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Yes I know I am way behind on the web page but things have not been too exciting. Here is a catch up from the end of school to pre-vacation.
I’m busy. I’ve got a book to finish, and the smell of the end in my nostrils. So I’m not going to write politics. But yeah: we have to stop voting hyenas into positions of power. It’s a really dumb thing to do.
So I put that Arabic phrase into Google, and it took me to a whole lot of sites about monkeys sexually attacking women. Hey, there’s porn of it! “Crazy monkey attack hot women!” “Two girls, one monkey!” And so on and suchlike.
Which led me to wondering how the guy (we’ll assume it’s a guy, shall we?) who typed that got directed to my blog.
I’ve never posted anything that catered for his taste. I’m not into humans having sex with animals. Not just “not interested”; I hate disapproving of things, but I disapprove of people fucking animals, or setting things up so the animal has to fuck a human.
If I was arguing the case against bestiality I’d say it’s wrong because it’s non-consensual, since animals can’t consent. (Ah-hah! Someone could say: you reckon animals consent to be killed and eaten?)
Then I’d say it tends to be cruel. (And someone could work out some arrangement in which the animal was neither hurt nor frightened, and the human was consenting.)
And then I’d fall back on the yuck factor. Bestiality squicks me. That’s no basis for making law and policy (plenty of people are still squicked by sex between men), so I don’t have a very strong case. Still, I can do what I like, and not do what I don’t like, on my own blog.
Anyway, I guess he found one of my posts about bonobos, which would have included the words “monkeys”, at least as in “bonobos are not monkeys”, “sex” and “woman”. And I hope he also found complete satisfaction.
The main thing I know about encouraging a woman to want to fuck me is to talk to women I fancy and think are interesting, so that I’m enjoying myself whatever happens. That way, though I hope she’ll want to take me to her bed, or flop into mine, I can be relaxed about it. I try to be funny and clever, and let her talk what I probably think is most of the time. (Which means that she probably does about half the talking.)
At some stage there’s a pause, and a moment, and then we look at each other, and we might decide that it’d be a good idea to kiss. Or else not. But if the pause ends in kisses or a held hand or a held thigh, then more physical stuff is likely to happen, after which we take it outside. And then we take it home, hers or mine.
Of course, it’s fine that the PUA approach doesn’t suit me. My approach is my approach because it’s what works reasonably well for me. I’m better at talking than anything else, so I stick with what I’m best at.
I’ve seen guys impress and attract women on the dance floor, where it’s damn near impossible to say a word. So I know that that works. It just doesn’t work for me. People don’t actually see me dance and run away in horror, but that’s all you can say. No-one has ever seen me dance, and, as a consequence, wanted to fuck me.
PUA guru Mystery. He’s wearing a ski hat with sunnies, which is his idea of “peacocking”. I thought it was pilot headgear at first, which was more interesting. I’ve got an old-fashioned pilot’s hat and goggles thing that I sometimes wear to parties, so I do peacock. Wouldn’t wear the Biggles gear to a bar, though. Not in the mountains, hey?
Take the “neg” thing, where the PUA says something to the woman that sounds like a compliment, but also undercuts her. Like, oh, “Like your hair colour. Are the roots meant to be showing?” Or, “That’s a great dress. And brave of you to wear it.” Or some such.
The idea is that attractive women get compliments all the time, and handle them complacently, reading them as, “please pay attention to me, you goddess.” So they ignore those approaches.
A neg is supposed to be more interesting than a straight compliment, and because it includes an element of put-down, it’s supposed to make the woman feel that she needs to work for the respect of the man who negged her.
So it’s manipulative, and that’s creepy. It also seems pointlessly unkind. Why would you say something calculated to make the person you’re with feel slightly worse? Especially if you actually fancy that woman?
Even a single night in bed is a relationship. It seems odd to want to start any sort of relationship based on putting the other person down.
If you use negs, and other “techniques”, you turn yourself into a method and not a person. I might get sex from a method but I wouldn’t get the affirmation and, oh fuck it, the ego boost I get when someone meets me and decides she wants to fuck my lights out.
Worse, it’s a sign of contempt. You could only bring yourself to neg someone if you think they’re dumb enough not to notice, and unassertive enough to feel a little worse about themselves rather than realising that you’re a toxic fool who should be avoided.
I’m not a biologist or animal psychologist, but I’m interested in n how ethics works across species. Also, in some parts of Africa and Asia, when you get out of your vehicle it can be handy to know about the likely behaviour of pack or herd animals that can kill you.
I’m snob enough not to want to have much to with people who write ignorant bollocks about how animal heirarchies work. Mostly they’ve only read some dated stuff about wolves, and about non-human primates, and tried to apply it to humans. This is doubly stupid: first, their model is wrong about every animal species I know something about.
For example, most alpha males aren’t all that aggressive, and they spend a lot of time making sure everyone else in the troupe or pack is fed. And alpha males generally don’t keep their position unless the alpha females support them. They don’t control who gets the sex in their group, because the females fuck who they want to. The females initiate a lot of the sex, and it seems that they like youth and good looks more than alpha status. Alpha males aren’t the aggressive ones, and they aren’t the studs: basically, they’re politicians.
Second, you can’t even apply models from chimps to bonobos, let alone from wolves or chimps to humans. It’s just embarrassingly stupid.
Also, the homo sapiens guys who think of themselves as alpha males, as they understand the term, tend to strut about doing a lot of body language and oration. And that’s just tedious.
So what’s this got to do with bdsm? Well, the PUA message seems to be getting more openly nasty as time goes on. There’s an increasing emphasis and acceptance of non-consensual scenarios.
For example, there’s the PUA “teacher” Julien Blanc who recommended that guys just go up to women, grab their heads and push them down towards the guy’s crotch. He showed footage of himself doing just that, in Japan. He got away with it, because he’s a gaijin, so the girls laughed because they were shocked and embarrassed about how weird and offensive he was being.
In Japan, laughter doesn’t necessarily mean the person laughing is having fun, or that they are enjoying you being around. Blanc was too stupid and arrogant to bother knowing anything about Japanese culture. It’s a pity no-one called a cop or kneed him in the bollocks: he couldn’t claim he didn’t understand that.
Blanc also recommends that men wear down women’s “bitch shield” (which seems to mean reluctance to spend time with Blanc or his “students”) by commanding them to “get down on your knees, call me Master, and BEG ME to kiss you.”
The use of bdsm tone and terms is becoming more common. There’s another PUA guy (not linking to him) whose training includes telling guys with poor social skills that many women will obey commands, and “secretly like to be commanded”.
This worries me because that’s actually true about many women, and not just women who identify as “submissive”. I’m not going to argue about why that is. Of course it’s partly cultural, and to some extent it’s also probably innate and part of our primate, even mammal, heritage. Dominance and confidence are survival traits, and they’re sexy. But there’s a reason why bdsm has so many caveats about consent, in particular informed consent.
If they want to be any good at domming, doms have to learn a lot about power and how to exercise it. And also how to not exercise dominance and power. At work, for example, I keep a very firm lid on all dom signs: body language, tone of voice and so on. As much as I can manage I’m mild-mannered Clark Kent, very polite and unassuming. In fact, I’m like that everywhere, except in the company of a submissive woman who knows who she is and who I am, and who has explicitly given me her consent.
But it is true that a man can give a woman (some women) small commands, and make the orders bigger by degrees. He can also make the orders more and more explicitly sexual, after that third glass, and he’ll probably get away with it. He may get her undressed and himself on her body. He may get a fuck out of it.
It’s just … Afterwards, she may be happy with that and she may not be. She probably wasn’t raped, in a legal sense, but she has good reason to feel that she was conned and manipulated. It’s rape-ish. Not necessarily a prosecutable crime, but certainly bad behaviour.
So my problem is that some bdsm skills, about mind-fucking and establishing dominance and submission, seem to be seeping into PUA teaching. But without the ethics.
The Jian Ghomeshi case, where Ghomeshi assaulted several women quite seriously, and then claimed he was doing consensual bdsm with them, was an early warning. Promoting behaviour control methods from bdsm, without including bdsm’s ethical rules – especially about informed consent – is dangerous and irresponsible. I don’t see it leading anywhere good.
* “Keep the sun out of your eyes and be yourselves” is said by the bad guy in Cherry 2000, whose dialogue is a mix of feelgood psychobabble and psycho-killer babble. I’m going to watch Cherry 2000 again soon. It’s probably terrible, but I’m curious to see if I’m still in lust with Melanie Griffith. There was something about her sullen face and squeaky little voice that deeply appealed to the schoolboy Jaime Mortimer. Phwoarr, I thought. Hope I still do.
Here’s a picture of bonobos being happy. I’m having a slightly miserable time of it at the moment. Your blogger is sad. But contemplating those guys cheers me up a lot. I hope it works for you, too.
I like bonobos a lot, but I won’t be writing about them again for a while. I feel like writing something sexy, and about humans.
Posted in Animals, random bdsm observations, Science and research	| Tagged bdsm etiology, bonobos, what do we know about where bdsm comes from?	| Leave a reply
We know that submission postures and the reddening of the genitals and buttocks are common to chimps, bonobos and humans. In humans the submissive presentation posture is a universally recognized sexual signal.
We know that that red sexual display died out in our hominid ancestors some time before we homo sapiens sapiens turned up, but we really don’t know when.
The fossil record is a long way from complete, and fossils mean bones, not flesh. Flesh decays, so we don’t know what our ancestors’ asses were like.
Presumably that red-hot perineum flush would have started to be less important in reproduction, and slowly die out, some time after our ancestors took up walking while standing up.
When you’re on your hind legs, your ass isn’t as prominent as it is when you’re on all fours, so a reddened ass is less effective as a sexual signal, and over time it will stop being selected for. But we don’t know when that was.
But it’s very likely that the importance of submissive display positions in primates is one of the reasons they still work so powerfully in bdsm. The reddened ass theory is more speculative, but it’s at least plausible.
Meredith Small, in her book, Female Choices: Sexual Behaviour of Female Primates, argued that male primatologists had often failed to observe what female primates were doing.
They interpreted primate sexual behaviour in terms of competition to be an alpha male, with the assumption that the alpha male had his pick of all the ladeeze.
It took women primatologists to see that female primates were initiating a lot of the sex, and that they, not some phalanx of alpha males, were choosing their partners. And they weren’t necessarily choosing the alpha males.
She argued for a kind of imaginative empathy. Female primatologists may be more likely to notice and interpret female primate behaviours that male primatologists have overlooked, because they are female.
My suspicion is that people who are attuned to bdsm, who’ve experienced it and take pleasure from it, may have some intuitive access to the experience of the primate submission ritual, that primatologists who haven’t experienced bdsm won’t have.
When chimps and bonobos are in conflict, getting close to a fight, and one of them assumes a submissive sexual position, the other primate may drop the aggression, and mounts the submissive. They rub genitals, and sometimes have sex.
Most primatologists have written that as if it’s a win-lose encounter. At least the submissive doesn’t get bashed up, but he or she is humiliated and defeated.
The rewards for the dominant primate who “wins” the exchange are the most obvious: there aren’t many of us primates who don’t enjoy triumph, power, sexual access, and so on.
But the submissive primate is also rewarded: fear turns to relief, anger turns to sex, and conflict, through the mounting, turns to connection, with the associated pleasure of sexual surrender – a pleasure that seems to be enjoyed by many animals as well as humans.
Both primates are highly aroused by the time their pre-fight postures change to sexual postures. The submission allows them both to channel that arousal into sex. The sexual presentation, the mounting, the thrusts, of primates aren;’t just symbolically “like” sex. They are sex.
Chimps and bonobos are highly sexed, and they enjoy a wide range of activities among their own and the opposite sex. So do we, only more so. They, or rather we, are all polymorphously perverse.
There’s a reason this bdsm-like behaviour, and pleasure, can survive and pass its way down to modern humans.
Primates who have the ability to turn conflict arousal into sexual arousal are likely to pass on their genes. If they can end a conflict with a dominance and submission ritual rather than a fight until one or both primates are severely injured, they will live longer and have more chances to pass on their genes.
Another factor is that primates with that ability are sexier: their sexual repertoire is slightly wider, and so they are likely to mate slightly more often. Throw in a couple of million years, and that will make a difference. Regardless of the mechanism by which it’s transmitted, that is, whatever the mix of genetic and “cultural” factors, the ability to sexualise dominance and submission seems to be part of our primate inheritance.
And, purely from the random chance of the DNA lottery, it seems that some humans have that trait more than others. So, is this one of the reasons bdsm exists in humans? It’s not certain, but it’s very probable.
Posted in Animals, random bdsm observations, Science and research	| Tagged bdsm etiology, bonobos, what do we know about where bdsm comes from?	| 39 Replies
Our closest relatives, chimps and bonobos, get seriously sexually interested when they see a submissive posture, and especially the sight of a red, hot ass, presented for their attention. In human bdsm, many doms feel the same way about the heat and colour of a disciplined submissive’s ass. So, is some of the force of our sexual response linked to our common hominid ancestry?
This is Vanessa Woods, a primatologist who’s lived with bonobos and contributed a lot to our knowledge of their social structures. She’s not responsible at all for suggesting a connection between bonobos and bdsm.
It’s certainly true that we’re closely related to chimps and bonobos. We evolved from the same ancestors, until the family branch split into homo, which is us, and pan, which is them, about 4 to 6 million years ago. That isn’t as long in evolutionary terms as it is when you’re waiting for a bus. We share about 95% of our DNA with our cousins.
It’s not just genetics. We have quite a few things in common with them that are, in a sense, cultural, including lots of the ways we show affection, the way we do violence (I mean, like two guys getting angry, not mechanised warfare), and quite a lot about the way we do sex. So it’s completely plausible that we, or some of us, are still in thrall to that ancestral sexual signal.
But we’re different from chimps and bonobos in two important ways. First, we don’t have a strong sexual cycle like them: chimp and bonobo females mostly only mate when they’re at the peak of their monthly reproductive cycle, so they need to signal when they’re most interested in fucking. Human women can fuck any time. No signal is needed, so it won’t be selected for.
Second, we walk upright. A sexual signal that works best when the ass is the highest and most prominent point of the body doesn’t work so well when you’re standing. So we humans don’t have that signal.
But I’ve also run her pic because I’m a fan; I’ve read her book, think she’s brilliant, ridiculously brave, and so on. And, like so many women primatologists, she’s gorgeous.
It’d be nice, really nice, if we knew how recently our ancestors lost that bright red sexual signal. Our ancestors probably had it, say, four million years ago, when we were still separating from chimps and bonobos.
We can look at our ancestors’ bones, but sadly, one thing that doesn’t fossilise is asses. All the hominid asses, the ones before homo sapiens sapiens, have rotted away and been eaten by worms, and we’ll never know a damn thing about them.
But we can make some guesses, some of which don’t seem to be completely stupid, and make the best use of the evidence we do have. That’s tomorrow.
As far as I’ve been able to find, the first person to suggest a connection between the reddening of human buttocks by whipping, and the red sexual swellings of chimps and bonobos, was Alex Comfort.
Bonobos would recognise that sexual presentation posture. This girl’s pose happens to be part of a bdsm scenario, but the pose is a sexual signal – for humans who like women – far beyond the bdsm world.
In his book, Nature and Human Nature, he wrote, “mammalian residues still persist in human sexuality, and we may underrate them. Blushing, and the interest of some individuals in the reddening of the buttocks caused by whipping, may contain echoes of the ‘releaser’ sex skin of lower primates.”
Rump presentation again, but with a cane-striped ass. People who aren’t into bdsm are likely to think the poor girl has been treated cruelly, and pity and shock will override sex. People who like bdsm are likely to think that the reddening makes her even sexier. So the reddened ass thing isn’t a universal human sexual response; it’s specific to some of us who like bdsm.
“The female sexual rump-presentation posture also occurs in humans,” Morris wrote. “It is there in corporal punishment, with rhythmic whipping replacing the rhythmic pelvic thrusts of the dominant male.”
He added that victims have their buttocks bared for punishment, not to increase the pain, but to allow the dom “to witness the reddening of the buttocks as the beating proceeds, which so vividly recalls the flushing of the primate female hindquarters when in full sexual condition.”
He thought corporal punishment in schools would end once teachers “fully appreciated the fact that, in reality, they were performing an ancient primate form of copulation with their pupils.”
But … that was fifty years ago. By now we should have gone beyond a bit of idle speculation by a pair of hippy-influenced primatologists*, shouldn’t we?
The claim is this. We doms, at least those of us who like to mark our submissives with impact play, get many different rewards and pleasures from admiring and fucking our submissives, usually from behind, after a beating.
One of those rewards is genetically hard-wired. Our immediate primate ancestors, like our cousins the chimps and bonobos, reacted to reddened, swollen, warmed asses with very strong sexual interest and arousal. That’s part of our heritage, through some mix of genetic and cultural factors, from our primate ancestry. It’s one of the reasons for our strong sexual reaction to the sight and feel of a freshly disciplined submissive.
Tomorrow I’m going to talk about what we need to know, in order to assess whether the claim is true. (And why we can’t find it.)
* Yeah, I know Comfort wrote on primatology but his main field was medicine. I just don’t want to write “a hippy-influenced doctor and a hippy-influenced primatologist”. Don’t rain on my phrases, ok?
There’s a connection, or an alleged connection, between the reddened ass of a freshly-disciplined submissive, and the strong sexual response of doms to that reddened, swollen sexual area, and the bright red, blood-swollen perineal swellings in bonobo and chimp females.
This is a young bonobo female up in a tree, flashing her perineal swelling. (Male bonobos looking up at her ass not shown.)
“Perineal” means that lovely, sexually sensitive skin from the vagina to the anus. When it swells up in bonobos and chimps, it becomes extremely, er, noticeable.
So the idea is that we doms, at least those of us with a taste for a freshly-disciplined girl or boy, are drawing on some powerfully atavistic urges from way back in our evolutionary ancestry.
In chimps and bonobos that swelling occurs at oestrus, the point in the menstrual cycle when the female is most likely to reproduce and to want to do a lot of fucking.
That red and swollen genital and buttock signal, that the female is receptive and interested, gets an extremely strong reaction from the males in the troupe. They’ll hang around her, trying for any sexual opportunity they can get. They’ll fight over her, or – if they think they’d lose a fight – they’ll wait until the dominant male is distracted, and nip in for a quick fuck before he notices.
By the way, her strategy isn’t to mate with the most dominant male. Her strategy is to get a lot of fucking done, with lots of males. The males who fuck her feel good about her, which is handy for getting food and protection and so on, and when she gives birth they’ll be unlikely to kill the offspring. Since it might be theirs.
(By the way, almost everything people say when they use terms like “alpha male” is complete, utter, abject bullshit. Especially if they apply those terms to humans, and especially in the highest, forever and ever, if they apply those terms to themselves. The only exception is the first sentence of this paragraph.)
Humans are different from our chimp and bonobo cousins, though. Human girls don’t get that red ass thing.
Yeah, you’re thinking, “Ah-hah! Except for submissive girls who’ve been bad, and submissive boys, too.” You’re way ahead of me, but there’s more to be said about this. For example, “is this theory actually true?”
Chimps and bonobos both use submissive sexual display to defuse confrontations. The ape who figures that he or she will lose a fight, if a fight gets started, assumes a sexually receptive position and holds it for the dominant’s consideration.
Presentation. These are baboons, who are old world monkeys and not as closely related to us as chimps or bonobos. But I couldn’t find a good bonobo rump presentation pic in which they weren’t already fucking.
Generally, that involves putting hands and feet on the ground, with their rump and genitals up and offered to the ape our chimp or bonobo doesn’t want to fight. Alternatively, the ape who doesn’t want a fight lies on their front, on the ground, with their rump arched up so that their genitals are vertically presented. Hey, they both work.
Usually this is reported as something that female apes and less dominant male apes do to appease dominant males. But it’s more flexible than that: male apes have also been observed offering the submissive presentation posture to dominant female apes, and female apes may offer it to other females.
The dominant ape may accept the display alone as being enough to establish friendly relations, or he or she may mount the submissively presented ape and make a few pelvic thrusts just to drive the point home. But with that, confrontation is over and peace is restored. The dominant and submissive ape may fuck at that point, but they don’t always.
The relevance to bdsm is fairly obvious. The submissive primate experiences fear, and the dominant experiences an emotion that may not have a name: let’s call it “conquest”. That tension builds up to a climactic point, and is then resolved in sexuality. That’s strongly reminiscent of the way human bdsm works, and pleasures us.
The submissive presentation postures that our chimp and bonobo cousins adopt arouse strong sexual reactions in humans, too, especially humans who enjoy bdsm.
It’s not just pleasurable for the human dominant who observes the submissive in that posture; it’s sexy for the submissive to place herself or himself that way.
My own reaction to being offered that submissive posture, at least from a submissive I desire, is very strong and very sexual, and it does seem to by-pass thought.
That’s not to say it’s innate or genetic, whatever “genetic” would even mean in relation to behaviour this complicated. It’s probably largely a learned behaviour and response in chimps, bonobos and humans, and some other apes, and it probably does build on some genetic elements.
But the link between dominance-submission and sex is part of a shared primate culture that doesn’t just pre-date language; it pre-dates hominids. (It’s arguably present in non-primates as well, but I’m only writing about our evolutionary neighbourhood.)
There’s something else we bdsm-loving humans may have adopted from our primate cousins: an interest in what Aldous Huxley called “the gorgeous buttocks of the ape”. But we can talk about asses tomorrow.
Bonobos. The bonobo female looking very relaxed. This has no great relevance to the topic. I’ve just always loved this photo.
We share over 98 per cent of our genes with chimps and bonobos, our closest kin. When we watch them we read their expressions and body language, and we often think that we know what they’re feeling.
That can tempt us into “explaining” human traits by finding some precedent for those traits in primate behaviour. That’s one reason why evolutionary psychology books sell well, but haven’t won much academic support. At its simplest, the evo psych bestseller involves selecting an aspect of the behaviour of one or two species and arguing that this explains similar behaviour in humans, or that it provides a model of “natural” behaviour for humans.
“Natural” primate behaviour includes male dominance, female resistance to male dominance, pair bonding, harem formation, and promiscuity. All of these things exist in different human cultures, but the existence of the primate models doesn’t mean that any of these options are particularly “natural” for humans.
There are human cultures in which powerful older men keep women in harems, and there are human cultures that don’t much interfere with female sexual choices. It seems unlikely that the harem cultures got that behaviour from common ancestry with harem-forming baboons, while cultures that endorse female sexual choice do so because of inheritances we share with bonobos.
But there’s something there, between us and our cousins. When we see a chimp or bonobo mother comforting a hurt infant, cradling the infant in her arms, gazing at it and pursing her lips and making soft sounds, patting it and stroking, we don’t really know what that mother or infant are thinking, but we probably do know quite a bit about their emotions. Sometimes the emotional situation, the gestures, the sounds and the expressions are so close to ours that it seems reasonable to suppose that we really do share some experiences and sets of feelings across the species divide.
This is relevant to bdsm because of the way submissive presentation postures seem to work in chimps and bonobos, in particular. So we’ll get to that tomorrow.
Posted in Animals, Science and research	| Tagged bdsm etiology, what do we know about where bdsm comes from?	| Leave a reply
There are four posts a week. They tend to be fairly substantial, and either sexy, funny or informative, or some combination thereof.
Raylene looked at the bed. While her freshly-thrashed arse burned, she didn’t want anything to touch her bottom, not even the air. So a simple order like, “Bed,” presented her with challenges she didn’t know what to do with.
I kissed her. “I said ‘bed’, Raylene darling. Yes, you’ve had your ass caned. Looks nice and sore, too. Now you’re going to get your ass into bed.”
She grimaced. “If you don’t mind, Master, I think I’d prefer to stand for the next couple of years.”
And I reached down and gave her ass an open-palmed spank, as hard as I could. Raylene cried out in pain and some indignation. If I wasn’t going to feel sorry for her under those circumstances, then … when?
“Yes. We won’t say so too often, but yes, that’s exactly what it makes you.” I wasn’t sure that was true. But in the moment, sometimes I just say what I think will be hot.
“You’re property. I own you. I mentioned I’m falling in love with you, and I’ll look after you. But you don’t choose what you do, not anymore. Not once I’ve told you what to do.”
Raylene said nothing. She put her arms around me and let her breasts weigh on my chest. She clung to me like a jasmine.
She looked at me, big-eyed. “Well, I can’t think of any way of being in bed where the sheets won’t hurt me. Even if I lie flat on my tummy.”
“That’s right. You just got a hard lesson in behaviour. It’ll go on hurting a lot for an hour or two, I expect. But it’s over. And I don’t care that your ass still hurts. Understand that. You having a sore backside: it’ll happen to you whenever I see fit, and it does not matter if it hurts. Your pain does not matter. Not during. Not afterwards.”
Raylene had listened to this open-mouthed. She didn’t disagree. These were just things that hadn’t occurred to her before. “Oh. Ok.”
“So, get onto the bed. I’d going to fuck you. I need to fuck you. I think you need to be fucked. As if what you need matters.”
I kissed her. I suppose I don’t cane for irony. “Get up on the bed. Hands and knees. Get your ass up, and keep it up.”
“Yes, master.” And she scrambled up onto the bed, pulling the top sheet and blankets aside, and posing like a cat needing fucking.
“Good girl. I’m going to fuck you, pressed against that nice hot ass. I’m going to enjoy your heat. And I’m going to hurt you while I fuck you. What do you know about that?”
Raylene arched her back, presenting herself as spectacularly as she could. “I know now that it doesn’t matter if it hurts, Master.”
“Good girl. I knew you’re a clever girl.” And I took my clothes off and climbed up onto the bed with her, wanting her more desperately than I was going to tell her, and put my hands on her hips.
The last episode of this story was posted back in February, here. It’s very forgivable if you’ve forgotten, or never knew, that there is such a story.
“Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive” is the click-baity but entirely accurate title of the story of something that happened relatively early in my bdsm career. I’d been interviewing Raylene in her kitchen about her time with a neo-Nazi gang, which she’d joined to annoy her mother, at a bad time in her life. But then we discovered that she was submissive and I was a dom, and that we fancied each other. Things happened very quickly from there, though I’ve been telling it excruciatingly slowly.
When we left Raylene, she was being caned in front of witnesses. The witnesses were Dorabella, her half sister, and Lynette, who’d been trying to get Dorabella into bed.
By now, Lynette had switched her sexual ambition to Raylene and, to my surprise, me. But although we hadn’t liked each other much when we met yesterday, we’d exchanged breath, our tongues had touched the other’s teeth, and we’d fondled each other’s genitals: through my clothes in her case, but fingertips to soft wet skin in my case.
The attraction was real, and starting to feel urgent. So we’d interrupted Raylene’s caning to take a kissing break. To Raylene’s disbelief.
I could see her point. Generally, if you’re getting caned in front of witnesses, you should expect to be the centre of attention. But I’d shown Lynette that being humiliated was one of Raylene’s most favourite, hottest things. She’d caught on quickly, and she’d found that humbling Raylene made her feel wicked. She was starting to enjoy feeling wicked. All this added a pleasantly perverse edge to our kisses.
I slid my hands down to hold Lynette’s bare ass under her skirt, Lynette made a little “ah” sound, and straightened her back. She had a sensitive little arse: that was worth remembering. She explored my back under my shirt. Doing anything except pulling each other down to the floor and fucking then and there would clearly be ridiculous. But I said, “I said yes, Raylene. What do you want?”
I sighed ostentatiously, and said, still facing Lynette, “you’ve got the last six of your dozen to go. And there’s one penalty stroke. So far. So seven. Girl.”
Lynette smiled at me. She’d enjoyed our intimacy for its own sake and for its effect on Raylene. We hadn’t been to bed together yet – Lynette was to join Raylene and me at midnight that night – but we were already playing a pleasantly complex three-way sexual game. A subtle threesome.
Lynette pulled my shirt back down and picked up the cane, holding it the middle as Raylene had done, and passed it to me. She mouthed, “Duty calls.” Silently. She was still amused.
I turned and shook my head at Dorabella, who was at the other side of Rayleme’s desk, holding Raylene’s shoulders down. She’d been watching Lynette and me while we pressed bodies and mouths. Since Dorabella was the only person in the room who didn’t want to fuck Lynette, she was no doubt relieved that Lynette’s interest had switched. Anyway, Dorabella read my look correctly and nodded.
Raylene was to have no warning. I swung the cane, catching Raylene hard across the other stripes I’d already laid on the lower curves of her bottom.
The crack of cane meeting softly muscled flesh was followed by Raylene’s rising wail. Her legs kicked up, level with her body, and she fought Dorabella desperately to get up. She lost that struggle within a few seconds, and her toes touched the floor again. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oooohhh…”
I knew I’d have to make the next stroke harder, to get the same reaction. So I made it harder. When Raylene settled her body again, she was still making that soft, almost mumbling cry. It was her pain song.
I gave her the remaining strokes at the same intensity, but she no longer reacted so dramatically. She was getting tired, and she was learning to take a hard caning. There was a kind of acceptance, which was deeper than the mainly verbal submission she’d given me to this moment. I wondered if she’d convinced herself that she deserved to be punished this severely, though she certainly didn’t.
When the last, penalty, stroke was delivered, I said, “that’s it for now, darling. You’ve been very good, and very brave for me. I’m proud of you, little Raylene.”
She was still producing tears, and singing her “oh fuck oh fuck” song, but she paused for long enough to say, “Thank you, master. And I’m sorry.”
“Good girl. My girl.” I raised my voice, into public speaking mode. “Raylene is going to thank you for witnessing her punishment. And she’s going to apologise to both of you for her rudeness last night. But she’ll make her formaI apology at dinner tonight. Right now, though, I think I’ve got a girl who needs looking after. Ah?”
It was Dorabella, again, who caught on fastest. She leaned down and kissed her sister’s forehead, then her cheek, and then walked to the door, bustling Lynette out with her. She said, “ok, we’ll leave you two alone for a while. And look in later and see if there’s anything you…”
Lynette said, “Need. Like cold cream?” She wanted to get back into the room. And maybe to get to apply it to Raylene’s glowing ass and thighs.
Raylene stopped singing “oh fuck oh fuck” and said, “I’ve got some. In a drawer. We’re fine.” She looked at me. I nodded.
“We’ll see you guys later.” I shut the door. I considered jamming a chair against the handle, in case Lynette thought of another way to get inside. The thought made me smile. I knew Raylene wanted to fuck Lynette as much as I did, and if Lynette was getting keen, and devious, that was no bad omen.
I took the cold cream from her top drawer, where it nestled against knickers and a small collection of vibes, I helped her rise, though she moaned when she straightened up. “That hurt, master. Oh fuck, that hurt so much.”
It wasn’t an accusation. And we kissed. I grinned at her. She looked puzzled, but she couldn’t see how bedraggled and woeful, and how triumphantly sexy, she looked. Oh well: I had plenty of time to tell her.
Beside me, Lynette sighed pleasurably. Languorously, with shining eyes. She was taking a video of the whole thing on my phone camera. She was enjoying watching Raylene’s anguished movements, her toe-clenched kicking and the writhing of her ass and thighs.
But at the very least that consideration didn’t interfere with her pleasure. She was also enjoying her flirtation with me. Actually we’d passed flirtation. She’d kissed me with tongue and enthusiasm. Back in the corridor, she’d put her hand on my cock.
That was the other puzzle in this room. Lynette had only come to this house because she’d been trying to get Dorabella into bed. Her first reaction to my presense, doing perverted things to Raylene on the stairs, had been openly hostile. I expected she had a fine line in “all men are bastards” conversation. I also suspected that she’d leaned on it while she was chasing Dorabella. And yet she was coming to bed with Raylene and me at mid-night. I was sure she’d demand penile, as it were, penetration.
I shrugged, mentally, and tapped the cane across the roundest, fullest, curves of Raylene’s bottom. The next two strokes would be the last of her two dozen. I was letting her know where to expect them. Raylene expelled a breath. “Master? God, it hurts… I’m so sorry, Lynette, I wish I hadn’t been rude to you.”
Lynette looked at me. A little earlier I’d encouraged her to be hard and unforgiving when Raylene asked for forgiveness. I smiled and nodded, giving permission. Lynette made her voice icy. “I know you’re sorry now, Raylene. But that’s only because you’re getting punished.”
Raylene made a shocked, nasal noise. Her arse rose and fell still, driven by burning pain. And lust.
Lynette frowned, a little unhappy with herself. Being cruel was fun, but as she’d found earlier, it was hard. She looked at me again. I made the OK symbol with my cane-free hand. “And it serves you right, Raylene. You were being a real bitch last night. Tell me again how sorry you are when he’s finished with you.”
Raylene wailed. I kissed Lynette again, for the sweet sake of it, and to let her know that she wasn’t a horrible person. She’d said the right thing, for Raylene’s pleasure and entertainment. Raylene said, “Master? Please, Master?”
She knew she was interrupting Lynette and me, and she was hesitant. In any case, she was about to ask a question, and I suspected she was scared of the possible answer.
I put my hands on Lynette’s ass, and she reciprocated. We kissed like people about to fuck. “Yes? Raylene?”
So there we were, at a dramatic moment. Raylene naked and bent over the table, bottom and upper thighs already well striped. There should be 19 welts, but they’d merged and crossed each other and I couldn’t count the marks any more in a general splash of corrugated red.
I’d tapped Raylene’s thighs, so she knew where the next strokes were going to go. I raised the cane, and whipped it down, twice, across the backs of her legs. I left little pause between them.
Stung, Raylene yowled and twisted, kicking her legs in the air, since it was the only movement she could make. I watched her with awe and desire, and listened to her pain song.
Dorabella, Raylene’s half sister, held Raylene’s shoulders down. She did it with real determination, leaving her robe flapping open.
I’d told her that if Raylene got up she’d get extra strokes, and that I’d give the same number to Dorabella. She hadn’t definitely conceded that I had the right to cane her, which wasn’t surprising since clearly I didn’t.
However, Dorabella was afraid that if I told her to take her place beside Raylene, presenting her arse for the cane, she’d do as she was told. By now, I was also pretty sure she wouldn’t disobey.
In the meantime, she was making sure the issue, and her choice, didn’t arise. She was taller than Raylene, and though they were both strong girls she’d made sure her extra height gave her the advantage.
There were puzzles there: Dorabella seemed to be enjoying herself too much. It didn’t seem to be sororal spite, where one sister will sometimes enjoy mild misfortune happening to the other. It was more that there was some sort of unacknowledged sexual vibe between the two of them. This was turning Dorabella on. I didn’t understand quite what was going on, but there was no doubt that Dorabella was aroused.
I gave Raylene two more strokes, quite firmly, and fast. This time I aimed high, getting them as close as possible to that wonderful fleshy crease where the thighs and buttocks meet. Raylene screamed, head shaking and hair flying. feet lifting from the carpet, and kicking in the air, until they were the highest part of of her body. Dorabella fought Raylene down again until she subsided.
Lynette had watched Lynette’s struggles, now with extra red stripes across the tops of her thighs, and Dorabella’s breasts while she fought to keep Raylene in place across her desk.
She stepped closer to me so we watched together, breathing in unison. Lynette whispered to me, “Fuck, that’s hot.”
I kissed her. She put her hands on the back of my head and kissed back. She meant it, as did I. So we were engrossed for a time.
Lynette did nothing to keep her body away from my erection, even when I slipped my free hand under her skirt, to cup and then squeeze her ass. Eventually I took a breath and smiled. “Well, that’s up to you.”
At surface level it meant I wouldn’t cane her unless she asked me too. But I’d also meant that I wouldn’t cane her if she behaved herself, but I might if she didn’t: and how she behaved was up to her.
“Can’t have play if you don’t have ambiguity,” I said, which can’t possibly be true, so I distracted her, reaching my fingers under her ass to stroke damp, soft, perineal skin. Lynette closed her eyes, still kissing me.
Dorabella made an unconvincing cough noise. She hadn’t let Raylene get her body off the desk, so she’d been good. And Raylene was back under her own control, her body still and expectant, her feet well parted and her bottom posed and poised for the cane.
So I gave Lynette the look that means duty calls, and she nodded. But my fingertips reached, and pressed against, the outer folds of her cunt, and she made a sweet, soft sound. But I withdrew my hand after a few seconds, shaking my head. “We’ll want you here one minute past twelve, Lynette. Don’t you be a second late.”
“Ok.” We looked each other in the eyes. We were both going to fuck Raylene after midnight, and then each other. And so the night would pass. But right now…
I picked up the cane, looked into Dorabella’s eyes for a few seconds, and said, “That was well done.” She glanced for a second at the cane in my hand, but said nothing. Silence is another type of ambiguity.
I tapped the bamboo across Raylene’s upper thighs. She’d already taken a few strokes on that most sensitive flesh, but now I was going to mark them properly.
Those stripes would still be burning when I fucked her, whether I put her on her back or took her from behind. And I was certain that Raylene wanted that pain as much as I did.
Posted in caning, Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive, Tales	| Tagged William Empson	| Leave a reply
This is a story about something that happened relatively early in my bdsm career. But I’d been doing wicked things long enough to learn that submissive women, though wonderful, aren’t made of porcelain, and that it’s not necessarily bad if I made a submissive woman cry. In the right way, not because of emotional hurt.
Also, I was about half-way out about bdsm, not through my own choice but because I had ex-girlfriends who gossiped with their friends that – with their consent – I spanked them and told them what to do. That meant that some women avoided going to bed with me, while others would pop round to see me, precisely because of that.
It was Raylene, heroine of our story, who made me realise that my interest in bdsm wasn’t so much a secret as a reputation, at least in the circle of women I knew, and that there was a good side to being a safe, non-scary bad boy.
The last episode of this story was posted back in October. We left Raylene naked, with a sore ass, bent over her bedroom desk and about to get her second dozen, enjoying the sexual admiration of two girls (one of them her half-sister, so that didn’t entirely count, except that in complicated ways it did count) and the intense sexual appreciation of one man: me.
A lot of things had happened very quickly between Raylene and me, once I recognised who and what she was. It helped that Raylene already knew about me, and steered things in the direction she wanted to go. I was following, while thinking I was leading.
Anyway, she liked submission, and she was no end of an exhibitionist, so she was brightly striped and giddily happy. If you want to see where we are and how we got here, that post is here.
We were all in position. Lynette taking video with my cellphone, Dorabella pushing Raylene’s shoulders down, under threat of getting a share of Raylene’s extra strokes if she let Raylene get up, and me, holding the heavier cane and visibly pleased about the while situation.
I’d tapped the cane against the tops of Raylene’s thighs, to let her know that was going to be a target area. Still, it was a new cane, a bit thicker than the one I’d given the first dozen with, so I swung it medium-hard, against the most excellenty padded part of her bottom.
Raylene jerked under the impact, so that Dorabella tensed, ready to wrestle her down. She grunted, than arched her ass up for the next stroke.
There was nothing Raylene could do that wouldn’t have the effect of turning me on, but I realised I missed the soprano pain-sounds she’d been making during the first dozen strokes. To get those sounds I could go a little harder, and I would, but there was another option.
“Yes, master.” I couldn’t see her face, but she was being a good girl now. An ostentatiously good girl. So I was sure she’d be looking as if she was at the dentist.
Then I applied the second stroke, a little lower and a little harder. Her whole body jerked under the impact, with a flurry of blue-green hair. Her breath hissed out, then she drew a fresh breath. She said, “Uh, uh, ahhhh…” before she had herself back under control.
It took two more strokes, each lower and harder than the last, before Raylene resumed soprano voice, and her pain-song.
I wasn’t sure why I liked that sound so much, I mean liked it so very, very, much. But it was at once the hottest and most tender sound in the universe.
And once we’d reached that place, I gave Raylene two fast hard strokes across the tops of her thighs.
That made her all activity, legs kicking, arms waving, trying to get purchase on her desk, while she sang that sweet, incoherent song.
Dorabella had to push down with all her strength. Her robe fell open, and both Lynette and I watched their struggle. Lynette’s mouth fell open too.
I said, “That’s six, Raylene. You’ve been good, and brave. But there’s six to go, plus the one penalty stroke.”
Followers of this blog, even casual visitors, have possibly noticed that there is a long, long story going on, in which I met Raylene, the half-sister of an ex of mine, to interview her about her time with a neo-Nazi gang.
But we moved fairly quickly from journalism to sex. There haven’t been any new episodes for a while, because I’ve been busy with other things.
When I left the Raylene saga, she was in her bedroom getting the cane in front of her half-sister, Dorabella, and Lynette, the woman who wanted to be Dorabella’s girlfriend. The smell of female – and male – sexual arousal hung heavy in the air. It was one of the best moments in my life so far, believe me.
I’m going to continue that story shortly. At least until I’ve got Raylene and I in bed, with the other two women departed for a while.
The story has a way to run after that, but I want to tell two other stories before I continue from that point.
So we’ll have a brief continuation of Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive, until I feel I’ve taken everyone to someplace they can be happy while I ignore them (and us) for a while.
Then we’re going to tell two other stories, which are a lot shorter than the Raylene saga. One of them features the reappearance of an old friend, and I’m hardly in it myself. The other reveals me to be a bit of a slut, also a scoundrel, on occasion.
I suppose I should also do my Anal Hook user’s report, since I promised that a year or so ago. I get there eventually, you know. But I’m a busy man, also a lazy one, and anyway I’ve learned that anticipation is no bad thing.
If you want to read or re-read the Raylene saga, you can find all the episodes by clicking on the tag, “Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive”, just below this post.
Lynette was first in the room. She stood at the door for a while, watching Raylene’s ass as she joggled and ran on the spot, lifting her knees high. Then she looked at me.
I glanced down. I was in swollen condition, that was pretty obvious even through my jeans. “Okay. I meant reducing swelling for Raylene’s ass.” Raylene glanced at me. It seemed to be some sort of warning. Maybe I was saying her bum looked big, wearing nothing but cane stripes. “But it’s not universally effective, no.”
Dorabella was still staring at my cock. I’m a short stocky guy, and that’s about the best you can say for my looks. But for now I was a sex object. That doesn’t happen enough for me to get sick of it. So I smiled at Dorabella, and at Lynette. No reason. Just happy.
She stopped. Her breasts stopped a couple of seconds later. I waited that couple of seconds, because that was beautiful and distracting. “Good girl. You’re doing well, Raylene.” She nodded, knowing that praise, though good, wasn’t where I was going. “But I’m going to give you your second dozen now. Well, a dozen, and one penalty stroke. Baker’s dozen.”
She nodded again, face serious, as if some part of her believed this was fair and right. I said, “So I want you to bend over the desk again now. Same position. Same conditions: don’t get up or you’ll be in trouble.”
Dorabella and Lynette walked all the way into the room while Raylene said, “Yes, master,” and pressed the tops of her thighs against the edge of the desk before leaning forward and lowering her body to rest on the cold, cold wood.
Then I decided that I wasn’t kidding. If I gave Raylene extra strokes for getting up, I’d tell Dorabella she was getting the same, and to drop the robe and bend over on her side of the desk, facing her sister.
I’d look stupid if she refused, and I’d just have to back down as gracefully as I could. But I figured I should try, and leave Dorabella to flip the coin. If she obeyed, she’d get three strokes and then the attention would go back to Raylene. But that would give her plenty to mull over until our time tomorrow. Anyway, Dorabella wasn’t going let Raylene get up, so it was likely to be a hypothetical problem.
While Dorabella took her place at the other side of the desk, hands pressed firmly down on Raylene’s shoulders, I passed Lynette my phone again. “Filming duty.”
“Yes, sir!” The “sir” was mockery, still, but I didn’t mind. Irony isn’t as powerful as some people think. Lynette took the phone, activated the camera, and then filmed the front of my jeans. I snorted laughter, and after a second so did she. She switched to focus on Raylene’s ass.
I tapped the cane against the tops of Raylene’s thighs. This second dozen would give more attention to her thighs. It seemed only fair.
While she complied I tapped the cane against the same place at the top of her thighs, but a little harder so that she winced, and a new, pinkish stripe formed.
She laughed again. “You! You’re not making it up as you go along. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
I decided to leave that unchallenged. It wasn’t remotely true, but it was good that she thought so. So I shrugged, I hope ambiguously. “Anyway, I’m falling in love with you. And, you don’t have to fall in love with me. I just blurted.”
“Yeah.” To mark of the end of one sensitive conversation, and to remind her of other sensitivities, I smacked her ass, hot and welted under my hand.
So I smacked her again, then let my hand stay, stroking her. Firm, beautifully rounded, a little rough where the cane had directly landed, and blazing heat.
“Well, this is peak hurt. It lasts maybe half an hour from the last cane stroke, though it’ll keep on hurting quite a lot, slightly lower level, for a couple of hours. Especially after I’ve given you the second dozen.”
“Good girl. It’ll maybe hurt most of today. Though it’ll be at a lower level. You’ll feel it, but it’ll be background. And you’ll probably like it. A nice, sexy, buzzing feeling. And I’ll be looking after you. And for the next couple days you’ll get a reminder any time you sit down. Or, I don’t know, walk backwards into anything. And don’t forget I can bring you back to peak hurt anytime, just by smacking you hard with my hand. And I won’t hesitate, if you’re out of line for a second. You put the Me in Master.”
I put the cane in her mouth, for her to hold. And I put my cock all the way back inside my jeans “On the spot. Running. Get your knees up.”
Raylene lifted her knees. I could hear Dorabella, still talking, in the corridor. Raylene jogged and jiggled, with her spectacular back to the door.
There was a pause while Dorabella, Lynette and I gazed at Raylene, who stood straight, her hands on her head forcing her gaze down slightly. The floor; the visual fascination of floors, for submissives. Her buttocks well and redly striped, with a few downward-sloping welts on her upper right thigh where the end of the cane had whipped. Those would be hurting.
Her face was flushed with sobbing, and her cheeks still wet with tears. Her upper lip was shiny, unromantically enough, with phlegm. I took the tissues box and stepped in front of her so she could watch me.
“Good girl.” I wiped her face clean and dry, dabbing at the tears and wiping her lip, then holding a handful of tissues to her nose. She leaned forward at the waist and blew. After four fierce snorts, head shaking and many, many tissues, she smiled and straightened up. She could breathe through her nose. Then we looked into each other’s eyes.
Dorabella suddenly sang out, “Loo break! Loo break!” She put her arm round Lynette’s shoulder – Lynette had been slower to react – and bustled them both to the door. “Come on, we can, oh, powder our noses. Girl stuff! Exciting!”
So Raylene and I were suddenly alone, in a silent room. I put my hands on her back, just above the highest cane stroke, and pulled her close. “Subtle, your sister, isn’t she?”
Raylene laughed suddenly. She hadn’t expected to be laughing anytime soon. “Like a truck!” She shook her head, amused, then lifted her face up to be kissed. I provided kisses. Time passed. I could hear Dorabella and Lynette in the bathroom, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Dorabella was doing most of the talking.
“Yeah, sorry. The awkward declaration. You don’t have to … reciprocate. I mean you have to do as you’re told. But your emotions, they’re mostly up to you. It’s true, but I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You know. I can’t take it back, but – ”
“Shut up.” I must have looked astonished. “Shut up, Master. I don’t know, Master. I know you weren’t trying to put me on the spot. And it’s not like it’s a bad thing. How can I mind you falling in love with me? “
I said, as I had to Lynette in similar circumstances, “Ah fuck…” But to Raylene I added, “And I really need to fuck you.”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah.” That was enthusiasm. She took her hands down and stroked me. My mouth fell open, information from my cock and its soft handling over-riding all else. I had nothing to say.
“You can’t have had any doubt, though. Very happy to be your Master. Fucking happy. Going to fuck you.” I was still being stroked.
She didn’t stop. I couldn’t tell her to stop. “Well, we’re going pretty fast. If I’m calling you Master, that’s a pretty big commitment anyway. And I don’t mind that. And I mean it too, I mean everything that goes with it. Whatever that is.”
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