Archive for July, 2019

More on the Unfathomable, Existential Et Cetera, Et Cetera

July 27, 2019

(This post has been brought to you by the efforts of my 116 truly outrageous Patrons! Visit my Patreon page to learn how to become one of them.)

One of the things I really wanted to talk about in my last post that I didn’t quite get to was the way that the fear of being rejected for showing a part of yourself as intimate and honest as your personal, private kinks can lead to some of the bad behavior we see a lot in the kink community. And I don’t think it’s wrong to say that this manifests differently in men and women – not because of any inherent difference from the two, you’re not going to find any gender essentialism here, but because of the way they’ve been socialized. Social conditioning is a thing, and it very rarely leads to fun sexytimes the way that more enjoyable forms of brainwashing do.

For men, I think it’s safe to say that we have been conditioned to have a metric fuckton of toxic entitlement. We are taught just about from birth that we are entitled to women’s time, women’s attention, women’s bodies, women’s interest – pretty much anything you’d care to name about the female gender is expected to be available on demand to anyone with a penis. (Yes, I know, not everyone with a penis is a man. Trust me when I say that this particular set of toxic masculinity tropes violently disagrees with that too.)

And for a lot of guys, when you’re feeling that anxiety and insecurity that comes with sharing deep and personal revelations about yourself to someone who may reject you for them (and again, a rejection of your kink is very hard not to take as a rejection of you as a person because it’s so intimate), it’s very comforting to wrap yourself in the delusion that you are powerful, you are potent, you always get what you want and all you need to do is tell a woman that she’s obliged to indulge your fetishes and she will simply do so. It’s the classic “Domly Dom” mentality, the idea that you don’t need to negotiate or discuss or even necessarily know the woman’s name; you just need to present yourself forcefully and she’ll swoon with desire.

But it’s not just tops who let their insecurities mask themselves in a facade of poisonous entitlement and arrogance. Men who bottom do this all the time too, presenting themselves to Dommes with a lengthy spiel of “Oh please, Mistress, please let this lowly worm of a slave lick your boots and kiss your ass and insert small woodland creatures into my trousers for you” before they even get to the “Hi, what’s your name?” part of the conversation. It’s the same terrified delusion, the same belief that if they can only present the agreement to participate in their kinks as a fait accompli then they won’t have to go through all the extremely unnerving business of exposing themselves for who they are to someone who might say no, just flipped to top from the bottom.

Needless to say, this doesn’t work. Guys, if you’re doing this, sit down and do some hard thinking about why it is that you’re so scared to ask someone for what you need that you have to tell them, instead. It’s never a good look to be This Dude, and you’re going to spend a lot of your time being unhappy and making other people unhappy while you do it. I know it’s hard to be vulnerable and open yourself up to rejection, but your life will be better when you learn how to do it. (And so will the life of every woman you talk to, which is more important here.) You’ll still find someone. And that someone will value you, not just tolerate you. It’s a wonderful thing.

Now for women, I do think this manifests differently – again, not because “women are different from men”, but because women have experienced different kinds of social conditioning that they have to work to overcome. Women are strongly discouraged from even discussing internally what it is they want, just in case they figure out that what they’re interested in somehow inconveniences a man, and they have to do a lot of extra emotional labor simply to figure out what they’re interested in, let alone push themselves uphill against the social pressure to say yes to anything a guy wants. You see subs like this a lot when they’re new to the scene, women who respond to negotiation with “I want whatever you want, Master,” when they haven’t even really established that the guy in question wants the job title. By not having any desires of their own, they can simply fit into the kink-shaped hole in front of them and at least get something, even if it’s not what they truly want.

I’ll tell you this, if you’re a woman who recognizes yourself in that description: You’re not going to be happy either. Yes, you will get into kinky relationships that way, because if there’s anything that attracts guys quickly, it’s women with absolutely no standards and an interest in sex. But they won’t be good relationships, because they’ll be founded on the idea that your wants and needs don’t have worth. Trust me when I say that if you sit down, spend time thinking about what you really enjoy and what turns you on and you refuse to get involved with anyone who’s not willing to listen to you when you tell them about your kinks, you will still find someone. And they’ll be a better someone.

(I know, this is another thinly veiled rendition of “it’s better to be single than to be in a shitty relationship” spiel. It’s a message that bears repeating.)

I don’t think that women who top have as many issues with this, by the way; I think that once you’ve done the self-interrogation needed to figure out that you want to be a dominant woman in a world that doesn’t necessarily love to accommodate that kind of behavior, you’ve also figured out what you want and need and how to get it. Your problem is probably more that you have to fend off all the guys saying, “Oh please, Mistress, please let this lowly worm of a slave lick your boots and…”

Again, I’m not saying any of this is easy. I’ve struggled with it myself. It’s really hard to open up this way, especially about something as personal as sex and kink. But when you don’t do that kind of internal work, when you don’t push yourself to ask these questions and force yourself to expose that vulnerability, you’re going to be unhappy and you’re not going to be able to make anyone else happy either. You can have more. You can be more. And on the other side of that unfathomable, existential et cetera, there’s a wonderful person waiting for you.

Two, counting whoever it is you find.

The Unfathomable Existential Terror of Being Known (and its upsides!)

July 25, 2019

(This post has been brought to you by the efforts of my 113 fundamentally awesome Patrons! Visit my Patreon page to learn how to become one of them.)

It’s not always easy, being kinky.

Not that I have to tell you this; if you’re reading this, you’re probably kinky too and have a pretty good idea of all the tough parts already. We know about keeping secrets, we know about enforcing consent, we know about finding communities… but there’s one part I don’t think we talk about a lot. We don’t really talk about the courage it takes to talk about our kink. Our own personal kink.

I’m not talking about erotica here; believe me, I know how much easier it is to hide behind the mask of fiction and pretend that you’re talking about what your characters want to do to each other. I’m not talking about discussions of technique or conversations about etiquette, either; if there’s one thing that you can always guarantee will start people talking at any kink gathering, it’s asking, “How do you (insert fetish here)?” People will sprint into the room from twenty miles away to explain to you how to do intricate knots, play safely with needles, fractionate a subject, or just about anything you care to name. That stuff is easy.

No, I’m talking about the hardest conversation anyone can have, top or bottom. The one that starts with, “What I really like is…” That’s the one that everyone struggles with, the one that never gets any easier. The talk you have when you’re finished establishing that you’re both kinky, the talk you have when you’ve confirmed that you both share the same general fetishes. The one where you admit what specific things turn you on. That is always a rough one, no matter how many times you have it with however many people you have it with.

Because it’s sharing a part of you. A personal, deeply intimate part that cuts right down to the core of who you are as a person, a part that we are taught almost from birth never to discuss with anyone. And if you’re kinky (and again, it’s probably a pretty safe bet that you are) then this part of you is at least a little bit peculiar. It’s not the sort of thing that appeals to everyone, and yet it’s so closely tied to your identity that being rejected over it hurts like nothing else imaginable. Hearing someone say they’re squicked out by your kink feels uniquely like they’re saying, “You are disgusting and I hate you.” Even when that’s the furthest thing from their mind.

And yet… the same drives that are so deeply personal are also so intensely felt that we almost have to say something. It’s almost impossible not to. Our kinks are everything to us, our daydreams and our fantasies, our constant companions whether we love them or hate them. A life without expressing our kink is doable, but there’s something incredibly sad about not getting to be the person you truly are that makes it worth the risk of saying, “This is who I am. This is what I love. This is what I want to do to you, if you’re interested.”

And that’s the magic of it all, once you’ve submitted yourself to the risk of being known for who you are. Every so often, you find that connection, that person who wants exactly what you want and loves the kink you love, and it’s deeper than anything you can possibly imagine. It’s that same intimacy, on the other side of the barrier of fear and through into total and heartfelt connection. When you find someone who shares your kink, you know them and they know you. And while that’s the scariest thing in the world… it’s also the most wonderful.

Early Bird Sneak Peek: “That Song in My Head”!

July 25, 2019

Hi all! It’s time for another Early Bird Sneak Peek, where I share a glimpse at the story my lucky Early Bird patrons will be enjoying next Saturday thanks to their pledges at my Patreon page! Of course, if you’re not an Early Bird patron, you’ll still get a story next week–“Adaptation”, teased previously, has already been submitted to the EMCSA. But the Early Bird patrons will be getting “That Song in My Head” (MC MD MF FF)!

Inspector Fong Ming has returned to the Ballantyne Institute. Even though she’s officially concluded her investigation, even though she found no wrongdoing, she can’t quite seem to shake her suspicions about the place. It’s like a song that she can’t quite get out of her head. And speaking of… well, here’s a taste.

“I…” I start to tell her that I don’t want her to handle that for me at all. That I want her to cut the bullshit, stop stonewalling, and admit that they cultivated improper ties with government officials in order to forestall investigations into serious irregularities in their compliance with local laws. And failing that, I want her to shove her immaculately-manicured hand up her ass while I call a taxi myself and get the hell out of here and never come back. But then… I start to hear it in my head. The earworm that’s been haunting me for months now, drifting into my brain and driving me to distraction.

I can never quite place the tune. It’s maddeningly inchoate, a snatch of song so brief that I can’t connect it to any kind of memory. It loops inside my brain, so smooth and bland and devoid of character that I don’t even know when it starts and stops, but at the same time so infernally catchy that I can’t shake it no matter how hard I try. It seems to push everything else out of my head, smothering my thoughts one by one in its saccharine cheer, until I find myself unable to do anything but rummage through my mind to try to figure out where I heard it the first time.

As always, I try to put lyrics to it, gradually paying less and less attention to the woman from the Institute while I concentrate on the music in my head. But the infuriating tunelessness of the tune frustrates my every effort. The snatch of song seemingly has no beginning and no proper end, and so any verse can be stretched to fit any meter until it seems like every answer that pops into my head is the right answer. Once I set the words ‘shake the woman’s hand’ to the constantly repeating earworm, my mind seamlessly incorporates it until I can’t think anything else. ‘Shake the woman’s hand, shake the woman’s hand, shake the woman’s hand, shake the woman’s hand…’

“That’s all settled then,” the woman says, her voice a silky, condescending murmur as she clasps my hand in her own. I blink heavily, trying to pierce the fog of my brief lapse of attention, but the last few moments are gone. Thoroughly, surgically excised by my temporary distraction. Neatly clipped out of existence as if they happened to someone else instead of me. It’s totally normal, I tell myself, the kind of automatic action that happens all the time to all sorts of people, but… I can’t help wondering whether she reached for my hand, or I reached for hers. The same way I can’t help wondering exactly when I decided to come back to the Institute again.

Hope you enjoy it!

Early Bird Sneak Peek: “Middle of the Night”!

July 17, 2019

Hi all! It’s time for another Early Bird Sneak Peek, where I share a glimpse at the story my lucky Early Bird patrons will be enjoying next Saturday thanks to their pledges at my Patreon page! Of course, if you’re not an Early Bird patron, you’ll still get a story next week–“Making Love to the Camera”, teased previously, has already been submitted to the EMCSA. But the Early Bird patrons will be getting “Middle of the Night” (MC FF)!

Bethany just woke up. She didn’t expect to hear a voice in the darkness of her bedroom, programming her in her sleep to worship and obey her roommate Gillian. She didn’t expect to discover that the words seemed eerily familiar, or that she would find herself becoming aroused by them. She didn’t expect to learn that Gillian’s been hypnotizing her every night. But she knows now, and she knows exactly what to do about it. Here’s a taste:

Finally, Bethany managed to find the switch and turn on the light. She knew from the sound of a few muffled thumps that she’d managed to knock something over in the course of her searches, but she would figure out later what fell. Right now, she needed to find out why she was hearing Gillian… brainwashing her? Hypnotizing her? Bethany couldn’t make sense of what she was hearing, it seemed so ludicrously divorced from anything she’d ever imagined coming out of the mouth of her prim and proper roommate. Or anyone for that matter. This simply didn’t seem like a real thing that happened to real people.

But as Bethany’s eyes gradually adjusted to the sudden, harsh light, she saw an MP3 player sitting on her bedside table next to the lamp. It was plugged into a pair of portable speakers, and Bethany could see from the display that it was playing ‘Brainwashing File 1, 1:15:41/2:23:15’ on an endless loop. As she stared at the device in utter astonishment, the counter clicked from 1:15:59 to 1:16:00. Over two hours of solid brainwashing. Looped and repeating. All night long.

Hope you enjoy it!

A Reminder About Consent

July 13, 2019

(This post has been brought to you by the efforts of my 112 insanely amazing Patrons! Visit my Patreon page to learn how to become one of them.)

Recently on Tumblr, HappyTears1999 said, ” I’m tired of people thinking I’m accessible to them just because I’m on here being myself. I’m not yours. If you are interested in me talk to me like I’m a person and get to know me. But mostly don’t because chances are I’m not interested in being anything for you. Just being honest here. Only message me if you want my private Snapchat. Or unless we are friends already. You will know who you are if we’re friends. Point is. I’m Done.”

(Quoted with permission. I’d link, but Tumblr’s kind of weird about linking to blogs it’s flagged as explicit right now.)

I see posts like this a lot on Tumblr, and FetLife and pretty much every adult or kink social site you’d care to name, and they’re always really fucking depressing. Submissive women should not have to deal with this shit. It’s just not something they should even have to say, because (and let me say this very loudly for the men in the back) BEING SUBMISSIVE IS A CHOICE. It is not a state of existence, it is not an identity, it is not a natural order of the universe (even if it can be fun to express it that way sometimes). It is something a woman decides to do with a specific individual on terms they have every right to extend and revoke at any time.

(Really briefly, because I know it’s going to come up. Yes, there are submissive men and non-binary submissives and you are valid. But the subs who are getting the most shit are women, and the wannabe Doms they are getting the most shit from are men, so that is where this post is addressed. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t apply to male or non-binary subs, only that they are not the topic of conversation at this moment.)

So. Let’s make this very clear. Calling oneself a submissive is not consent. Being into the same kinks you are is not consent. Not being currently owned is not consent. Even explicitly saying, “God, I am horny ask fuck and really want to be dominated” is not consent, although it is certainly an indication that respectfully expressing an interest in negotiating consent might be very well received. The only thing that is consent is a clear, unambiguous, enthusiastic expression of non-hypothetical interest in doing kinky shit with you specifically.

If they didn’t say that, if they didn’t do that, if they didn’t clearly and directly express that, then you don’t have consent and you should not be acting sexual to that person. Not because it drives women out of the scene, not because we can’t have as much fun when submissives don’t feel safe, but because women have an inherent right to be treated with respect and basic decency and they should get to enjoy their kink on their own terms without constantly having to fend off assholes. I really don’t think this is or should be a controversial stance.

Consent, motherfuckers. Please.

Early Bird Sneak Peek: “Pink Cloud”!

July 11, 2019

Hi all! It’s time for another Early Bird Sneak Peek, where I share a glimpse at the story my lucky Early Bird patrons will be enjoying next Saturday thanks to their pledges at my Patreon page! Of course, if you’re not an Early Bird patron, you’ll still get a story next week–“He Broke Your Memory Last Night”, teased previously, has already been submitted to the EMCSA. But the Early Bird patrons will be getting “Pink Cloud” (MC MF MD)!

It’s Saturday night at Carmella’s first hypnokink con, and she’s feeling a little blue – nobody’s made her fantasies come true just yet. But she finds someone who’s happy to negotiate a scene with her, and while she doesn’t have any sex, they turn her brain into the fluffy pink cloud she wants it to be. Here’s a taste:

The whole thing felt so unexpected that Carmella was reduced to stammering, “Um, yeah, that’s… um, yeah, that’s me, from the wall, yeah,” like her brain had already turned into cotton candy inside her head; but thankfully, this was Day Two of an erotic hypnosis con. She was pretty sure that by this point, she could take off her clothes and do an a cappella rendition of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’, and nobody would bat an eye.

Sure enough, the Viscount just gave her a little smirk and said, “And has someone already fluffed your brain tonight?” She could understand how he got that impression, even before she did her inadvertent Valley Girl impersonation; she’d dressed up for the play party in a bubblegum pink frock she repurposed from a Queenie Goldstein costume she did a few years back, and her cheeks and eyelids were dusted with bright pink glitter.

But she hadn’t even gotten her hypnosis cherry popped yet, let alone had her brain melted to a cotton candy slurry the way she dreamed about. “I wish,” she grumbled, trying to make it sound playful instead of vaguely resentful. She wasn’t sure she entirely succeeded; this was already Saturday, and while her friends all assured her that there would be plenty of informal opportunities for trance on Sunday evening after the con wound down, Carmella was painfully aware that this was the last official play party. She was starting to feel like Kaylee at the ball, all dressed up and no one to dance with.

Then the Viscount’s smile widened, a charmingly crooked grin that suddenly made it clear why he took his name from David Bowie. “Well, your wish could be my command,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief at the play on words. “Would you like to find somewhere to talk about what you really want to do? If I’m not interrupting, that is.”

Hope you enjoy it!