Monogamous Vanilla Housewife Seeks Nice Guy Husband For Lifetime Commitment and BDSM

By Helen E. H. Madden

By the time you read this, I will be in lovely Las Vegas, at EPICon 2009, a convention for e-publishers and e-published authors. I'm looking forward to a lovely long weekend there. The convention has arranged for a book signing for all the erotica and erotic romance authors at the Erotica Heritage Museum, and I can't wait to participate in that! It's not so much the book signing that has me psyched, although that is pretty nice, but the chance for adult conversation on adult topics... like the subject of today's blog post.

I'm sure we've all heard the old adage, write what you know. I've also heard the modified form, write what you can research. When it comes to writing BDSM, I must confesst I live by the later rule. I have no experience with BDSM, either as domme or sub. My darling husband and I must be the most vanilla couple on the block, with most of my wicked adventures confined to the written page. That's not to say I haven't tried some aspects of BDSM with the man I love. However, I found being tied up more boring than arousing, and the one spanking I got earned my love a sharply cocked eyebrow that clearly stated, "Excuse me? Have you forgotten I am a second degree black belt?"

Of course, the Hubster is also a second degree black belt, which makes for an interesting marriage.

Many people who know us assume there is some sort of D/s dynamic going on in our relationship, and not just because we beat the crap out of each other at the dojo on occasion. But the BDSM those people are thinking about is along the more traditional lines of "nice-guy husband" married to "harridan-fishwife." (I don't know why people think I'm so bossy and demanding!) I suppose we only reinforce that image by mixing up gender roles all the time. I cook, but he buys the groceries. I run off to Vegas for a wild time with my friends, and he stays home to take care of the kids. Yes, I'm an independent modern woman. I might be a stay-at-home mom, but I'm a free range stay at home mom which means I can tell my man to take care of the kids because baby, I've got to get out of town.

But still, many of folks would be surprised to learn how dependent I am on my darling husband. For instance, I cannot mow the lawn, pay the bills, fill out the taxes, or even change the water in our humidifiers. Well, I suppose I could, but I've never had to perform any of those tasks thanks to the archangel who is my husband. Similarly, he has no idea how to handle the laundry, help our oldest get her homework done, bully the local moms into participating in school events, or do the thousand other little chores I handle on a day to day basis. He needs me to make sure dinner gets on the table and the kids survive school. I need him to make sure the money keeps flowing and the house doesn't fall down around our heads.

So it is a balance of power, an exchange of power even. I gave up a hell of a lot of power when I decided to quit my J-O-B and stay home to figure out exactly what the hell I was going to do with my life. And then I gave up even more when I had children and decided to slip into the role of housewife and mom. But the Hubster has also given up quite a bit by taking on the role of primary bread-winner (no more carefree spending for him!) and becoming a dad (one who changes poopie diapers, I might add). He caters to my needs as Queen of the Roost, while I acknowledge that is Da Man Of Da House.

This leads me to believe that anyone who can understand the intricacies of a relationship - the power exchange, the give and take between two (or more) people who know how to make it work for years and year - anyone who can understand that, can understand what goes on in a BDSM relationship. In fact, I'd say a successful relationship of any flavor, including vanilla, is a BDSM relationship. Don't believe me? I'll can spell it out for you right here:

• Bondage - you're bound to each other, through thick and thin.
  
• Discipline - it takes a lot of it to stick to that aforementioned bond, but when you've been married 15 years, you know you've got what it takes.
  
• Sadism - you're willing to inflict yourself, with all your faults and sins, on your partner, knowing they'll still love you the next day.
  
• Masochism - you're also willing to accept that your partner is going to inflict themselves on you in return.
  

As for that other D and S in BDSM, that applies as well:

• Dominance - You know when you need to take the upper hand and make decisions ("No dear, I said we're ordering pizza tonight because the cook is tired and the kitchen is close!).
  
• Submission - You know when you need to step back and let your partner lead ("Yes, you're buying, so I will order your favorit - pepperoni and black olives - even though I hate olives and will pick them all off").
  

See? So I'm vanilla, but I know what goes on in my marriage, and I can extrapolate from there to write a scorching BDSM scene when needed. And anybody who says I'm wrong about all this? Well excuse me, but have you forgotten I am a second degree black belt?

That's right. Don't argue with me.

Writing from the soul

by Kim Dare

For anyone who doesn't know exactly how this blog works, we all take it in turns to pick a topic to talk about each week. This week was my turn. It seems to me, you have two options when picking a blog topic.

Either you can pick a topic that you believe you have something interest to say about, or you can pick something you'd like to hear what other people have to say about. I'll confess that I picked this topic mostly because I was curious what everyone else would say.

You see, although I write BDSM every day, it's not actually a subject I find it easy to say a lot about. It's a bit like someone asking - why do you like the colour red? Um... because I do. Or why do you like a certain song? Um... because it just feels right when I listen to it.

However, since I obviously need to say something more than that, I decided to look through my old stories and see exactly when I started writing con-kink, or BDSM or D/s or whatever you want to call it.

After a lot of reading, I found out when I started to write about sex, and I discovered when I started to write about romance, I even discovered the point at which I started to write something that looked like a vaguely competent story. But as for when I started to write BDSM? As far as I can work out I've always written it.

There was, however, a point at which I didn't know the right words for all the things I was writing about. I wrote a lot of submissives before I knew that was the right word for what they were. I wrote negotiations and scenes and whole D/s plots without knowing any of the right words for the sort of relationship I was describing.

I found excuses for the relationships to be based on dominance and submission for a long time before I realised that excuses weren't needed. Fantasy, sci-fi, historical, paranormal. Looking back, I tapped every vein I could think of because I think, deep down, I was aware that most people in the real world around me didn't see things in quite the same way - so I went out and invented societies that did.

Now, I'm not talking about societies that were about a dominant gender or class or race suppressing another. I think I knew right from the start that my own ideas of dominance and submission weren't about that. I invented characters and situations which made the dominance and submission about love - about giving each character the chance to be happy with their lover, and inside their own skin too.

Earlier in the week Jamie mentioned doing research on various websites. I'm familiar with quite a few of them, but when I went on them, it was less like discovering a new world or a new way of doing things, as much as someone suddenly providing a dictionary of proper words for ideas that existed inside my head, but which I didn't have the right vocabulary to express.

There are quite a few words in the kinky vocabulary I'm not fond of. For example, I don't call my submissives slaves, no matter how complete their submission or no matter how thoroughly they are owned by their masters. I just don't like the word. The real world connotations are too strong for me to find it erotic. It's a term that will always be non-consensual in my mind. But still, by and large I'm happy to say the vocabulary of BDSM is now my vocabulary.

And I happy to admit, the psychology of dominance and submission is and always has been very much my psychology. I've never researched it. It came built in, lol. My understanding of vanilla, though, that's a different story. I find it as hard to understand the appeal of that as others find it to understand the appeal of BDSM.

That's why, all in all, I'm left without anything very interesting to say on my own choice of topic.

I write BDSM because the stories inside my head and the characters who live inside those stories are intrinsically tied to ideas of dominance and submission. Take that out of the stories and you take part of the soul out of them.

I write BDSM because I think BDSM, and maybe because it's part of my soul too.

************************************

On a similar topic :)

I'm one of the authors in Total-e-bound's Night of the Senses anthology. It's a BDSM anthology and each story in the collection focuses on a different sense - sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing, and extra-sensory!

My story - Whispers - is the extra-sensory one. As an M/f, vampire story about a 24/7, D/s relationship.

Here's the blurb:

Charlotte is more than happy to offer her master her body, her blood and her submission. But her mind is her own, if he really is listening in on her thoughts, he has to stop – Right now!

As soon as Zachariah feeds from Charlotte’s blood, he begins to hear her thoughts whispering into his mind. A rare blood bond forms between them and Zachariah is thrilled. He’s sure the bond and his new insights into Charlotte’s mind will solve all their problems.

Charlotte was ready for her master’s bite to hurt – she was looking forward it. She thought she was ready for anything else too, but she wasn’t ready to let her master into her mind. The bond isn’t the solution to anything. The bond is the problem.

Zachariah has to solve a whole new set of problems if he’s going to prove he’s the master Charlotte’s always wanted, and Charlotte has to learn to do something she’s never done before – trust a master with her mind.

And an extract:

(At this point Zachariah has taken his first feeding and has just started to hear Charlotte's thoughts whisper to him over their mental bond. She is still unaware of the bond's existence.)

With gentle kisses, and teasing caresses, his hands and lips roamed over her body. He felt tension build very slowly in her muscles. He sensed the pleasure building, oh so slowly in her body. He forced himself to be patient. Human women could not be expected to have the same speed of reactions as a vampire man.

He ran his hands up her arms, intending to wind his fingers through hers. With his hands around her wrists, Zachariah leaned forward a little bit too far. His erection brushed against the soft skin on the inside of Charlotte’s thigh and slid higher. He felt the slick moisture gathering along her slit ready to welcome him.

With the extra sensitivity of the recent feeding, it was almost impossible to not to plunge forward, to bury his shaft inside her with one smooth stroke. His grip tightened around her wrists as he fought his body for control.

She caught her breath.

With a silent curse, Zachariah immediately softened his touch.

He looked to her wrists, but it was too soon to know if his grip had been too harsh, if he would leave a mark on her skin.

Charlotte shifted underneath him. He desperately tried to concentrate on her thoughts—on his only chance of discovering if he really hurt her—because he was damn sure she wouldn’t tell him.

Harder!

Obviously the bond wasn’t reliable right from the start. He would have to practise reading his pet before he could rely on the bond to report accurately to him. He had no choice but to resort to more traditional means of communication.

“Did I hurt you, pet?”

“No, master.”

Yes.

He stared into her eyes, trying to read her expression. How could a woman hide pain from him so easily? Not even the tiniest flash of fear showed in her eyes. Before he could retreat, before he could explain to her such carelessness would never happen again, another thought came through to him.

Want more.

More? He frowned down at Charlotte. He was so sure the bond would be the solution to every problem between him and his pet. He’d been so eager for it to be a magic pill.

Want more!

The thought rammed into his mind, hard and certain.

Zachariah stopped trying to think about anything logically. He stopped trying to think at all. It was impossible to argue with the bond when every single part of his brain told him to trust it.

Aware he might be about to make the biggest mistake of his life, he replaced his hands around Charlotte’s wrists and slowly tightened his grip.

Yes!

She liked it. Even if he’d mistaken the words, the bond whispered into his mind, unequivocal hot pleasure flowed in a steaming torrent across the bond.

Zachariah tested his theory. He cautiously tightened his grip again.

Like.

He pinned her wrists firmly to the mattress. “Do you like this, pet?”

“I like whatever my master wishes to do with me.”

He hated those words so much.

Suddenly he had to get truth from her lips. He kissed her—not the usual gentle brush of mouths he was so used to employing with human women. It was a harsh demanding kiss, all about making her show a response—any response.

A soft whimper escaped from the back of Charlotte’s throat.

Zachariah felt the pleasure course through her and pushed her harder, letting more of his weight rest on top of her so he pinned her firmly against the bed at every point of contact. He made the kiss even rougher. Keeping his teeth to himself be dammed. Nipping at her lips, he thrust his tongue into her mouth.

The kiss became a simple statement of dominance. She was his. He could touch her however he wanted, kiss her however he wanted.

Yes! Want! Master! Please!

A Serious Whack at the Subject

This is going to be a difficult week for me to look smarter than I really am. I feel as if I’m at a party of glamorous women from the stocks and bonds trade, as it were, trying to start up a conversation.

“Do you prefer bonds?” she asks.

“Blondes?”

“No . . . Bonds.”

“I haven’t seen many of them, but I prefer the Daniel Craig Bond, which I find is much more faithful to the character in the original novels.”

From her, a disgusted stare. From me, a sheepish grin. I have been exposed as a poser. I pick up a diet coke, retire to the corner and pretend to check out the CD selection. Tonight will not be my lucky night.

Here’s the problem – I’m damaged goods.

The idea of another person having power over me who is not also giving me a paycheck is simply beyond repugnant. I can’t relate to it. Since my leaving my religious life, my nature has been fiercely suspicious of authority. I’m always on alert for the guilt trip or the hypocritical justification. I suffer from an ailment peculiar to spiritual combat veterans, “post dogmatic stress disorder”. Any charismatic figure who tells me what to do, or what to believe, immediately brings out my rage. Once bound to the rack, the Dom had better never release me alive or turn his back because when I come after him I won’t be playing games. There is no surrender left in me.


When I was young, looking back, I think I was afraid of freedom. I think there was that in me which wanted someone to explain the world and make sense of it, to tell me what to do to be a good person and how to measure and evaluate my virtue. I wanted to find God’s will for me and submit myself completely. Believe me, the leather and handcuff crowd has nothing on me. I think this is where the spiritual seeker typically begins. The common man wants formulas, not freedom. The difference between following a religion and searching for God, is the difference between shopping for packaged meat in a supermarket, and killing a beloved pet with your bare hands and eating it.


When one has lost faith in masters and gurus, when one feels betrayed and sees that you can make such mistakes and God will not stop you, it gets back to the mystery of God, and whether that God has any relevance to human life. Its not whether God exists, but what difference does it make? How can one be intimate with God, in the way Lisabet describes being intimate with her master, when all trust has been destroyed by indifference? By the absence of passion?


Recently I struggled with writer’s block. What I began to realize is that the place inside me where the stories come from is also that place where God and the longing for God comes from. To stamp out one is to stamp out the other. To refuse to nourish one is to wither the other.


This is an exquisitely elegant trap. Who set this cruel trap – God? If I wish to go on being an angry agnostic I may be forced to give up writing. I can’t bear the thought of that, so I find myself back on the rack again with the old questions. I'm simply not being allowed to walk away.
Forget the leather whips. When it comes to cruelty, one has to admire the cleverness of the dilemma. Maybe God has not given up on me. Or maybe God really is one mean sonuvabitch.


C. Sanchez-Garcia

BDSM, what the heck is that all about?

The stirrings of a young man’s heart when he sees his girlfriend bent over a fence. His thoughts, ‘God I’d love to tie her there.’

A girl sees a sexy movie dude kneeling at the foot of his faux lover’s bed, and that girl’s mind races with ‘bend over, bend over, I want to spank your ass.’

No ages given, none needed, your imagination can take you wherever.

BDSM, bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism. Sounds a little scary doesn’t it? Perverse, abuse, sin, words bandied about to encourage those interested in the genre to hide it away. But, what is it really?

Some of us desire to either be controlled or to control another. It’s like any other passion, any other need. You don’t choose it, you are possessed by it. Why do you crave to be dominated? What makes you want to dominate someone? It’s like explaining why you’re heterosexual, or why you breathe.

There’s the safe sane and consensual aspect of BDSM, and we should all strive to at least understand what that means. Safe, means not to harm your partner so badly they need medical aid. Think about it. Safe: You want to use a flogger, learn how. Strike over the kidney too many times or too hard and you’re asking for trouble. Use a cane on a person’s spine and you can do major damage. Any bindings should be checked every few minutes to be sure circulation is fine. It’s always up to the dominate to make sure his, or her, submissive is safe.

Sane: Also more or less self-explanatory. Use your head, and that means a sober, non-drugged head. Alcohol is never a good idea if you plan on doing a scene. Possibly a glass of wine with dinner, but definitely not six just before you and your sexy playmate decide it’s time to get kinky. Always, always, think about what you’re doing, before you jump in.

There’s also the issue of, is a person looking for daddy’s approval through BDSM, or something like it. Is the person who wants to be ‘disciplined, sane? Is the person who is doing the disciplining sane? Things to think about before you get into the act. Yes?

Consensual: Both parties agree to whatever ‘play’ is about to take place. Yes, there are rape scenarios where one partner wants to be kidnapped and abused, but it’s always a good idea to at least discuss what that might include. I mean if Joe Swift wants his lady to bash him over the head and stuff him into the kiddies toy crate for an hour before she drags him out and molests his sweet butt for the rest of the weekend, it’d be pretty sad if she simply tied him to the bed and uses a feather on him. It’s not what he wanted and if she’s any kind of Domme, she’ll find out before the play begins. His consent is a must. I don’t mean in writing, unless that’s part of what you both want, but I do mean both partners have to know what’s going on.

Safe words: There’s been tons about this and how important they are. Well, sometimes they are. That depends on the people playing. Yes? We’re back to talking about all this stuff. If Sally wants her butt warmed, and Joe is willing to do it until she cries ‘Spank me no more brave Joe’ then there’s probably not huge call for a safe word. If the couple wants to have one, then go for it. If there’s a chance that the ‘discipline’ might be too harsh, then it might be an idea to discuss it. But, if Sally can yell, ‘fucking stop beating my ass,’ and be assured the Joe will, then they’re cool without one.

Communication is right up there as number one in any of this. But, that’s really true of any relationship, right? If you don’t talk to your partner, then how can you please them? Once you get past that awkward, I hope he doesn’t think I’m a pervert stage, the going should get really smooth and the fun will be even better.

Writing about BDSM! I guess you have to have an interest, whether it’s something you want to do or are simply curious about the whys and wherefores. There are dozens of websites where you can find good solid information, and if you don’t understand something, there are forums where you can ask. Do the research and ask the questions, I’ve found the BDSM community online to be incredibly helpful.

I’ve written about BDSM for years and enjoy it tremendously, even when it’s not a fetish or kink I’m into. For three years I wrote for a breast torture site and learned a great deal about the fetish and why it was so popular. I can’t say I’d want to spend time with needles inserted into tender bits, but I can understand the attraction. I also spent time writing for a spanking site and really enjoyed it. It’s all good, as long as there’s consent and people are safe.

I'd like to also note here, these are my opinions, and nothing more. I don't want to start any kind of fight or confrontation with anyone.

Now for a little tease from one of my books within the genre:

Taken from the story, Pink Ribbon,
one of the stories in my collection, 'Yes, Ma'am'

By Jude Mason

ISBN: 978-1-59426-894-6

Publisher: Phaze http://www.phaze.com

Buy Now

Blurb:

Rick Sebastian, successful attorney by day, eager slave to his wife/Mistress Cass after hours, is caged. He'd spoiled dinner, and while waiting for punishment, reflects on how he'd begun his strange and exciting journey into submission. His memories, and the arrival of Cass' friend, make for an evening to remember.

Content: BDSM/contemporary/femdom/male submissive

Excerpt:

"There you are," Cass beamed. "Let me see what you've brought me." She stopped in front of him; her stiletto-clad foot an inch from his knee, the silky black stockings disappearing up her leg and out of his view. He'd seen no skirt. His erection throbbed noticeably. She bent down, and he managed to catch a glimpse of her as she picked up the flogger. Her tightly waved hair hugged her head like an ebony helmet, and accentuated her cheekbones and the line of her jaw. She hadn't worn a skirt. In fact she wore very little, a black satin slip dress and a red corset that cinched her waist impossibly tight.

A swish of leather close beside him had made him tremble.

"Did you touch yourself today?" Cass asked pointedly.

"No, Mistress," he'd replied in a rush.

"Did you ask the clerk in the store for help?"

Rick felt his face heat up and knew he was blushing. "Yes, Mistress.

Well, not exactly, one of them asked me, and I said I needed help."

"Excellent. What did the clerk look like?"

"Blonde, very pretty. She wore a lot of leather. Her name was Sabine. The other clerk called her that."

"There were two clerks there?"

"Yes, Mistress. The other one was a little older."

"And did one of them try the flogger?"

The heat in his face grew even hotter and traveled down over his chest. "Yes, Mistress, and I told her it was for my Mistress. She gave me a note for you."

"She did, where is it?"

"In the bag the flogger was in."

Cass retrieved the bag and pulled the note out, but didn't read it. "You did well." She stepped back and said, "Lean back, hands on the floor, push your hips up."

A moment later, the rumpled ribbon dangled from her hand and she'd dropped it to the floor. His cock and balls were free for the first time in a day. He desperately wanted to rub himself. His testicles moved upwards, itched so much that his inner thighs twitched in sympathy.

"I want you to have a shower now, and make sure you're shaved." Cass flicked the tip of his erection with a finger, and laughed when it twitched from side to side. His scrotum puckered, and his balls itched even more. "But, make sure you don't masturbate. I'll pop in sometime during your shower to watch. If I catch you playing with yourself, you'll get both a flogging and be denied an orgasm."

"Yes, Mistress," he'd replied.

Cass got to her feet, and added, "On your feet, but keep your legs apart."

Rick had climbed to his feet. He'd curled his fingers into fists to keep them away from his crotch. The frustration mounted even higher when he'd made his way to the bathroom. His genitals swayed, the air wafted around his balls.

He'd showered and shaved, paying special attention to his genitals. Even just being able to touch and pull at the skin eased his torment somewhat. Not enough though, and by the time he'd finished, he was as horny as he could ever remember being. The anticipation of what was going to happen was the culprit, and he tried not to think about what Cass had planned. But the more he tried to concentrate on something else, the more his mind refused, and came back to the days ahead.

Cass had come in, and sat on the toilet watching him as he shaved the stubble around the root of his cock. Running the safety blade over his balls, he'd pulled and stretched the skin, ensuring a clean shave. She chuckled when he groaned, and even offered to help him with his bottom. He'd turned off the shower, re-lathered and bent forward for her, and tried desperately to hold still while she ran the blade carefully between his cheeks. Done, she'd left him trembling and told him to make sure he rinsed well.

While he stood toweling himself, he'd heard the doorbell chime. His stomach tightened. Could he go through with it?

The bathroom door had opened. It was Cass, smiling, eager. "Now is your last chance to stop this. Once I take you out of here, you'll obey me or be punished."

His mind had been numb. Excitement and apprehension warred for a moment while he stood trembling on the white tiled floor. "Kiss me," he'd croaked. For that moment he'd felt vulnerable and alone, but when she came into his arms, his world felt complete and wonderful. She was his soul mate, his lady, and the only person in the world who understood him. She went into his arms, hers wrapping around his neck and pulling his lips to hers. It was his turn to take control, if only for a few moments of sheer bliss. Bodies melded to each other, tongues twined around the others, and breath mingled as they lost themselves in each other. Too soon the kiss ended. Neither moved for the longest time, but then it was as if a signal had been given.

Rick looked deep into his lady's eyes, and said, "Yes, I'm ready, Mistress."

Cass pulled out of his arms and took a deep breath. The bodice of her slip dress showed how erect her nipples were, and her chest above the silk dappled with a flush. "Heel me," she'd said, and turning, left the bathroom.

* * * *

I hope you've enjoyed the post. I'd really love to hear from you. Your opinions, outlooks or questions would be awesome.

Hugs

Quietly I tiptoe...

into the field that is writing BDSM. I look around at all the others who have ventured this way before me, and find it, frankly, intimidating. What the hell am I doing here? Why do I think I can write such a topic? I initially view it almost like writing historical romance--foreign to me, not something I'm interested in, and a lot of research necessary to write it properly.

Then I decide to read some of it. I stumbled across the author Powerone on Fictionwise. Lordy, lordy, not for the faint of heart that one! I backtrack to safer territory and read what my friends have written. Jude Mason is the queen of femdom; she can grind a spiked high heel into a man's back better than any other I've read! Check out her femdom anthology available in print and ebook from Phaze, Yes Ma'am. Derek Musgrave opened my eyes to a few things; I especially enjoyed his story Continuing Education in the Phaze Fantasies VI anthology, also available in ebook and print. Jude has a story in that one, too, Sam the Man. Hot stuff! Finally, Michelle Houston showed me the softer side of D/s in her ebook collection, Kinky Girls Do. Those stories were very enjoyable.

Okay, so the subject interests me, but I don't know much about it. (Which never stopped me from writing male/male erotic romance. No experience there, either, but a serious interest and a fair amount of research, *ahem* online.) *G* I begin sprinkling a few BDSM elements into my writing. Deep Obsessions was one of the first stories that I experimented with the subject matter. It was a fun read, and I didn't make any horrible mistakes, so I proceeded on.

In Born to Run I involved the hero in a surprise D/s releationship, which was fun to write. I had an anonymous blogger tell me I missed some serious BDSM negotiations that must occur between partners, which maybe I did. But I think when you get into a specific area like this, things are never going to be perfect for everybody. Each experience is different, and as long as I follow some basic rules, I think and hope my writing will be good enough.

I still focus mainly on the relationship between partners. The leather accessories are a fun addition, but as anyone who reads my stuff can tell you, I'm not in to lengthy, flowery descriptions of much of anything. I like dialogue, pure, open, honest conversation between two people--two lovers. That's what floats my boat.

Born from sheer insanity or a little bit of that leftover 'Yes, We Can' attitude, my latest series for Total E-Bound is about a BDSM club called the Rose & Thorn Society. The first book is a m/m/f menage called Switching Seth. I went round and round with my two editors about elements in this one, and I'm hopeful that my writing will be true to the spirit of BDSM clubs. Cause I ain't never been to one, but I had a helluva time writing about it!

Coming March 23 from Total E-Bound:

Rose & Thorn Society Book One: Switching Seth

by Jamie Hill

The blindfold blocked the light of the bright, white room. Seth Carter found comfort and, in a strange way, security in the darkness. He tugged one of his wrists, but the half-hearted attempt was futile. Both hands were bound with nylon rope strung above his head. His thighs were cuffed, a spreader bar holding them wide apart. His feet were free, but the cool metal rod ensured a stance so wide, he wasn’t going anywhere. Excitement fluttered in his stomach.

He’d watched as the cuffs were fitted on his legs. Great care had ensured the perfect width spreader had been chosen. Seth had willingly extended his hands so rope could be knotted around them before they were pulled high into the air. Observing the bondage was part of the thrill. His cock had been erect, leaking pre-cum, by the time the blindfold appeared.

Something soft touched his bare buttocks. The whisper-light sensation brushed between his legs, teasing his balls. A feather? Seth inhaled as the delicate plumage circled his erection, the gentle caress almost more exciting than a whip.

He pressed his tongue against the ball-gag invading his mouth. He wasn’t usually gagged. His Master generally preferred his mouth free, ready and available to suck whatever the man desired. Once Seth’s hands were released and his body bent over a leather-padded sawhorse, he felt sure the rubber ball would come out. Something more interesting would go in. He knew his Master well. Anticipation was part of the pleasure for both of them.

The feather tickled his underarms before returning to his genitals, then it moved swiftly to the backs of his knees. His legs twitched, but he tried desperately to remain still.

Warm breath wafted over his ear. “If you move again, the next thing you feel won’t be a feather,” his Master promised.

He froze, excitement at the prospect flooding through him. The light touch teased his calves, his forearms, the centre of his back. Whispery tendrils floated across his taut nipples, lingering at the one with the small, silver hoop piercing its tip. The feather moved away, keeping him off guard. Seth didn’t allow his body to twitch again. He took pride in obeying his Master’s every command.

“Very nice.”

The compliment rang in his ears. His Master didn’t lavish him with praise, but he did reward good behaviour.

A familiar, warm tongue slid across the back of his knee. It pressed a wet trail up his leg, skipped over the tight cuff that secured the stretcher bar and settled on the swell of his ass. Two hands pried his cheeks apart, and the tongue found a new target. Diving into his anus with little fanfare, the wet tormentor thrust deep, past the outer ring that made a brief attempt to force it out.

“Ah, such a tasty, little rosebud. But so naughty. Your sphincter thinks it has control over what goes into your body. That’s funny.” His Master chuckled.

Seth quickly relaxed his anal muscles but knew it was too late. He’d be punished for not maintaining better control. The idea sent thrilling shivers of anticipation down his spine.

His Master’s strong hands pried his cheeks apart more firmly. The persistent tongue drove deep then pulled out, licking along the crease of his ass. One hand went away, but the other spread out, pulling him open. A finger rimmed his anus and pressed in, circling and stretching the hole. “We’ll show that wayward little muscle who’s in control. You’re getting the monster tonight.”

Seth tingled inside, imagining the dildo in his mind. Thick and black, like his Master’s enormous cock, the monster was unnaturally huge. Used improperly, it could tear the rectum of its recipient. Seth wasn’t worried. He was horny as hell and, in the position he was in, there was no hiding that fact.

“Ah, your cock jumped when I told you I was going to fuck you with the monster. You’re such an ass slut. You want it bad.” His Master’s finger tugged the ring of Seth’s waiting anus, stretching it, widening it even more.

Seth groaned into the gag. He did want it bad. He only wished he could watch.

Copyright (C) 2009 Jamie Hill

The Joys of Writing BDSM

by Lisabet Sarai



In my post two weeks ago I complained about the constraints of fitting into a genre. Now I have to admit that there is a genre where I’m comfortable -- the genre commonly known as BDSM.

I love writing BDSM. I find it far easier than writing so-called “vanilla” romance or erotica. I’ll be the first to admit the reason: it turns me on. BDSM pushes my personal buttons. My real world experience in the BDSM arena has been fairly limited but has had incredible personal impact. Nothing excites me like a well-written scene between a Master or Mistress and his or her willing slave. I know this is because the action and conversation contain echoes of my own ecstatic awakening to the joys of dominance and submission.

“BDSM” is short for Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism. It also subsumes “D/s”, Dominance and submission. What is included in BDSM fiction? Depending on who is doing the writing, bondage could be anything from naughty little games with silk scarves to ball gags, hog tying and suspension. Discipline can range from a playful spanking to flogging with a bull whip. Blindfolds, handcuffs, slave collars, dildos, riding crops, leather masks, stiletto heels – the paraphernalia of BDSM have in fact become familiar to the point that they’re almost clichés.

For me, though, the external tools and symbols of BDSM don’t matter, not really. The essence to BDSM, the key to understanding its appeal, lies in the relationship between the dominant and the submissive. Trust is the core concept. The submissive entrusts the dominant with her body, believing that he will administer no more pain than she can bear. She opens her mind to him, sharing her desire to be mastered. She gives him power over her, trusting him to use it wisely. Meanwhile, the dominant trusts the sub to use her safe word if he misjudges her limits, but otherwise, to let him lead her through the scene and not “top from below”.

(For convenience, I am using the terminology of a male dominant and female submissive here, but the dynamics do not change significantly regardless of gender.)

The two participants in this exchange of power are connected – emotionally, psychically, even spiritually. Successful BDSM scenes require a level of communication and honesty beyond what one usually finds in vanilla sexual encounters. A skillful Dom intuits the sub’s psychological and physical state from her breathing, her skin, her body language. To the sub, it can feel as though the dominant is reading her mind – and maybe he is. She cannot lie about her arousal or her agony. Both are plain to see. The experience of being seen and known so deeply is intoxicating, magnifying the sexual excitement.

I enjoy writing BDSM because I can participate vicariously in this intimate connection. I can write from the dominant’s or the submissive’s perspective, male or female. It doesn’t seem to matter. The buzz is the same.

This is just my view. Some readers, and writers, take a more fetishistic approach to BDSM. For these individuals, the paraphernalia are arousing in themselves. It doesn’t matter who is using them. And of course, there are people who find non-consensual scenarios of rape and torture sexually arousing.

It’s not my place to judge these people. After all, there are lots of fine upstanding citizens who would label my own interests and desires as evil or sick. However, neither of these perspectives on BDSM corresponds to my own. I write safe, consensual, responsible, emotionally satisfying BDSM scenes between adults who at very least care about each other’s welfare.

Sounds almost wholesome, doesn’t it?

It’s possible to write BDSM fiction with none of the traditional trappings. One of my all time favorite erotic stories, by Mike Kimera, is called “Other Bonds than Leather”. Better than anything I’ve written, it captures the essence of D/s, separate from the artifacts and the toys.

Meanwhile, here’s something of my own, an example that will perhaps make my point clearer than any more of this intellectualizing.

From “Wednesday Night at Rocky’s Ace Hardware Store” in Rough Caress (Eternal Press, 2008)

We pass a display of galvanized steel fittings. I stop, fascinated. Sturdy eye bolts and swivel bolts, hooks and pulleys, interlocking rings and brackets, all sensuously curved and shining a dull silver. I can't take my eyes away, imagining spread limbs and stretched muscles. Hardware stores always bring out my creative side.

He laughs at my intensity. "You know that we can't attach anything to the walls, Sarah. It's in the resident's agreement."

"Well... what about out on the deck?" Our top-floor condo has a lovely patio built out on the flat part of the roof. From there we have a fabulous view of the city, from Twin Peaks to the Golden Gate.

"You want me to bind you out in the open, where anyone uphill can see you?" He rolls his eyes heavenward, pretending annoyance. "And you say that I'm perverted!"

He steers me onward. Reluctantly, I leave the suggestive display of fittings, only to be transfixed by the rolls of self-service chain at the other end of the aisle.

"Chain is completely impractical," he reminds me with a grin.

"But it's so decorative, so evocative," I counter. "Whips and chains, you know."

"Whatever you want, dear," he says, bowing low. I make a choice and he cuts me a four foot length of the pretty, brass-finished stuff with half-inch links. He dumps it into our basket. It gives a satisfying clink whenever we move.

My nipples go taut at the sound. He notices, of course, and leans down to tweak one, hard. Another wave of lubrication gushes from my cunt. His nostrils flare as my scent fills the aisle.

"My turn," he says. "Let's go check out the dowels." His thumb and forefinger are still grasping my swollen tit. He leads me toward the back of the store.

I look around nervously, but there are few customers at eight PM on a Wednesday evening. Despite my comments about the deck, I'm actually terrified of public exposure. To be more accurate, public restraint or punishment is still beyond my limits, something I'm not ready to admit that I want. He knows that perfectly well.

He halts in front of a rack holding wooden rods of varying diameters and lengths. I have small hands; I could not get my thumb and forefinger around one of the thickest. The thinnest are perhaps a quarter-inch in diameter, like the sticks used to mount children's balloons.

When he releases his hold on my nipple, I still feel the echo of his fingers on my throbbing flesh. "Bend over," he orders. Trembling with fearful excitement, I bend at the waist. I rest my hands on my thighs for support, but he can see that I am not comfortable. He flips my skirt up, baring my buttocks. "Don't move," he cautions, and then disappears, leaving me alone in this awkward and obscene position.

He is gone for what feels like forever. Slight currents of air brush my exposed ass like ghostly fingers. My engorged pudenda ache for his touch, and the scent of my lust is stronger than ever. Sweat trickles down my neck, dampening my hair. My heart sounds so loudly in my ears, I do not even hear him when he returns. He has a folding stepladder, which he assembles and places in front of me. "Hold on to this."

The position is more stable and places far less strain on my back. "Thank you, Master," I whisper, once again marveling at how finely tuned he is to my needs.

He slips a casual finger into my soaking cunt and wriggles it around. "You certainly are wet, Sarah." My pelvis churns at his touch. Without thought, I grind myself against his hand. I am rewarded by a sharp slap on my butt cheek.

"Be still!" he says softly. "I did not give you permission to move."

He continues to explore my well-lubricated folds. Meanwhile I press my lips together and tighten all my muscles, struggling to obey his directive of immobility.

"What are you thinking, little slut?" he whispers in my ear. "Tell me."

I can hardly speak, aroused and taut as I am. "That I'm yours," I gasp, finally. "That I would do anything for you."

That’s it, in the last sentence. I get wet every time I read that sentence. That’s why I write BDSM.