle. You have come to see my work.”

Conrad turned. “Madame manufactures adult toys in glass.”

He had that guilty little boy look. Of course, this must be like an Aladdin’s Cave to him, and yet he knew she couldn’t share his excitement.

Julia felt herself colour. Damn him, she thought. He had no right to expect anything.

Concern flashed across Conrad’s face. “We had better have breakfast,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure Madame…”

Now Julia felt guilty. “Wait,” she said.

Madame turned to her, expectant.

Julia glanced around, looking for something, anything, she could ask about. Her gaze fell on a strange looking device, a glass girdle with a banana-shaped cage in the front. At least it didn’t look as if it were for penetrating anything. “What’s that?”

Madame raised an eyebrow. “Une ceinture de chastity pour l’homme – a man’s chastity belt.”

“For a man?” She’d read about chastity belts for ladies. But not this.

“Mais ouis!” Madame took it down off the wall. “The bullet-proof glass is comfortable, hygienic, and can pass through any metal detector. My chastity belt…” she drew herself up. “Can be worn indefinitely.”

Something fluttered in the pit of Julia’s stomach. She examined the device. The cage would fit tightly over a man’s penis keeping it pointing down, muting its unspoken demands. A deliciously icy sensation teased her spine, as if she stood on the edge of the highest diving board. She shivered, despite the heat. More than anything else in the world, she needed to take the plunge… see where this might lead.

Conrad was watching her intently, an obvious bump in the front of his shorts. He licked his lips. “Isn’t it dangerous? The glass?”

“No,” said Madame. “It is bullet proof. You can break yourself, but not it.”

“Let’s have one,” said Julia. “Don’t you think, sweetheart?”

Conrad shook his head. “Why? What good would it be?”

You fantasise about being my slave, thought Julia. But, you are the only one who ever has an orgasm.

“Because I want one,” she said. She took a deep breath and gathered up all her strength. “It turns me on.”

Conrad’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“It turns me on,” she said, louder. “You keep nagging me to tell you what turns me on. Well, this does.” She held handed him the chastity belt. “Turn me on. A lot. It…”

Madame Etienne grinned at her.

Now she’d said it, it was as if she couldn’t stop. Cheeks burning, Julia clamped her hand to her mouth.

Conrad stared at her. Slowly, he nodded. “OK.”

“How much is it, please?” asked Julia.

Madame grimaced. “Three thousand euros.” She shrugged.

Julia pursed her lips. She struggled to think of some way they could cobble together the money, but the more she considered their finances, the more the idea faded.

“We are students, I’m afraid,” she said and felt empty.

Madame looked from Julia to Conrad, then seemed to size him up. “And prettier than my normal middle aged clients. Suppose…” She turned back to Julia. “If I fitted him with a device, would you both pose for my catalogue?”

“I…” Conrad stammered. He hunched his shoulders. “People might recognise us.”

“None-sense,” said Madame. “Not with your faces obscured.”

Conrad turned to Julia, pleading in his eyes. “I can’t.”

Julia glanced at the device and imagined the cage wrapped around Conrad’s hungry penis. She felt a wet throb between her legs. “I’ll pose with you… naked,” she said, and realised she meant it. “Wouldn’t you like a picture of me like that?”

Conrad whimpered.

“He agrees,” said Julia.

"The Chastity Belt"

I've bumped up my prices for The Chastity Belt to reflect how many beers you owe me if you read it; the download now costs a single pint of beer, which I think is fair given that's what you'd buy me if we knew each other and I emailed you the story; and the printed book costs two pints, which is what you'd ply me with if I printed and bound it for you....

Morning in Aqua Sulis

I wake to her hot tears splashing the cold skin of my back.

"Oh you poor thing," says Cordelia. "I'm such a wicked, wicked person." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "I should never have let you make love to me."

I twist in my chains and feel bare smooth bare flesh on brush my flanks. My owner kneels on the straw next to what's left of my stale bread and water, and she's naked. The cool air of my cell makes her nipples stand out.

I feel a hopeless tightness inside the chastity belt, but I don't feel any less naked than my mistress - after all these years, the steel device is part of me.

"You must be so very cold and lonely down here."

I nod and feel my own tears well up and trickle down my cheeks. I could ask her to let me return to serving her, but last time I pleaded, she extended my punishment by another month and sent her handmaidens to beat me-

-Of course, it's not really punishment.

A month ago, she let me service her with the dildo. More than that, she kissed me, clawed my back and - as I pounded into her, feeling nothing in my lost cock - I poured out my feelings, told her I loved her. She smiled back at me between her cries of orgasm...

..so, yes, we did make love, and afterwards, as I lay next to her, my chastity belt beating like a second heart, she summoned her handmaids to escort me down to the cell.

Because it was that or sell me. A Roman lady must preserve her emotional distance from her slaves.

Cordelia stoops closer and her warmth bathes my skin. "I miss you," she whispers.

With a rattle of chains, I strain up and kiss her on the lips.

Her tongue dips into my mouth. Then she pulls back, "You realise the price?"

I nod.

She turns her head, making her breasts quiver, and addresses the girl who hovers in the doorway. "Octavia - bring over the dildo and the scourge."

I flinch. "The whip?"

"Yes my love. If I lash you myself, then I don't need to keep you down here." She drops into a pouting, babying voice. "You do understand, don't you sweety?"

I nod and she slots the prosthetic penis into the front of my chastity girdle.

Morning on Chastity Planet

The bedroom stinks of animal sex - of tongue-lashed pussy juice and feminine sweat shed from sleek skin, all going stale on warm sheets.

The throb in my blank groin grows more urgent, but this is the life I signed away my penis for.

I can only stand there by the bed, coffee-tray in hand, and wait.