Tuesday, February 25, 2014

London, February 2014 - Friday night playtime

The weather wasn't looking too good when Sir and I headed down to London for our weekend stay. We had planned it to be our first Bike-trip of the year, but with the country braced for the worst winter storm in a decade, we decided it would probably be wiser to be on 4 wheels rather than 2. Good idea too, because we would have been a very wet couple by the time we finally got to our room in the Premier Inn at Kew Bridge.

Bringing the car let us bring plenty of gear, so it took us a while to ferry all the baggage up to our room - but eventually we had everything safely stowed. 

Sir had me kneel then - nuzzling into His belly with my neck bowed in blissful surrender to accept His collar. I couldn't help but give a deep growl and a tail wag at that deeply satisfying 'click' as He snapped the padlock closed. *Now* I was His.  

Sir ruffled my hair, tipped my chin up with His thumb - and lent down to give me a deep and passionate kiss. Muffled, His tongue in my mouth, I growled and grinned, and felt my body shake with the excited wagging of my tail - nicely filled with my favourite glass plug. I wagged and barked even harder when He reached down to unbutton His leather jeans - sliding them down His thighs to reveal His beautiful cock, straining against the Bike jock...

With my Man's permission, I set to nuzzling and licking at that beautiful meat. My muzzle busy, Sir slowly stripped me of my shirt, exposing the latest ink-work on my neck and chest. I felt Him reach down and pat my arse - then pull the puppy-print kerchief from my back pocket. Next thing I knew, he was placing that folded cloth over my eyes and tying it behind my head. Blinded, I felt a calm submission wash over me - my hands naturally found their way behind my back to clasp together and square my shoulders: kneeling, obedient, blindfolded, waiting for my Man's command.

Sir left me for a moment then; I could hear Him moving around - hear the rustle of clothing removed, the jingle of a harness - in my blindfolded blindness those sounds set my heart racing and my breath shortening in excitement. Hypersensitive, I could feel the heat of Him when He finally came to stand before me again - feel my body trembling with the need to reach out and blindly touch, yet resisting that primal urge and holding myself obedient and still.

I felt His hands unbuckle my belt and pull it free from my jeans - then those strong hands were grabbing my wrists and wrapping that leather strip around them, binding them together as He pulled the buckle tight. He took hold of my shoulders then, guided me to my feet - had me stand, hands bound and eyes still blinded - whilst He expertly stripped me of boots, jeans and underwear - my cheeks burning hot as my cock sprang free, hard and dripping, betraying my perverse pleasure in my helpless exposure.

I felt His hand brush against my face and leant into His palm with a shudder - already seeking His thumb with my mouth - opening obediently as His fingers probed into me, pushing my jaw painfully open and pressing down upon my tongue - pushing me back down onto my knees and pulling my head forward into His belly until I was leaning into Him - my plugged hole high and exposed, ready for the sharp *slap* that came in the next moment...

And then I felt the tap of His crop - stroking across my naked butt cheeks and tapping against my plugged hole. Gods, but that felt GOOD - I couldn't help myself: my head went down, my arse came up, growling and whining and pleading for that Tap-tap-tapping to continue - sending little shocks of pleasure deep into my body and making my cock twitch and leak so strongly between my legs that I was soon kneeling in a small pool of precum.

Next moment, I felt His thumb in my mouth again - guiding me to His beautiful cock - letting me groom Him, lick Him, fill myself with Him until I was breathless and panting - my plugged butt smarting but still wagging furiously... My hands were unbound from the restraining belt, and I was finally able to reach forward and touch the heat of His body: my hands roving and stroking across His thighs and furred belly, filling my senses with Him, just as my muzzle and throat were filled with His meat. Those probing hands could feel the tension in His muscles - feel them clench and lengthen as He braced His legs and took a hold of my head: preparing Himself to fuck long and deep into His dog's willing throat.

I held my breath - flattened my tongue and opened my throat: let my Man down inside me over and over - bathing Him in the free-flowing juices of my mouth and throat, thickened with His own sweat and precum.

When His humping thrusts subsided, I let my tongue take over: licking, lapping, rippling under and over, around and under again - teasing and tingling Him ever closer to the release that we both were now so hungry for - until, sudden and thick and sweet, my Man blessed me with a seemingly endless stream of His thick and beautiful essence - His dog gulping desperately so as not to waste a single drop.


Night had fallen whilst we fucked. Sir reckoned that we need to eat (despite all the protein He had just filled me with...!), so we got dressed and headed out to see what we could forage.

We'd forgotten that it was Valentine's Day - and only realised when we found that the local restaurants were fully booked, and stuffed with dewy-eyed lovers and terrified looking teenagers on their first dates. Luckily we found a great little Bangladeshi place that was virtually empty (I don't know - maybe a curry isn't seen as 'romantic' enough for a Valentine's meal...?). We don't normally do Indian when playing, but it was a lovely meal: fresh and spicily tasty - and I discovered that I really like Korma and Peshwari Naan bread... (although I could easily have bitten the foul woman on the table beside us - who spent most of their meal being loudly obnoxious and vaguely racist to the really sweet but heavily accented waiter...). 

Both Man and hound were feeling nicely full and happily spiced by the time we got back to the hotel - and far too comfortably sated to want to head back out into the wind and the rain on the hunt for a night of clubbing and perversity. Instead, my Man settled down on the bed whilst His pup made us both a hot chocolate - then patted the bed to have me snuggle down under the duvet with Him to idly watch a little TV until we were both heavy-lidded and drifting into sleep...

London, February 2014

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Submission, objectification - and the true meaning of BDSM

I cannot re-blog this image enough.

Not only is it incredibly sexy, and a perfect representation of submission, but the truth of the words is one that should be at the heart of every player in BDSM. The sub, the slave, the pup or boy - all may kneel before you, but they do so in respect and in love - not because they are less than you are; to be a true Top, Master, Sir or Handler is to accept their submission - and them - with the respect that such strength and honesty truly deserves.

The 'net does not convey such depth and subtleties in the true meaning and purpose of BDSM.

All you see is an image: a helpless boy kneeling before an aggressive-looking Top, a struggling figure painfully bound in rope, a hooded and fetishised body devoid of individuality or emotion. You do not get to see the negotiation before hand, the careful monitoring to ensure that the boy is edged but unharmed - the continuous interplay that builds the necessary levels of trust for one to submit to the other. In all the Tumbles, Twitters and Instagrams all you ever see is the image - you never see the MAN inside.

Unfortunately, there is also a thread in BDSM fantasy that plays upon these very themes of objectification. 

It's a very sexy idea: to either take, or be taken - to twist and pervert someone into giving you everything that you desire with no limits, no repercussions - or to be pushed to serve against your will (at least, initially) by someone bigger, stronger, more masculine than you. Maybe this thread reflects half-remembered images that we have of Greece and Rome: of Masculine initiations and savage coming-of-age rites where a boy is forced to become a man by serving a MAN. And maybe it echos a deep feeling that he who submits is somehow 'not good enough' - not man enough on his own; that the one who kneels must be inherently less worthy than the one he kneels to...


There's been a recent thread on Tumbler around images of puppy play, and the dehumanising commentary that often accompanies them when they are re-tumbled by some users:

All the various "less than human" comments here really are a sort of cancer and very misleading for someone new to the scene who doesn't know any better.
pigfun :
Thanks! My problem is that I didn’t really know any better when I started getting into this sort of thing, and i was led down a similar path. I know we talk about the sexy side of all this, and that power exchange which is so hot, but fundamentally, in a long term D/s relationship there needs to be love there.

That’s what i love about Dylan and his pups and noodlesandbeef.tumblr because they are really super love each other and they take their relationship to amazing places physical and psychological through that bond. I think that’s so much more interesting, exciting and good for us as people than “oh yeah there’s a gimp in the corner, go piss in him.“

I think that malebndg has the exact phrasing: the rhetoric of Objectification is one that threads through the BDSM internet like a cancer - and like a cancer, it eats at the very heart of what it means to be a pervert - and what it means to be a man.

Sure, the ‘dehumanised object’ thought can be sexy (fuck, half of my early fiction is based around it!), but ultimately it’s as empty and hollow an experience for both players as fucking a blow-up doll.

BDSM is about power exchange, and that means a two way process. It has to be about two players - two initial equals - and the flow of energy, power and connection between them: Yin to Yang. 

It’s not just one guy taking whilst the other endures, ignored - that’s one step away from rape and abuse. In even the most extreme of play, the Top should always have His Sub’s interests at heart, as much as His own desires. It's simple self-interest really: He’s going to want to make sure the sub enjoys himself in giving as much as He himself enjoys the sub's service - otherwise the sub is never going to give fully, and will certainly never be come back...

In all power exchange, one man gives, the other takes - but just which is which? The Top may take His pleasure from the sub, but equally it is the sub who takes pleasure in serving; the Sub gives of himself to the Top, but the Top gives the sub the space and the focus to give himself in the first place. One cannot be without the other - and both are enriched and empowered by the exchange.

To me, that exchange is part of what it means to be a Man.

So often, the images of Masters and Sirs are of hard, aggressive men: skinheads, punks, greasy bikers - or abusive men in authority: Coaches, Police officers, prison guards. It's as though we look for the potential for violence as a sign of Masculinity - as if their transgressive potential for harm is a reflection of their super-charged testosterone. We look to Men on the edge of losing control, tense with their hunger and burning with predatory desire - and think that this makes them more of a Man than we are. Or perhaps it's the idea that these men will somehow be able to force their will upon us (thereby salving us of the guilt...).

I can't deny that such images of hyper-masculinity are incredibly hot - but, like the passive images of BDSM, I think they lack the depth of what it really means to be a Man

Any dog can fuck in the street - but that's not being a Man. Masculinity is about having desires - deep, overwhelming, bestial, potentially violent - but being in control of them and harnessing them to your will. Being a Man is about the hunt and using your skill and strength to catch your prey - it's about honing your body and mind by pitting yourself against adversity and overcoming through strength of will. Being a Man is about protecting that which you have, and that which you love - about being strong when you need to be, and gentle when you can. 

Being a Man is about being the Hunter, the Warrior and King - and it is also about being the Father, the son, the Lover and Protector.

How can I trust a Man to be in control of me if He is not in control of Himself?

That's why, for me, it is the images of Men who show restrained strength and power that are the most sexy: The LeatherMan who stares out from the shadows of His Muir with hunger in His eyes - and a knowing smile ghosting His lips; a Master who looks down upon His kneeling slave with Pride, knowing the true pleasure of Ownership is in owning that which can walk away at any time; the Top who wraps one hand around His boy's collared neck and the other around his cock - growling in appreciation at the look of helpless arousal in His boy's eyes.

Because at the core of our play we are all really looking for CONNECTION.

Perversity, play, fetish - it’s all sex, and sex is two (or more…!) bodies coming together in an expression and exploration of pleasure. It’s about those two bodies - those two minds - meeting, touching, discovering - and ultimately, bonding - even if only for the short time of their meeting. Bondage, fetish gear, puppy-play - they are all ways to enrich that connection: ways to open up more of ourselves to each other - and to ourselves. They allow us to explore our fantasies, our inner images of ourselves - and to explore those of the one we play with; together, we enrich and deepen those shared images, and are empowered by what we find in the connection we forge.

In sharing that connection, we each come to discover we are not alone: that there are others besides us who have hungers and needs; others who can give and receive pleasure - and in doing so, embrace something that is bigger than they are alone.

Ultimately, our play is about the need for love - even if that love is only the fleeting warmth of passing friends.

Because, if it isn’t, we would simply make do with a wank at home…

So, remember - no matter the play: there is always another Man - another being - behind the gear and the eroticism. Make sure you get to meet Him at some point: He could be your next best friend.

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