Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Work in Progress: "Sex Slave to Lesbian Flappers - Seafood"

Thought you guys might like to see an excerpt of the forthcoming novella...
 
A week later, Lena strolled along the cliff top path. She had exchanged her cloche hat for a floppy knitted beret. The wind made her scarf dance and her heavy tweed dress cling to her legs. However, my owner looked warm enough in her “Arran” sweater, its red and orange zigzags cheerfully defying the bleak landscape of scrubby grass and rocks.
She was also magnificently alone—
—except for me, her slave, plodding along half a minute behind laded with a thermos flask and folding stool. But then, I didn’t count.
Lena had kept to herself for a week, typing, walking and sleeping. I’d run errands down the cliff steps to the village, made her endless coffees, but I’d only touched her to give her long massages. If she had masturbated again, I had not seen it.
The memory of that frantic self pleasuring made my lost cock heave inside its surgical steel cage. Her daily massages were a delicious torment. Despite the cold wind, I could almost feel the heat of the bedroom, see the firelight flicker on her oiled flesh as I ran my thumbs up and down her spine, the lust breaking over me in waves.
I frowned. Just a general lust, I told myself. I just wanted more of the free porn show. I most certainly didn’t have any desire for Lena in particular.
Damn! She’d stopped and I’d ended up just a little too close.
I halted and tensed, expecting her to use that clicker of hers to rack up another demerit. Instead, Lena produced her binoculars and swept them out to sea - not out to sea, she was pointing them down at the beach.
I sidled a little closer to the edge so I could see what she was looking at.
Far below, in a sheltered cove, a barefoot girl in a duffle coat left footprints in the sand while the wind made a swirling cloud out of her ash blond hair. It was Daphne the artist! My groin tightened a notch.
Daphne stopped just short of the high-tide mark. She put down her sandals, unslung a satchel and draped a towel over a rock. The heavy duffle coat came off and the wind plastered her flowery summer dress to her statuesque figure. She caught the fluttering hem and whipped it off over her head to stand naked on the cold beach, her back to us.
My cock came to a prickling hardness and tried to tear free off its permanent cage. Pale skin made marble-white by the cold, statuesque curves competing with the waves… Daphne looked like a goddess.
The wind snatched the dress out of her hand. She turned inland and raced after it, hair billowing ahead of her, teeth flashing with merriment. Her full breasts bounced as they ran, dark areolae bobbing in time to her long stride. My gaze fixed on a divine blond arrowhead of curls between her honeyed thighs and my chastity cage seemed to fold in on itself.
I glanced guiltily at Lena, but my mistress was lost in the view, moving only to keep the binoculars focused on the naked blond girl.
Daphne caught the dress. She carried it back to her rock then bent to trap it with stones - was that shadow between her thighs the darker skin of her vulva? My vision blurred and a tremor ran through me.
The blond girl stepped over the band of rotting seaweed marking high tide. She sprinted down the beach, took three long bounds into the waves, then, like a dolphin, made shallow dive into the frothing water.
My owner and I both watched rapt as the girl swam back and forwards across the bay.
I shifted from foot to foot trying to stay warm, my cock just a numb hardness. More sensibly dressed than I, Lena just stood there enjoying the close ups granted by her binoculars. From time to time, her legs tensed and she twitched her hips.
I looked back down at the beach.
Daphne emerged from the sea like a mermaid, her large breasts firm and globular, shiny with saltwater. The water fell away from her flat tummy, then her pussy - the white-blond curls plastered against her pubis. She strode up the beach, white-skinned and unearthly, as immune to the cold as a goddess. She grabbed the towel in both hands and dried herself with vigor, making her breasts wobble.
The tip of my penis prickled and it was if the each wave that struck the beach ran on up the cliffs to make me sway back and forth. I just wanted to run home and masturbate, but there was no home, and no possibility of masturbating, ever.
Daphne pulled on her dress, then the duffle coat, then trapped her hair with a woolly hat. The show was over.
Bootsteps crunched on the path. Lena strode past me. I raced after her, back along the cliff path to her cottage.
I found her in the porch. Still wearing her Arran sweater, she was sprawled in an old wooden chair.
I hung up my bulky coat then knelt to unlace her muddy boots.
“Forget the boots,” she said, spreading her legs. The hem of the tweed dress rode up to reveal cosy woolen stockings hugging sleek calves. “Lick me.”
A steel fist clenched my cock.

Monday, October 29, 2012

After some very useful feedback on Chastity Planet, I'm starting to get a handle on what people think is cool about it. Guys - am I right?
  1. It's a plausible Femdom world
    You can imagine it working. The people don't just live for sex. The women don't all wear latex all the time. Despite it being SciFi, this makes it seem more real.
  2. Vanilla people
    There  are plenty of good plausible reasons for vanilla men and women to be there and become corrupted or seduced.
  3. Femdom and Vanilla Life collide
    Vanilla relationships and concerns can quickly turn Femdom, or collide with Femdom. Only on Chastity Planet can your ex-wife buy you as a slave, or your college crush unknowingly visit your licking booth.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Chayste series...

By popular request, I'm planning some stories in the "Aliens made me chayste" series. Nothing is fixed, but by way of inspiration I have mocked up a cover (really a product image for Kindle):


What do you think?

Saturday, August 04, 2012

Back to erotica! (At last!)

Well, that's that. I've made my foray into Femdom self help books, said what needs saying, hope to god I've helped some people. Now I'm sliding back into my comfort zone and returning to writing chastity orientated erotica stories.

I have so many themes to explore, so many nuances of chastity and Femdom.

I also have a lot of half-finished pieces. Thanks to Kindle, I now have an impetus to polish them and get them out of the door.

Thanks for everybody's continuing friendship and support!

Giles
PS I have reopened the polls
PPS Feel free to make suggestions or requests :)

Monday, June 25, 2012

The Chastity Belt revised! (FREE UPDATED COPY FOR READERS)

As part of my new epub drive, I've revised The Chastity Belt!
 
New cover as well! (Wish it were me in that fine CB...)

Really, I've just corrected typos and continuity errors - nothing you probably noticed if you have already read it! However, if you have read the old version and would like a revised copy in epub format, please email me your old one with "CB REVISED" in the subject.

Monday, April 16, 2012

So what's so good about my Chastity Planet?

I'm curious. Chastity Planet was supposed to be a personal project - it breaks all the rules for commercial erotica: it's SciFi, it has a complicated setting and so on.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Sorority party on Chastity Planet

So, there’s a girl’s hand on my bare thigh and there’s nothing I can do about it. A horrible sense of naked vulnerability makes my groin tighten. I’m not wearing underwear beneath my Roman-style tunic. However, no matter how far up her hand goes, her long nails aren’t going to find my genitals.
I’m on Vesta - “Chastity Planet” - in the university city of Minerva. I’m at my first sorority party. Like every other male in the room, I’ve got a flesh-toned chastity cup nano-welded to my groin. Most of them are here for the cheap education. Me? I’m here for a girl. But not this girl.
“Hey, Annmarie,” I say. “Off. Out.”
A catlike grin forms on Annmarie’s round face. Her hand leaves my thigh and I know she’s fondling my groin cup. I can’t feel anything, but my lost penis goes wild, trying to heave itself upright. “What you going to do?” she says. ”Slap me?”
I blush. The discrete transparent collar about my throat stops me doing anything violent. The best I can do is try to shuffle away and close my legs.
Annmarie’s hand catches my knee. “Besides. I’m your date.”
I could still pull away - I’m not entirely helpless - but her fingers are strong and her nails are sharp; a reminder that men aren’t really protected from assault on this planet.
I glance around the room. Surely somebody will tell her to quit petting in public?
Thanks to the dress code, everybody’s wearing a unisex white tunic. It’s supposed to create a classical sense of tranquillity to go with the college’s columns and portico's. However, away from the College Wardens, everybody’s behaving as if it’s a toga party. There are bare legs everywhere, some smooth, some hairy. Nearby, a couple neck on the couch. His hand is running up and down her thigh. I get a glimpse of her pussy, dark lips behind a blond frizz. The girls don’t need underwear here, but only the men wear the cups.
Annmarie’s breath is hot on my ear. “You’ve been here a semester. That’s three months without an orgasm.” Her tongue teases my ear-hole, setting off a painful throb in my groin. “I have an orgasm every night.”
“Good for you,” I shoot back.
“Want to help me?” she purrs and I have a vision of her soft flesh undulating in the dark. Annmarie is built for sex, and suddenly I wish we were on a different planet with different rules. Mind you, she’d eat me alive.
“Not much in it for me, is there?” I say.
She tweaks my nipple through the tunic.
I bite back a whimper.
“More than you think,” says Annmarie. “I have this toy…” She laughs. “You come from a conservative world, don’t you? You’ve no idea what I’m talking about.”
But I’m not really listening to her. I’ve spotted Naima. My Naima.
I didn’t recognise her at first. Tall, blond, with long legs tapering down to her strappy sandals she looks coldy elegant. A million light years from the girl next door back home. Naima crosses her ankles as she talks and a vise seems to clench my groin.
Annmarie whistles under her breath. “Oh. I can’t compete with her. Is she why you wanted to come to the party?”
I nod mutely.
The buxom girl laughs. “She’s why you came to Vesta, isn’t she? You’re just a big soft romantic.”
My cheeks burn. “Girlfriend,” I mutter.
“Ex-girlfriend,”says Annmarie. “But go on. This should be interesting.” She gives me a shove.
I get to my feet. Chastity cup throbbing, I pick my way through the jumbled bodies. I’ve rehearsed this moment for so long, worked out all the ways the conversation could go. I want her to know that it’s OK that she’s not ready for sex, that it always was. But I don’t want her to think I’m here for her - that would be too much pressure.
Naima’s blue eyes twinkle. “Hello Brett,” she says. She looks me up and down.
Again I feel naked, naked and stupid. “Hi,” I say and blush again.
“We have unfinished business,” she says. She stoops a little, tilts her head and kisses me on the lips. Her hands catch the back of her neck and her tongue slides between my teeth. There’s a wet pulse in my groin, and I feel dizzy.
“Come upstairs,” she says.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Lena?


About the right age, I think. Grown up, self possessed and elegant.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Whips and Stockingtops: The Flapper and the Fishing Village (cont)

(First part here)
With a whoop, Charli yanks the hand break and hauls at the wheel until her hands cross. As Lena screams, the sports car whirls onto a side road and we pick up speed again.
If my testicles weren't already clamped into their cavities, they'd be trying to crawl there now.
"Crazy bitch!" yells Lena, clutching her hat.
"You ain't seen nothing yet!" Charli puts her foot through the floor. The G-force throws me back into the upholstery. Trees blur past. We're heading inland, faster and faster. The sun's setting behind us, so the trees look like cardboard cutouts--I bet they won't feel so cardboard when we hit them.
And Charli doesn't let up.
We accelerate towards the brow of the hill, the engine making a zooming roar, picking up more and more speed...
And then we take off.
There's a moment of weightlessness, and I get a sickening flashback to being abducted.
Lena screams, long and loud, and we land with a bump. The suspensions takes it, and we chug along slower now while Charli laughs.
Lena twists in her seat and starts flailing her gloved hands at Charli. "Stop. The. Goddamned. Car."
Charli just pulls into a lane.
"We'd better be near my cottage," shouts Lena, checking her cloche hat's still there.
"Better!" yells Charli. She pulls off the lane and onto a rutted track that crosses an open field that's strewn with rocks and rises to a summit, which is where the Vamp finally stops.
She springs out of the car, pulls off her helmet and shakes out black bobbed hair. Her driving jacket and riding britches aren't exactly feminine, but they don't do anything to conceal her broad hips and ample bosom.
I start to pick myself up and get out to open the door for Lena, but Charli gets there first.
Lena steps down onto the grass.
Charli sweeps a jacketed arm at the sun setting over the western ocean. "What do you think?"
Len takes in the view, and for a moment int he pink light they both look like pen and ink drawings from the real Jazz Era; fashionable ladies out for an evening spin.
Then Len turns and slaps Charli hard across the cheek. "Crazy! Bad! Stupid!"
"You have such a way with words, doll," says Charli. She grabs my mistress and kisses her hard on the mouth.
Lena thumps her on the brow-leather covered back. I take a step forward, not that it would do any good; my conditioning stops me raising a hand to anybody.
Then Lena... Mewls; an animal sound that sends a shiver down my spine into my steel-shod crotch.
My mistress's hands shift to the back of the vamp's head and she grinds her face into her own. Just like in the old movies, she bends one stockinged until the calf and thigh muscles press together.
My cock inflates in its prison until it prickles. I've seen this thing thousands of times since I was enslaved--Women together, no men who are free, let alone regarded as human? Of course they're all Lesbians!--I should be used to it. However I've had precisely zero orgasms since they caged me. So now I stand there feeling a wet pressure building up inside my lost penis, a pressure which I can do nothing about.
Stooping so as not to break the kiss, Charli backs off enough to get at my mistress's coat buttons.
Lena twists her mouth half free and says wetly, "Let the slave do it."
Charli gasps, "Sure."
That's my cue. I move up smartly and as unobtrusively as I can and fall to one knee. Lena's coat buttons are tiny. I fumble with them while the damp of the ground soaks into my knee, and the two women make squelching noises with their mouths just above me.
Finally, the coat opens. I scurry around behind Lena to take the coat from her shoulders, revealing a matching burgundy dress.
Right away, Charli's big hands shoot out to grab my mistress's breasts through the dark red fabric.
The vamp's leather driving coat has big chunky buttons. It doesn't take me a moment to unbutton them. As she shucks off the heavy garment, she breaks the kiss. "Lay it on the grass like a blanket then go fetch what you find in the glove compartment."
I drape it over a flat patch of cropped grass and scamper back to the auto. Inside the glove compartment is a leather bag. I know what's in it just from the shape and there's a wet spurt from my chastity belt.
When I return to the women, Lena is already sprawled on the jacket, knees bent so that the skirts of her petticoat and dress have furled around the top of her thighs. Her brown stockings leave off just past her knee, with tight looking garters as anchors.
Her briefs--flimsy cream silk things--lie on the grass where Charli must have thrown them. However, I cannot see my mistress's pussy because the Vamp is kneeling between her feet, head buried between the Lena's thighs, hands still clamped on her breasts.
I kneel down just close enough, the bag on my lap.
Charli doesn't seem to notice me. Mixed with the sound of the wind is the distinctive scratch-squelch of tongue on clit.
Lena shimmies against the coat. Her fingers slide into the back of Charli's hair.
Charlie bob's up from the other woman's crotch. Without looking at me she says, "Do you know how to insert a joystick?"
I nod. "Yes ma'am."
"Get my pants down and do it." She dives back onto Lena's crotch. Still licking, she shuffles her knees back until she’s on all fours.
There are a row of buttons on the nearest. Gingerly, I undo them and slide the pants and briefs over her ample hips and down to her knees. Then I take the bag and move to kneel behind her.
Charli spreads her thighs until the pants are taut between them and tilts her hips. Now I can see her rosy anus and her thick-lipped vulva, glistening shamelessly from a clearing in its forest of dark curls.
I unlace the bag and take out the "joystick". It's a J-shaped double-ended dildo, with knobs and ridges in all the right places.
With shaking hands I position it between her thighs, the tip of the short end against her vulva. She shoves against me and I push it in. My fingers touch the rubbery outer lips and there's another squirt from my chastity cage.
Abruptly, Charli crawls forward and pushes her hips between Lena's spread thighs.
I duck low just in time to see Lena's red inner lips pouting from behind her mousy blond bush. The dildo slides in and now the Vamp's buttocks are in the way.
I kneel back forgotten.
Charli takes the weight on her elbows and kisses my mistress's throat while slowly twitching the dildo in and out.
Each movement earns a cry and a squirm from Lena. Her bare hands--Where did the gloves go? Christ, I'd better remember to find them--untuck Charli's blouse. The red painted fingernails vanish inside. The vamp gives a little cry, then a grunt; those knobs and ridges are doing the job for her too.
Now the two women undulate together like practised performers. Each grunt from Charli triggers a gasp from Lena, and a grunt in return. The grunts and cries tumble on, one hard on the heels of the other.
The pressure builds in my chastity cage until it's unbearable, like a wasp scuttling over the tip of my cock—not that I can really remember what the tip of my cock looks like. I did once get a vanity mirror and inspect it, but all I could make out was a shadowy pink behind the surgical steel mesh, and the staring at the places where the spidery bars pierced my flesh to anchor in the bone made me queasy…
And the two women subside.
Charli rolls off and stares up at the sky her hips and thighs white in the dying light. "Stars." It's true, the stars are coming out, but I have eyes only for the pale strip of flesh between Lena's stockingtops and the skirts furled at her waist. Her pubic hair is slicked back and wet, her lips bruised as dark as her dress. If only I could--
Lena stands up and brushes down her skirt. "It's called the outdoors, Charli. You know, Mother Nature." She holds out an arm and I spring into action with her coat. "Now take me to my cottage, please."
"Sure!" Charli plucks out the joystick and tosses it to me. I catch it on reflex. It's hot and sticky to the touch and I fancy I can smell their juices. I shudder. I could almost have an orgasm if only--
But no. The two women are relaxed and sated. I'm still hard in my cage. That's just the way this hellish alternate world works.
I put the thing away. By the time I've located and returned my mistress's gloves and undies, the vamp is dressed and back behind the wheel, engine growling, headlights casting beams over the fields.
"With care," says Lena, getting in. "You may have a death wish, but I do not."
Charli laughs. "I guess you have a novel to complete. Journalists always end up trying to write novels. What's it about."
Lena says nothing.
Despite Charli's mirth, we we trundle through the darkening roads more sedately. Each bump causes my cock to throb against its cage and I start drifting into an erotic trance...
...and suddenly we've stopped.
"Can I help you... unpack?" asks Charli.
"Certainly not," replies Lena as I open the door for her. "I have a slave for that and other things."
She strides off towards the gloomy bulk of the cottage. There's a crack of light coming under the front door.
I heft the luggage out of the trunk and slog along after her like a henpecked husband on a second honeymoon. If only there were a warm vagina waiting for my cock.
Charli calls something, but her words are lost in the crunch of gravel under the wheels of the heavy case.
Lena locks the door behind us and leans her back against it. She looks drawn and sad. "Right," she says. "Forget the luggage for now. Go do whatever it takes to run me a bath."
As I scamper off, I realise that I am shortly going to see her properly naked, with no predatory vamps around to spoil things. By the time I have the furnace stoked up, my chastity belt is throbbing like a second heart.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

It's Love Our Lurkers Day!

According to the Domme Chronicles, it's Love Our Lurkers day.



Lurkers are the Internet's voyeurs - you just like to watch, well, read, without commenting.

That's OK, actually. But comments can be anonymous, and I'd love to hear from you all.

Love Giles

Wednesday, November 09, 2011

Whips and Stockingtops: The Flapper and the Fishing Village

(No promises about follow up. Just tinkering really.  Enjoy.)

The conductor opens the slave van door. She barks, "All out for Saint Eves." I dodge past her and jump down to the platform.
This is the first time I've been out of the city since I was enslaved, but I can't see much. The vapour from the engine hangs in the air like the steam in my last mistress's bathroom.
Clutching my busboy cap, I hurry down the length of the train. I check each carriage as I go. My new mistress is behind one of the grubby windows, but will I recognise her?
I glimpse a bell-shaped cloche hat through sooty glass and hurry to heave open the door. The low platform puts her bosom at my eye level. I recognise her burgundy dress and matching jacket and relax enough to note that she is fashionably small breasted - whether by nature or foundation garment, I'll soon find out.
Like a good slave, I hold out my arm and lower my eyes. The waistless dress hides her figure, but it stops at her knees so I can feast my eyes on her stockinged calves tapering down to her tightly laced ankle boots. She takes my hand--
--Did I say stockings?
Yes. Don't ask how this could be, but this is the Jazz Era with a twist. There are Flappers and Vamps, racketeers and jazz singers, but they're all female. There are men, but they are like me; abducted and cloned from our own worlds to serve as slaves in this alternate 1920s. The Gynarchs tolerate our existence because of some ancient religious edict. The pretty young things take us for granted. To them we're part domestic servant, part sex toy.
--and the touch of her warm leather gloves sends a thrill down to my chastity cage. The mesh clamps around my lost penis. My collar feels too tight. I have the urge to put my finger under it to loosen it, but it's made of seamless stainless steel. It's not going anywhere, and not getting any looser. I am a slave.
Lena steps onto the platform. Intelligent blue eyes briefly fix on me, then she glances left and right making her wavy hair flick. She smiles with rouged lips, then seems to remember something. Her gloved hand lashes out and my cheek explodes. The sudden pain sends a jolt into my captive groin, but I can't help think how like a Femme Fatal she is from an old movie.
"Get the luggage," she says without malice. In her dippy looking cloche hat that looks like an upturned flower pot, she just seems sweet and lost.
I jog back towards the far end of the train. Despite my uniform, I feel naked. It's the lack of skyscrapers. This little seaside station is in the open air with only seagulls above second storey level.
A middle aged slave in railway company is already dragging crates out of the guards van.
I blush. Whether it's conditioning or embarrassment, I don't like talking to other slaves. "Hi, do you have a bag for Lena White?"
"Right here," he says. He drags a case out and pauses to glance down the platform. "Is she that foxy dyke?"
At this distance, Lena is just a sleek form, like a manikin in a shop window. I frown. "There's only one passenger on the platform."
"So, what's her story?"
He shows no sign of moving, so I lean past him and haul the case out myself. As it bumps onto the platform, I say "No idea, mate," I don't want to be rude. Slaves have ways of making trouble for each other. I add, "She bought me on the way to the station."
He chuckles suggestively. "Probably wants to enjoy a dirty week of tongue service, eh?"
My penis pulses in its cage, but I flush. "She's come a hell of a long way from New Womb if that was all she wanted."
"Well then, brother, I hope you can make it worth her while."
I shrug and start dragging the wheel trunk towards my mistress.
"Be like that," he calls after me. "See you around."
The case is heavy. I arrive before her puffing and panting.
Lena slaps me again. "Don't dawdle." Then she turns on her elegant heel and heads for the station exit.
I follow her clip-clopping boots, my cheeks throbbing in time to her step, eyes on the seams of her stockings. The cage prickles around my captive cock and I wonder; was the other slave right? I've been a slave for more than ten years--ten years while my other self was no doubt living my life in the 21st century, going to college, losing his virginity--I shouldn't be this excited by a new mistress.
Lena stops to speak to the station mistress - from the signs she doubles as a post mistress - and I check out the street.
The sheer normality hits me like a bucket of ice water. To a guy from England's Midlands, New Womb with its Art Deco skyscrapers is exotic. In a city like that, it's easy to forget you were ever anything but a slave, and that there are places... worlds... where women actually want to have sex with men. Here though... I shudder.
I guess seaside town look the same anywhere in the multiverse. The street is lined with quirky shops and cafes, most already closed up for the season. I shrink in embarrassment, suddenly ashamed to be a collared slave. This could be back home... except for the odd oldfashioned automobile rattling down the gritty street.
Not just that, I remind myself. None of the passersby are younger than eighteen. They're all in skirts or dresses. Gloves and hats are de riguer. No denims, a lady does not walk around in work wear. Instead, every single woman is wearing stockings... Seamed stockings that come to an end somewhere beyond all those swishing hemlines. Then bare thigh webbed by garter belts. How could I have taken all this for granted?
The blood drains from my brain into my groin. My penis inflates against its bars and I sway on the spot.
"So, there is no taxi?" says Lena, sharply.
"Sorry miss," says the station mistress. "End of season, you see. Marcia always visits the Mother Lands."
"So how," asks Lena. I detect a brittle edge in her voice. "Am I supposed to get to my accommodation?"
"Ask at the inn, they have a van." The station mistress slams down her shutter.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" says Lena. She sniffs. "Right, this way." She sets off at a stride.
I drag the case after her, struggling not to fall behind. The pressure in my groin subsides and I just feel sweaty and abused.
A open topped car skids up to a halt making both of us jump.
A vamp in a leather pilot's helmet leans out of the driver's seat. "Say Lena, want a lift?"
Lena stiffens. "Charli! What the hell are you doing her?"
Charli shrugs. "I felt like a break."
"I'm the one taking a break. From women like you."
"Then you don't want a lift?" The engine roars.
"Hey! I didn't say that," yells Lena, laughing
Charli pulls a lever and the boot opens. "Hop in. Plenty of room for luggage in the back."
I drag the luggage to the rear and heft it into the boot. By the time I'm in back seat, Lena is already sitting next to Charli. She wraps a burgundy scarf around her hat. "I suppose you already know where I'm staying", she shouts over the din.
"Sure, doll, Clifftop Cottage," says Charli. The car lurches forward. "But let's take the scenic route!"
So we hurtle up the street. I glimpse a main street with an inn and fish brokers and chandlers, and strong armed sailer women. Then we're out of Saint Eves and whizzing along a cliff top with a view far out to sea.
With the wind in my face and the back of the car to myself, it's easy to pretend I'm a free man, and the woman in the passenger seat is my girlfriend. I stare at the nape of her neck and wonder what it will be like to kiss it.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Useful posts on other people's blogs....

Robert Anthony talks about asking for Femdom the first time. Here are a selection of his wise words:

The truth is, there's no trick or magic bullet which is going to get you what you want. You have to ask for it, and be prepared to take the consequences, whatever they may be....

The other thing that you have to think about is that, if you are at the stage of being ready to ask for this, then you have probably overcome all your initial reactions long ago, you know the whole 'I shouldn't find this exciting but I do' thing... but SHE hasn't. As time goes on you become more relaxed with everything.....

I think aiming for a little at a time is perhaps a good strategy, baby steps gives her time to get comfortable with what you are asking for before you drop the next fantasy on her. Remember that old saying 'it's only kinky the first time', it's bang on the money that is. Trust me, there's always going to be more you want and you're never going to get it all in one go, and your more likely to get some of what you want and keep a happy wife if you let things move at a pace that suits her ....
Meanwhile,  Fursissy has a well-informed series about the "economics" of Femdom:
I decided to theorize about a few things that really explain a lot of the inequities of the D/s lifestyle (beyond the lifestyle itself).

Femdom relationships, most noticeably the courting process and raw numbers can almost all be explained through economic theory.  I'm not sure if this is really useful to anyone, but it should hopefully shed some light on things especially for subs seeking Dommes and for Dommes seeking subs and weeding through the applicants.
Read the whole thing - for those of us who don't exist in the BDSM community, it's a reminder that really the grass is not greener, nor the latex shinier, on the other side of the bars. Robert Anthony's world of Femdom within a marriage suddenly looks all the more attractive.

He demonstrates that it is at least sometimes doable, but only if you approach it sensibly and honestly, more or less what I describe in the my Femdom manual.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Whips and Stockingtops: Disappointed

My mistress is disappointed.

She started preparing for her date hours ago. I bathed her, dried her, massaged her, rolled on her stockings, the heat from her pussy like the sun shining on my face. As I watched her slip into the negligee, the chastity cage clenched around my captive cock. She was almost breathless with anticipation, and I was dripping.

And then the phone rang. Tallulah can't make it tonight.

So now what happens?

Do I get to serve instead? Lash her pussy with my tongue?

Will she take it out on me? Lash my back with her whip?

Or will she slip into her pyjamas and call for a book?

Which is it to be....

Monday, September 05, 2011

Perfect flapper with whip...

This one is from a site that regularly posts femdom drawings and paintings:

Apart from the boots, the she's not dressed as a dominatrix. She could have come straight from my whips and stockingtops fantasies....

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

The appeal of Permanent Chastity: becoming invulnerable but also vulnerable

The fantasy of permanent chastity, the experience of dipping into it via timed chastity... it's odd.

On the one hand, being locked into a chastity belt with no chance of release gives you a tremendous sense of invulnerability.

You can go on all night, but can she?
It resolves all those awful mixed messages we get about women and sex.

It also turns you into a sex god - armed with a prosthetic, you have all the staying power of silicon rubber. The only limit is your endurance and her capacity for pleasure.

Nice.

On the other hand, having no access to your genitals makes you utterly vulnerable.

Being turned on doesn't quite hurt, but there's a risign sense of panic as you build up this head of steam with no safety valve. You're drowning in your desire, easily controlled, used and discarded.

In fantasy land you become the ultimate disposable one-night stand. Infinitely willing, unselfish by definition (since your only real pleasure is an echo of hers), the ultimate in safe sex, and yet so obviously missing what's needed for a long term relationship that nobody will think ill of her if she doesn't give you her phone number in the morning.

Apparently, not.
In the real bedroom, in play, you're still discarded and rejected.

There is always a deliciously bleak moment where she's sated and ready for sleep, and you lie there still turned on, like a vibrator left on a low setting.

All evening, you know it's coming... like the moment when you must get up from the fireside and tramp off into the winter night.

And when it does come, it's always a shock what you've gotten yourself into. But there's a certain glory in taking your place in the darkness.

You'll be back. (And, if you do your job properly, so will she.)