Tuesday, December 27, 2011

I am sick sick sick

Fetlife, one of the few places I can go and feel free to express myself in my true profane, insane, and just plain gruesome self. The sadist in my can wallow in explicit photos of people’s torture. I can admire provocative art that is savage, intelligent, sadistic and sensual. I savour the intimate moments between sadist and masochist caught in pixels for the BDSM world to see. I admire and envy their journeys.
I am turned on and/or admire the scenes in front of me as I flick through my feed. They spark ideas for my play; they take me to new heights of fantasy; and deliver me from the boring vanilla world outside my door. My Fetlife friends deliver the beautiful, bizarre, gory, gritty, humourous and hilarious to me each day as I eagerly view at the click of my mouse. I return the favour in full by commenting on the photos that provoke an emotion within me from latex fetish models, to rope art, to folks at home having fun, to the strange and weird, right through to incredible sadistic works of art.
Fetlife is a place I call home through good times and bad. I have made friends there with people from all over the world. Some I have met and most I will never meet. However there are many in New Zealand I have met and are likely to meet. (A small country can be a good place at times). I have openly discussed and written about my interests, fantasies, skills, opinions, loves, losses, and even my submissive’s death. It is my release, my entertainment, my infotainment and education.
I would have thought that Fetlife would be the place where I could relax and be myself without the annoyance of judgement. Lately it is a place where I am reminded that I am sick.
Some of it is from well meaning friends who cannot share my interest in hard core S/m. I understand that even the thumbnail pictures are too much for them to take. I would have thought they could skip through and look for the ok pictures amongst the ones that look like gore, or just look for my updates and writing to keep up with what is going on in my life - but apparently not. I do not want to upset people, so I have to accept the dreaded unfriending on Fetlife and still carry on as usual as friends in real life. But when I see them I notice I censor my conversation. I do not chat away about some of the BDSM stuff that makes my heart soar.
I try not to take it to heart – your kink is not my kink, etc. However some are playing rather extremely themselves, which seems a tad ironic. I suppose they cannot see what a crowd of people see done to them on a monthly basis, but there is no blood. Maybe that is the issue. Whatever. I try not to take it to heart, but I do miss seeing their comments and shared pictures on Fetlife (knowing about their lives when I see so little of them in person).
Some overseas friends unfriend me without telling me. I suddenly notice someone has commented on their picture and then realise why I did not see it before. I have been unfriended. I have to ask why to myself. Could be many reasons, but it could be because my taste is not acceptable.
Other people openly comment on my photos telling me I am sick. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but why bother to look and comment on my photos if that is how they feel? What I do is completely consensual and risk aware – and it is with adult humans only. I personally am offended by their bland photo collections. Yet if that is all they are into I do not feel a need to comment on how boring they are. I just do not bother looking if it upsets the sadist in me!
All of this has been eating away at me lately. I can say “whatever” and carry on, but I chose to be part of Fetlife to be myself and freely express the ‘me’ that is not acceptable outside of Fetlife. I wonder if it is eroding the sadist in me. I comment less than I used to on the shocking photos. I rarely lead friends into the trap of looking at something totally off the wall. It used to be a fun game. Who can find the most shocking photo? I still comment on the photos that move me emotionally as a sadist, but straight away I wonder which friend I have offended and I am reminded that I am sick and my taste is unacceptable.
I have just spent time with my son. We watched graphically violent and artistic, and graphically violent and funny films. He is not into BDSM, but knows I am into it. His approach is like my approach. We appreciate the portrayal of violence and gore, but we look beyond it to further understand the capture of the beauty and pain of humanity. This is something that I feel is missing in so many people’s perceptions of torture, BDSM, and violent fantasy. This is the bit I wish I could explain to people, but quite frankly I cannot be bothered.
They will never understand the journey that some people on Fetlife are on. I have lived through extreme S/m sessions. I have come out of them understanding myself and humanity deeply through doing this. For me it is far more than getting sexually turned on. I love guiding people through similar journeys. I would love to reach such heights as someone like Goddessira, but I do not think I will met someone to do this with and I am so out of practice that I know I cannot be the masochist I once was. So I live through the amazing Fetlife pictures hoping to gain some insight into how it feels. I just want to say “hey look at this folks – this is mind blowing” but I do it less and less.
I am enjoying myself and I have every right to, because no one I am looking at or play with are being forced to do it. I do not watch porn which is usually performance only; and I often wonder what led them to do what they do. I do not do horrible things to people. I do amazing things to people and I wish I could do even more amazing things to people!
The pictures I view on Fetlife are all consenting adults doing what they want to do. I will continue feasting on Fetlife fun and fantasy, but I will ponder on ways to not feel bad about something that makes me feel so good, so real, so ok. I am very pleased that my son unknowingly reminded me that I am not sick. I have the intelligence to view S/m and violent fantasy both deeply and shallowly. And I like what I see!
Wonder Womyn ;-)

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Reply to someone asking about cbt needle work

Hello. I do not have any experience yet with labia, but I have experience with penises and scrotums. I have not pierced through testicles yet - but that must be done with sterile needles or auto-claved objects only and I suggest you have a lot of experience before driving anything into this area. I would also not suggest going down the urethra, due the risk of injury in an area a lay person cannot attend to well. (There are sounds to play with down there instead).

I suggest you have a look back through my [fetlife] profile that will give you some scope, and maybe join some of the many cbt, genital torture groups for more. (You need to go back awhile in the pictures, because I stopped when my sub developed cancer - not in that area).

I am not sure about your region, but I and people I know get their needles from needle exchanges. Just say they are for play piercings and so you don't need syringes. Their products are sterile and safe, and they are efficient. You will need to buy a needle disposal unit. If you bring back a full one you get a free one back and the needles are cheaper the fuller the unit. The one in Auckland that I use is in East St, just of K'rd.

I have pierced along the cock and on the edge of the glans/head and in various parts of the scrotum. I have stretched and pegged the scrotum out on a large cork with the middle bored out on it with large needles (soaked in janola). I had plans to autoclave nails to do this, but my sub became ill before I was able to. Due to the fine skin in this area I have found it easier to work with small needles such as 23 and 25 gauge needles especially in the scrotum. I have however used up to 16 gauge needles in both areas before.

Remember for bondage and needles this area is like a snail. The balls slide easily from your fingers and try to escape the needles. The cock usually shrinks when in pain, but some lucky people manage to remain in tacked.

I suggest you or whoever is doing it start by learning on backs, arms, hands and thighs before moving to such a fragile area. The skin is very different down there though, so try the web between the thumb and pointer finger. Northern Bonds occasionally has needle workshops, I suggest that you join up if you are prepared to come down to Auckland for them. I do not think they teach you cbt needle play, but it is a good place to get pointers.

As for how it feels I am sorry I have no experience there. I know it hurts in the nipples and that my new sub finds it too painful in the cock and balls. Some people love the pain, some even get turned on by it, but all I have spoken to say it is painful.

Good luck in your journey

WW ;-)

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Different levels of play

In response to a thread about levels of sexual energy in play:

I have played with quite a few people and for me there are different levels. Sometimes we may cross from one level to another depending on how open the person is and how much energy I wish to give and receive.

As far as sex goes: I rarely play in a sexual way in front of people other than my sub, except for a bit of touching and hitting. I only want my sub entering me and going down on me. That may change with someone special, but I doubt that it will be another man. I am gender queer. At the moment I usually feel like a man working through a woman's body when I play intimately with women and therefore I do sexual things to women, but my bottom half is stone in regard to them doing things to me. This may change with the right women, because there are some women that I do feel like an evil older women with. I have not had the chance to explore sex with trans people yet. Interacting with most men I feel female, but with some gay men I feel male.

Needle play is non sexual for me.

Level 1: Teaching. My energy is focused purely on making sure they are ok and as relaxed as possible so that I can inflict pain. I am talking to the group as I play and stopping often, therefore I do not play hard. I will talk to the subject to ensure they do not sink too far into subspace.

Level 2: Educational play. Playing with people new to BDSM who want to give it a go. I pay full attention to them, but do not release much energy, because this is an impersonal play. I may try releasing any pent up energy from them and give them some good energy so that they may experience light pain better. I speak only to check in on them, praise or reassure them. I allow them to sink into subspace if possible. I give them pain at a level I think they will enjoy and a bit of a tease of harder play.

Level 3: Hard educational play. Same thing as above, but the person has approached me explaining that no one has taken them far and they would like to experience a hard play. I give and release a bit more energy, to carry them through the pain. But I remain mainly impersonal not taking their energy. I may check in more with them. I hope for their sake they can sink into subspace.

Level 4: Playing for real - non sexual. The level of play may be from light to very hard. There is no sexual contact other than my fingers sliding around their body at the beginning to relax them and for me to understand their body and energy; and my nails at the end. My crops may move up between their legs and give their crutch a few taps, I may play with/torture their nipples/breasts, but I do not release any sexual energy towards them. It is pure sadism.

Level 4a: CBT. As above but of course I am doing evil things to their cock and balls. I am happy for them to consider it to be sexual, but to me it is sadism with humour. I talk a lot and laugh with my subjects, but if I see them sinking into subspace I allow them so that they can handle the pain. I have only done sounds with my deceased sub and that was sensual - he would often cum. The rest was non sensual, but often afterwards we would have sex.

Level 4b: Playing for real – non sexual for me, but maybe sexual for them As above. I fuck them up the arse with a strap on or piss on them. It is a D/s buzz, but not the sexual buzz that I get from fucking a women with a strap on.

Level 5: Play for real with sexual energy There is nothing that would be called sex in a vanilla sense, but we are both open giving and receiving energy. We are aware of others in the room, but we link together as if there is a circle of energy surrounding us. I may or may not use this time to also release energy blocks they have, but there is a sexual feel to the play. In this state experienced women who are open to energy can have orgasms from my pain. They can vary from very intense to just nice. Often their orgasmic energy rolls up and hits me and then I cum as well. I often squirt during these plays. When I scratch them at the end of a play I usually cum.

Level 5a: The above with women and I may digitally penetrate or rub their clit. We are not well connected yet, but are ok with it leading to this stage.

Level 6: Play with no holding back This is when there are no restraints such as audience or concerns about relationships and we are in a good space. It is just us at that moment in the world and the play flows to wherever I wish to take it and they are ok with this. We have negotiated previously about what is ok. Usually this consists of a good hard S/m work out leading to sexual play. Usually this is with my own subs occasionally it has happened with others (and happened when I was a sub with two people). The air becomes hot with our energies flowing back and forth and mingling together. If I feel they have a block I will release it quickly so that it does not interfere with our play.

Level 7: The trev stage I have only experienced this with one person and so I have named it after him. (trev is my deceased sub). Because he could handle whatever I gave to him the S/m energy was intense, the pain would rise to an intense degree and it took all my energy to dish it out. Yet energy creates energy and so I would thrive on it and have plenty left over for sex. After that we would both be exhausted of course. When we were in a relaxed state with a good environment our energy would become one. That energy that I am sure many of you have felt with a really intense sexual session with someone you love is what we would feel in our impact play and that would then carry on to sex afterwards. He had absolute trust in me, he could handle a missed hit well, he knew tantra so he could get off really well from the pain as well as processing his and my energy easily.

Hopefully I will find new levels in future exploration :-)

Saturday, August 13, 2011

I Live The Lifestyle When I Can

I am going to step out there and say that BDSM is my lifestyle and my culture.

Here am I a 47 year old woman sitting in bed typing with my 23 year old sub cuddled asleep next to me. Sure I got my own breakfast, but with a nudge and some cheeky banter back and forth he would have race down to get it for me no matter who was in the house at the time and if he didn't he knows he would get hit with the toy that he hates the most, which is sitting openly in my room with many of my BDSM toys. I rarely use the stick because he loves looking after me anyway. If I was still vanilla I do not think I would have a 23 year old man in my bed and probably not a man at all. I have no interest in a relationship with a straight vanilla man.

I have one vanilla friend the rest are kinksters of many levels. My son knows what I am into, and my daughter will when I see her in person. The rest of the family have no involvement in my life and never visit me. I will be working soon and that part has to remain vanilla. If I had my way I would be paid to teach people about and demonstrate BDSM.

My studies were nearly always about queer and transgender issues and culture so they were not about BDSM, but they certainly were not promoting the heterosexual vanilla world that dominates our society. When I go on holiday I usually stay and mix with BDSM people. Since I was 22 my interests and exercises have usually been of a solitary nature.

I went to erotica. I was in the stage/bar area. The young show chickies were wandering around playing up to the crowd. They walked straight passed me - I did not exist. Yet one of them was flirting with a fat old man. I remembered that I was a fat old woman in a very different world to which I move in.

In my world there are many acceptable body shapes, in my world it is about personality and skill and style. Age is more just an interesting characteristic. In my world women are respected far more by all genders. In my world that chicky would be walking away from me with a big smile on her face after a flogging - if not more instead of a weak fake smile from doing as she is told. There would be people on the stage all shapes and sizes and ages and being cheered for shaking what they got.

As the profile status says I live the lifestyle when I can. This is my culture with all its good and bad and in between elements, because when I look out at the rest, it does nothing for me.

Friday, July 15, 2011

I have been fortunate in being able to play with some lovely and interesting people over the past 10 years. From one off plays to five glorious years – they have all have brought something to the relationship and take something away. Each interaction is different bringing variety to each other’s lives.

Admittedly there was one relationship that had devastating effects on me and my kids, but even that relationship had its good points and the most to learn from. I not only learnt from the negative experience but also because I was a fairly new sub therefore this was my path into learning about my relationship with pain. For the later I will say he did a great job.

Although playing with new people can be refreshing and a new challenge, I feel much better when I have got to know someone through play. Some relationships are brief, for example play party ones. There are one off plays where you see someone and chat and then ask if they wish to play, but after that one play we are back to the social only. However, I prefer it when I see someone I have played with before, and ask if they are interested in another play and they say yes! This way I have some idea of how their energy works, their body language, their noises, their reactions and their pain tolerance. This can vary each time of course, especially their tolerance, but if I have played with them already I have some idea of what to expect.

For myself I would far rather have a few regular playmates than a string of new ones. I can relax more and go with the flow of each play. With domming there is always so much to concentrate on even though you may be relaxed and having fun. So if you know your playmate well instinct kicks in and it becomes more pleasurable as you relax into a familiar flow; and you are both more likely to be open to try new things. To help someone on their S/m journey is indeed an honour and a pleasure.

Best of all is the relationship I had with trev and the one I now have with bear. To be really close with someone in life, love, play and sex suits me very well. I would miss not playing with others, but as long as I have my sub then I am happy. The energy playing with someone you love is amazing and I never want to take that for granted. We would like to share our lives with another (or others), or at least have regular casuals, but if that does not eventuate we are very happy with just each other.

I recently went to a party and just played with bear. There were a number of distractions for us both and so our play was not flowing as it should. Other than being asked to scratch someone briefly I did not have the opportunity to play with others that night. I came away from the party a bit flat.

The next day, however, I thought about how lucky I have been and how grateful I need to be. Many times it has been a matter of trying to fit all the play in one night or at least playing with one other person other than my sub. I recently stopped playing with a regular play partner, but it really warms me to see her happy with her girlfriend. That is a bigger buzz for me. We both enjoyed and learned from this play relationship, then moved on. I was sad to have clicked well with one woman, but due to circumstances we could not continue. However, the brief interactions helped me to understand a new part of myself that I hopefully will be exploring again soon.

Of course loosing trev through cancer was devastating, but bear came along to ease me through this and look how much we have grown together! Our play may not have been the best that particular night, but we sure made up for it the next few times  I am indeed fortunate.

So many people come away from parties with only the chance to watch, not participate. They constantly are looking for someone special in their lives. I am very grateful for all the play partners I have had in my life and all the ones I have yet to play with. We would like to enter into a long standing play relationship with another whether that is together or we both have someone separate to dominate, but the main thing is we have each other and enjoy each other every day. We say I love you throughout the day and when that collar goes on we are reminded each time of how very special our relationship is. I honour this and I must remember how very important my sub is in life.

Love you my bear xxx

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

The Slutwalk

I went on the Auckland Slutwalk. For a wrap up of the media coverage (including blogs) and why one may wish to go on a slut walk see my friend Curvaceous Dee’s blog - http://curvaceousdee.com/ She has done an excellent job and therefore I won’t repeat it. There has also been discussion about it in online comunities.

Instead I will talk about my personal journey in relation to Slutwalk. I am a rape survivor four times over. I will give you background before moving on to how Slutwalk relates to me at 47 years old marching down Queens St. It is a long story with no juicy bits, this time WW gets serious. Move on if you wish, stay if you want to know more.

I grew up under the tyranny of an emotionally manipulative mother, who has proudly said she brought us up like ‘perfect little zombies’; and an emotionally detached father who barely knew I existed. I rarely brought friends home due to Mum’s extensive screening and blocking programme and except for Mum’s tantrums there was very little noise or communication in our house. Then there was this weird as incident I have only recently recalled as a very young child where something sexually happened with my arse and a stranger in a toilet that was shared by a group of seedy shops. It is too blurry to understand.

Otherwise it was a pretty sweet childhood with little complaints other than being taught that girls and women had to behave and appear differently to boys and men – and that was just how the world worked – so don’t be difficult by asking questions and know that men were in charge. Put on your pink clothes, ride your bike like a women, don’t get dirty and no you cannot play soccer because you will get hurt!

However, the above conditions produced a painfully shy and paranoid kid until my first boyfriend at 14 years old when I came alive. Also I have always had and still do have communication difficulties in female friendship, whereas I have often felt an affinity with boys and men.

Cue: a montage of the teenage stoner, party animal with the same manipulative first boyfriend. We learned about sex together and there was no one to ruin my penthouse and cosmopolitan informed ideas of being a sexually liberated woman. I was the woman that could eat more, drink more and take more drugs than the other women and never cough when I spotted oil. I wondered what it would be like to be a slut and have more sex than other women.

I then slimmed down and transformed into an ‘in your face’ punk rocker in my early 20’s and ditched the boyfriend. I thought I was ugly and then I discovered I could score men at parties – what an awesome game that turned out to be. Oooh he’s hot, I wonder if I can score him – yay another notch in my belt – if it is good enough for men then it is good enough for women. I loved sex and my appetite was insatiable. It started as a fun game, but through the haze of heavy drinking and drugs it became a desperate search for someone to spend the night with me instead of being alone. I scored bad skinheads in one scene and hung out with the nice stoner friends in another. There were fucks, competition, anti conformity and hard times in one scene and fading friendships and mellow times in the other. I became a slut and I was labelled as such by men who were sluts themselves.

What protected me was that I could fight really well and I would scare the shit out of the boring normal people of Wellington, and so the men respected me and were amused by me and the women feared me. I had a few female friends who tried to warn me about my slut rep, but I did not listen.

One night I was at a party with a different crowd at an acquaintance’s house. I was looking for fresh meat in a new scene. I was given a joint that was laced with angel dust. I thought I was sleeping on the floor next to the acquaintance’s bed and being fucked by his friend. When I woke up in the morning I discovered that his entire rugby league team, and then some, had been through me. I felt shame and guilt and disgust in myself. I never saw those people again. Stupid slut – you deserved all you got!

Being a slut had brought me pain and shame and so I tried to find a relationship with the skinheads, but who wants a relationship with a slut? They could not believe that I would remain faithful. I had spent so much energy in pretending to be a nasty, tough punk rocker that they did not know the true me anyway. Then I got a boyfriend who had broken up with his wife. He was wanted by the law and it seemed exciting at the time. I went to a party one day and as I walked up the street and into the house all the skins and punks yelled “slut, slut, slut, slut”. What could I do, but hold my head high and not let them get to me. Once inside I discovered why they were doing that. There was his wife returned from a break away and she was fully pregnant. It had all been lies and manipulation. Stupid slut – did you really think you were worthy of being loved?

After he went to court and was sentenced to an alcohol programme I slashed my wrists and ended up in good old Porirua Hospital for a few days observation. I then realised that I had nothing to complain about when I saw what others went through with mental illnesses. I came out a new, but broken woman.

That week our unofficial leader was stabbed to death at a party I went to. It was time to move on up to stay with Mum for a spell then off to Auckland. It was the same sort of scene, but friendlier. I was starting a fresh with new people and doing it in a new way. What job could a messed up young women do with a flat full of people on heroin? I was damn good at sex, everyone told me so – why not get paid for it. I became a paid slut!

I felt I had gained some control in my life. I had money, I had new drugs, new parties, and I fucked people in my scene that were worthy of my friendship. I called the shots - and I had a new game to play! Entice the customers so that they move on from a massage to sex. If they didn’t then we did not get paid. If I did not get paid, I could not party and wear cool clothes and I could not keep up with the heroin culture of my new scene. Flirt + entice = survival and fun. I moved up to being the second most requested girl in the parlour.

One night a huge gross taxi driver came in and chose me. He told me that he had no money for sex, but wanted a massage. I did what we were trained to do, and I hoped that maybe he was not a time waster after all, that maybe he had some money tucked under that huge fat gut after all. I was good at what I did, and so I was up for a challenge. Flirt and entice, do the sensual massage, get the fucker horny, get money for drugs and fun. Wank, wank, money in the bank!

He pinned me down and said I was a dirty little tart and deserved to be taught a lesson. He fucked me without a condom. I could hardly breathe under his sweaty fat mass. I thought I was going to suffocate. I usually could shut part of myself off from customers and go on to automatic pilot, but this time I felt every disgusting shunt up my dirty little cunt! I felt disgusted and ashamed and stupid. Ugly, stupid slut – you deserved all you got!

I did not tell anyone, because I was ashamed and felt it was my fault. I went for a holiday back to Wellington to my old stoner friends, but I did not fit in there anymore, and returned feeling lost and alone. Work was no fun anymore. I found it hard to pretend I was having fun with the customers. I no longer flirted with my Daddy figure boss and he sensed my withdrawal. He became very controlling of me - his asset. I left and went to another parlour.

Then I met my future husband. Someone loved me after all. I stopped being a paid slut and he stopped being a drug dealer’s body guard and thief. We moved away from Auckland and started a new straight life together.

Happily ever after it was not. Zoom through 19 years moving to many places with kids in tow. The feisty part of me slowly died through a destructive marriage to an emotionally stunted, violent man with a drinking problem and my own marijuana habit. I had lost myself completely.

But then I was reborn! I gained some certificates, got work, kicked the dope, lost the husband and went to university. I was in control of my children’s lives and myself. A fresh start. Then I discovered BDSM! Wow – my life took a running leap and landed on a very cushy mat. Hard time, but good times.

Except for one time on the top I was learning to be a sub. Then a switch I had bottomed to let me top him. He turned on me and fought me until I could not hold him off anymore. He cuffed me and laughed at me. He said that he would beat me until I cried. Instead of trying to talk him down or screaming for help I went cold and numb inside. I did not back down from the challenge, because I was furious with him and the tough punk rocker surfaced and refused to back down. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of me crying and I was not going to show any pleasure in this.

After a long while of no consent he finally said that he would beat me with his belt and asked me if that was ok. In the weird state I was in by then I agreed to this ridiculous challenge. He finally gave up after the most severe beating I have ever had. I even had a cup of tea with him and thought it was all ok! Then driving home from Auckland to Hamilton I broke out of the coma and could not stop crying. I phoned him to explain how bad I felt. He just laughed at me. I realised then that this was his plan to break a strong woman. He had told me he was tired of weak subs and wanted a strong woman – now I know why. Stupid slut look what you got yourself in for this time – you deserved all you got.

A vanilla friend helped me to realise that because we had negotiated for me to top him and that there was a long period of no consent then that period was RAPE. I held on to this through a very destructive and lost time. All that power I had regained after my marriage break up had been stripped away from me. I was back to the bewildered and scared little girl in that toilet, as the shamed out slut waking up from the drugged gang bang, as the messed up hooker under the fat taxi driver and as the sad old mother and wife to the embarrassing drunk. Stupid old slut – haven’t you learned anything!

What got me through was my children, the support of friends and the realisation that it was rape – I was not to blame - my history was. I still am mad at myself for not yelling out and for my anger taking over my reasoning, but I was angry at him and all the other people that had taken away my power. That is a lot to back down from.

I moved then into a manipulative relationship with a dom and eventually moved into a house with him and my kids. He showed me love I lapped it up and like the loved starved slut I was I closed my eyes to the warning signs until they were staring me in the face. I discovered he was into kiddy porn. I kicked him out of the house and a few years later thanks to my reporting he served time in prison for pictures of children in BDSM contexts that were as young as seven.

Somehow I climbed out of all this mess. I graduated university, I brought up two awesome kids and I made some awesome friends. I became a dominant and my personal power bloomed much more than it ever did before thanks to my wonderful deceased sub slavetreva and some really cool friends along the way. I have people writing to me all the time saying how much they enjoy my writing on BDSM. I now have a fantastic young sub and fun playmates. Thank you all xxx

The good Master I used to play with called me slut in an affectionate way and so a new loving form of slut was reborn in me. I am a slut in how much I love sex and how slutty I can behave – but I am now an exclusive one with only some special people. I am very particular who I have sex with and who dominates me. I try hard to make sure the people I dominate are looked after and know that they are valued by me. I usually only wear ‘slutty clothes’ in the privacy of BDSM spaces. I do not allow others the privilege of seeing me like that.

I am a rape survivor four times over. Only the first was your classic straight forward rape situation. The other three are tangled in their actions, blurred in meaning and therefore easy for fingers of blame to be pointed at me. The thing is that I DID NOT SAY YES TO ANY OF THEM. The last one had a period where there was not consent, even if later there was - but I will add that I was very subbed out by then and it was not how we negotiated the scene. They all knew what they were doing. They all took advantage of the situation to get a trip out of my non consent. They enjoyed stealing my power

We talk about consent over and over again in BDSM, yet when it comes to rape, people are still blaming the clothes and behaviour instead of focussing on what rape is really about. That is someone taking someone else’s power away – WITHOUT CONSENT. Clothes do not give consent – people’s words do.

My little black dress does not mean yes.

When I walked down Queen Street on Saturday I walked in my doc’s symbolising my punk history (if you were not tough enough you were beaten up and had your boots taken off you – no one has ever dared do that to me). I wore a slut top and a bdsm style skirt to represent my lifestyle of fun and consent, my warm coat open for protection from the outside world, but showing the inner slut inside.

I did not want to shun away in the crowd. On the way there I posed for photos laughing and dancing as I subverted Queens St’s business and shopping space – slut on the loose! I walked up the front of the march with a banner and friends. I yelled out hard and loud for all the people before me and all the people ahead of me that have been or will be raped. I yelled out for the pain that we feel. I yelled out at how wrong societal messages are. I yelled out at the people who took my power away from me .... without my consent. I also yelled out at the fun to be an activist again after a break of seven years.

This was a very cleansing moment for me and it helped me remember how much I enjoyed activism when I was a student. A new breath of fresh air has rushed over me. A new direction is about to be known.

Thank you for reading and please remember to always stick to the pre-session negotiation.

Wonder Womyn

Thursday, June 16, 2011

For this and so much more ...

Your service to my needs
Your curves under my hand
Your warmth radiating against my body

Your thirst meeting my passion
Your strength bowing to my power
Your tolerance raising to my sadism

For this and so much more I thank you for coming into my life


Sunday, May 8, 2011

Maakari Toa

She is tiny – and I mean tiny - but has a bum big enough to grab, grope and whack … extremely hard. At first I was scared to play with someone that small in case I would break her in two, but I soon found out she is Maakari Toa – the Little Warrior.

Maakari Toa may have had a hard life, but she is still very sweet, genuinely lovely and very witty. If someone needs assistance or is being harassed Maakari Toa swoops swiftly in righting the wrongs, helping all and sundry, and ensuring that those she cares about are comfortable, well fed and content. Always on the go, she only rests when everyone is looked after or she is releasing her beautiful spirit in play. While service is her forte, masochism is her life breath.

Such a strong, fit, defiant and beautiful Toa; her voice and mannerisms gentle; making you laugh with her funny observations and sprightly attitude as she dishes out compliments all round. If only she could see what we all see - hot, sexy, funny, beautiful, passionate, witty, gentle - but so strong … and an amazing masochist.

When I play with the Maakari Toa the world stands still and watches in amazement. The buzz I get from releasing my sadistic energy hard on this incredible warrior is a rush that is difficult to describe. She is a sadist’s dream come true. She not only takes it well, but I can see her spirit rise and inflate and spin in wondrous directions the further I push her. Our energy inspires us to go to beautiful places; and the rush of making this warrior cum from my pain is euphoric. We feed on each other’s energies. Watching her cum from caning her inner thighs will always be a highlight in my BDSM memoir. This woman deserves a special place in New Zealand’s BDSM history – if only she had the opportunity to shine.

There is so much to explore with her. I once owned a super masochist, but he died. I once was a masochist whose spirit soured high from extreme impact play. However, I have never played with a female masochist quite like this. I thought I could finally return to the level I lusted for, but alas Maakari Toa is going vanilla for awhile!

Her life has become too difficult not to be vanilla at the moment. For with the Toa it is all or nothing. Nooooo! I respect her decision, but I so want to dominate this super masochist, to inflict pain on her that only a warrior can handle and watch her melt into an adrenalin fuelled subspace that matches my sadistic space so very well. To own such an amazing being would be a huge honour that I would respect and love.

For the time being I get to enjoy her company and encourage her in her life. I draw on the memories of hot, wild plays filled with wondrous pain. Here is one such memory. I will entertain you with more later.
Maakari Toa kneels before me silent and nervous, waiting to play. She has provided me with an array of nibbles and beverages placed beautifully on the table. There is more on an after play tray waiting in the kitchen. She has just put black shiny stilettos on my stocking covered feet. Her slave spirit is settled knowing that all has been done. It is now time for the masochist to enter our space!

Stroking my legs, admiring them along with my shoes, she suddenly realises that she did not have permission to touch me. She draws back and controls her hands on her splendid legs, whispering’ “Sorry Ma’am”. I have never liked the word ‘Ma’am’ yet it really works well between her and I. Our special word!

Her little breasts heave encased in her black opaque play dress; the floral detail highlighting their delicate form. Maakari Toa’s doe eyes are lowered as her dark brown hair flows gently around her splendour neck and shoulders. I can tell it is taking quite a bit of control to stay still and wait in anticipation. How lucky am I to play with such a beauty? Smiling, I wait a little bit longer just to build the tension more.

I am impressed with the hard flogging I am giving her. There is no point in starting with the soft floggers! Her olive skin seems so velvety; yet when I use all my force on her tiny back with the skin cutting flogger it only leaves marks. The harder I go the more defiant her stance is, and the more alive she becomes. I snap the thin rubber flogger like a wet tea towel on her back and bum repeatedly. Her body draws in. I leave it there for some time before I allow a few seconds respite for the strong muscles to shift her body back into place and stretch her arms back up the wall. Quickly she pushes her petite round bottom back out ready for more. I observe her face hard against the wall, grinning between blows, daring me to try to destroy her. I hear her breathe quicken with excitement and anticipation.

It is quite a task to moderate my play to such a small body after playing with my bois and voluptuous women. I love a challenge and she proves to be a very exciting one. The moves need to be more precise. If a stray flogger hits that cute gap between her legs it could bring her out of subspace. She has had kidney damage from play with another. I am not about to repeat his ridiculous mistake. I move her to a leaning position over the back of the couch with a pile of cushions in place. Her sway back protrudes her bottom deliciously into place. Turning to impact play I go full strength with everything in my arsenal and little build up. It reminds me of playing with my painslut before cancer robbed him off his strength. Is she even aware of how much this heals my spirit? The more I know Maakari Toa the more I realise how she does not acknowledge her own strengths and her good work. Therefore, these words are written here instead of whispered in her ear after play when we curl up on the couch melting into each other.

I pound her firm buttocks like a drum in time the music of ‘The White Stripes’ with my two hard wooden spoons. This shifts to golf swing movements as she braces herself clenching the cushions, she watches me smiling in amazement. This girl is in awe of my skills just as I am in awe of her tolerance.

I suddenly sip my juice leaving her wondering what is next. I draw my two crops out. They have a sting that she both loves and hates. I rapidly dance the crops hard all over her body whipping them violently on her back, bum and thighs. Her breathe becomes louder and more laboured. Just as she sinks into the endless pain I change to the thuddy truncheon, moving from pounding to golf swing blows. This is followed with a different sting of the dressage crop.

After a while we arrive at the cane - my absolute favourite BDSM implement. I love to work up to this moment with anyone, but with a painslut like this we both soar in a frenzy of pain from canes both thick and thin. I start off with teasing movements – soft, soft, medium, medium, hard, harder! This repetition increases in intensity as the cane whooshes between strokes and I move from one side to the other. Allowing her to get her breath back and prepare for the inevitable, I work up in waves of pain towards golf swing caning. She loves it! Maakari Toa is cuming in delightful moans. Whack-whack, whack, whack!

How can she handle such pain and be in such ecstasy? This girl is a wonder. I know that feeling from my past, but I am sure it was not with such intensity. Her slim legs quivering as she braces herself against the couch almost ready to drop. In a hoarse whisper I ask her if she wants to stop or go on. I know the answer before it leaves her lips. “Please Ma’am, can I have more”. What is a sadist to do!

I lie her on the couch and spread her trembling legs wide open, exposing her glistening, wet tender inner labia. An olive version of the thinnest slices of salmon you have ever seen. I see down her tight little hole and look forward to exploring it later. I have always wanted to do this since hearing about it in ‘The Story of O’. No warm up this time Toa! I am straight in with my school cane - hard out on her toned thighs. I focus on getting in the right area, and all the time her dark eyes are shining at me daring me to go further, her lips braced in a smile that shows her struggling to not safe word or close her legs. “Good girl,” I say. “You are doing well”.

Bang, bang, bang - WHAM! Maakari Toa lets out quiet moans working up to loud. Her face is in raptures, her body spent as she cums from our favourite game – sadomasochism! We hug as she quivers in after cum rapture. “Oh, Ma’am that was so good. You are incredible”. I smile with tears in my eyes, “No you are incredible. You are so amazing and beautiful, thank you so much - that was fantastic”!

Until we met she had never cum from impact play. It has been a huge pleasure to bring her to such special moments of pain and ecstasy. Oh Maakari Toa, you cannot deny yourself that which sets your spirit alive!

Will she return to BDSM? Will we play again? Will we form the bond that seemed to be developing between us before she was forced to turn vanilla? I am watching this space the same as you!

Friday, April 1, 2011

There is a Bear in My Bed

There is a bear in my bed. He lies there sleeping, his face sweet and restful. His body still and beautifully curved. Some parts of his body delightfully hairy and other parts smooth as silk.

This bear is human, but many times I have heard him growl when we have played. His energy becomes full and wild, as he struggles to contain it in his submission to me. But contain it he does, because he loves what I do to him and he loves to endure my pain. His endurance, pain tolerance and his devotion to me are forever building as he trains under my direction - and soon within the bond of my collar. His frame when he is on all fours is bear like and when he cums he is truly the ‘The Bear’.

I love seeing him cum; knowing that I have done this to him and knowing that his gift of submission is returned in the pleasure he gets whilst playing with me. He is magnificent to watch as I deal out pain. He braces himself trying to stay still and take it all with his youthful eagerness and passion. I love seeing him reel from a particularly hard cane hit. His huge body quivering and retracting; and then his bottom slowly comes out once more knowing he must endure more for my pleasure and ultimately his.

Bear loves to serve me. When I command his servitude he goes into a happy space where all is required of him is to make me happy. He attentively goes beyond commands to predicting my needs before I feel a need to ask. I turn to ask him to do something and he has already taken care of it. He brushes away out of place hair, crumbs, eye lashes, etc and attends my brand wounds with both fascination and dedication. Each of our bodies feels more and more like extensions of our own. He is my valet, butler, cook, lover, painslut, masseuse, companion, nurse, cuddly bear, heater and so much more.

When I mockingly tell him off he is ‘Mr Bear’. “Mr Bear wake up and get me my breakfast I am hungry. You can’t sleep all morning”; “What are you doing Mr Bear? No biting me!” Slap! “Mr Bear, I do believe I gave you an order” etc. He is fun to joke with and at times he gets away with wrestling me down and pinning me with his great arms and legs – so hard to get away and so fun to feel his force knowing that it is there is at my disposal should I command it.

Bear is also my sex slave. Some days I sexually tease and torment him and then pull him by his hair and shove his head into my crutch to take me on an ecstatic ride with his tongue and mouth. Mmmmm he is so very good at orally pleasing me. Sometimes he becomes wild to match me after I have been playing with him and other times he becomes feminine and exquisitely gentle. He melts like butter under my controlling and manipulative directon.

Sometimes I let the wild bear out of the cage and set him on to myself. In these times I want to play rough! I want someone special that I trust to take over my body with strength and wildness in a sexual way. The switch in him eagerly comes to life. I struggle not to take over, but rather let my body become his for a short time of absolute pleasure. The dominant is on vacation and the masochist slut has come out to play.

I will not allow him to use impact on me, because I do not wish to ruin our special D/s bond. However, in these moments he is permitted to take over me sexually using his wonderful long nails to scratch and dig at my body and his force to drag me about like a rag doll; holding me in positions for our pleasure. He is still serving me, because that is what I want and what Mistress wants she gets. This way he gets to release his dominant side and to practice for future people in his life as well as pleasing me. A win/win situation!

I will wake the sleeping bear now and ask for my coffee and breakfast. He will smile sweetly and sleepy saying “Good morning Mistress”. He will stretch his fabulously curvaceous body and roll about looking sexy. I will smack his adorable bottom and tell him to stop stalling and get me my coffee now or else I will get the stick”. He will smile at the thought of the horribly painful, but exciting stick; then he will plod out of bed happy to have a purpose that will please his Mistress.

I am so very glad I have a bear in my bed.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Little Red Riding Hood Mets the Big Bad Wolf

She bounced on to the forums with passion, fun and noise. Flirting with everyone; raising their self-esteem; and preferring women to boys.

She has a way of lighting up any room or online discussion with her presence; everyone loves her, wants to be her or wants to do her. Finding adventures in places we have not thought of or have not dared to go to. It did not seem our place to push like that, yet her charm gets her places we can only dream of.

She is at once a fun little girl on an adventure, mixed with a mature thoughtful woman of the world. An ironic ball of lightening and cuddles. Her attitude is dommy to many, but subby to a privileged two. I am one of them.

A ball of sunshine bouncing across a room like a cute kangaroo – how could we not love her. As we struggle to wake up pre-coffee she voices and acts what we wish we could feel so early in the day. She has a way of bringing us up without knowing the affect her words have on our jaded or shy spirits. Her sweet and bouncy presence curls up on my lap next to my sub two beautiful people I admire and love to play with smiling at each other and loving being on me together. Her lovely sub girlfriend sits next to me snuggling in. All is right with the world.

At once bold and shy. Spurting outrageous things, wearing outrageous things that would not work on many – yet it is so her. As if her words have fallen out upon her beautiful body in the form of clothing.

A large bottom made for impact, thick hair made for pulling, the cutest wee boobies like a pubescent girl, a waist that shows off her beautiful curvy hips and a warm, cheeky grin that lights up the darkest corner.

I rendered her speechless with my presence. She fell in love with my legs - the very things that I disliked about myself. Once again she makes someone feel hot so easily with her remarks. She was not speechless online though. The courage came back with vengeance as she declared her feelings of lust for, and fear of me. I both inspired and fascinated her. Her Dom side was inspired and the sub side was at once terrified and fascinated.

I disturbed her by the newly found sub feelings welling up insider her. She filled me with desire to do wickedly wonderful things to her. I was surprised that she brought out a part of me that I had not met before. We were friends in the external world, but when we played the two people that we became were dying to get out, but knew it was too hard to do in front of others. Distance and circumstance made a private play something we had to wait for over a period of months. It heated up online in a fun flirty way that was still respectful of our significant others.

Then finally the day came when we could explore what was welling up in both of us. We were to meet these strangers inside of us at last. I was excited and felt that this was so very right. The next step on my miraculous journey as a dominant.
There she was nervously in front of me kneeling. I commanded her to take her clothes off. I remained clothed in a slip and camisole. What happened is best left between us, but this much I will share.

Touching her quivering body and feeling her nervousness in the air was exquisite. I was so very honoured that she felt safe enough with me to explore a side to her that she was scared of. I felt confident in what I was doing and perverted at how much younger she felt with and to me. I have never felt that way with others. I have never felt very sexual towards woman that young, because they are close to my daughter’s age. But with her it was so very different. I was no longer a mother and I was ageless, except older and mature and she young and innocent and enquiring.

I remembered how I felt with my ex Dom, how much younger I felt with him; and therefore it was interesting being on the opposite side this time. I just knew what to do as if I was born for this moment. We shed our outer selves and the noise outside dwindled. The people we were in that room were people that did not need to come out of that room. They were there especially for these moments only.

I wanted to hurt her with various toys, especially my favourite the cane - and I did! Over and over again. I teased her with my touch and drew my breasts and slip across her lovely cury buttocks. Spanking her had so much more meaning than spanking others. She was a naughty girl that needed to be chastised. During the play she called me mean a few times and I laughed and hit her harder. She cried and I knew she wanted to, this was something important for her to release from inside herself - something that my dominance fed upon. I felt at once nurturing and extremely turned on. I loved hurting her and bringing her into subspace. And I adored her fear and her love for this play.

Our souls and minds blended into a kinky pervy essence that filled the room as much as the smell of our cunts blending. HOT!

I decided that was enough pain for this session. She curled up in my arms a turned on exhausted and very sweet girl. I fondled her and changed the mood of the room to sexual. I stared at her cunt, she was embarrassed. I loved making her feel uncomfortable and turned on at once. I played many times with her beautiful tight cunt and sweet tits. When she came her face was a mix of shame,vulnerability and ecstasy. I felt powerful and evil and yet I knew it needed to be this way for the both of us.

I played with her long enough for her to relax into me as the shame floated away. I granted her permission to suck my tits for a short time. For this session only she was mine. I looked forward to her progressing to being able to touch me more and for me to fuck her with my strap on and fuck with her mind in a safe yet pervy way.

She is my friend outside of our sessions and my close friend’s girlfriend and dominant. I adore seeing them so in love and do not feel jealous or weird about that at all. I just wanted fleeting moments like the above in sessions, but for even though she loved what happened, it confuses her dominant status. Sadly there will be no more sessions.

I doubt I will find such a dynamic again, but I hope I find something good and similar, but different with someone else. I was female with her, yet male with other women. For now that women inside will be locked away until someone else can bring her out. Only one outing seems so unfair. Where will that woman go and how can I feed her so that she will not die forever?

Goodbye Little Red Riding Hood, hello wonderful friend.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Negotiation by Marewa Glover

This poem by Marewa Glover struck a chord about my own experience of BDSM. Marewa is a researcher and Takatapui (Maori queer). She writes an interesting chapter about her experiences of being Takatapui, including choosing BDSM as her sexuality rather than lesbian as she previously did; and how BDSM has respectful, equitable relationships. The poem is set out as in the book including ‘&’ instead of ‘and’.


finally doing it right

laying it all out

drawing boundaries

starting as we mean to continue

getting to know each other first

before the heart is stabbed through by surprise

revealing our guts & greed

risking rejection before even a kiss

securing a commitment to preserve the other

we agree not to hurt

before we even know if we would ever want to

do we manufacture love by contracting?

or just seek to experience it

create a dome within which

it is safe to bare heart to knife

skin to fire

eyes to truth

ears to the groans & grunts of lust

it maybe a self-defence

but if it allows us to believe

it allows us to unlock the deepest safe

wherein rests a fortune

beyond our imagining

& I am a treasure seeker

are you?

Glover M, (2007). Eroticising equality, coming to power. In C. Aspin and J Hutchings (Ed.s.) Sexuality and the stories of Indigenous People, p.56. Wellington, Aotearoa / New Zealand. Huia Publishers.

Did I mention I enjoy cane?

I used to say I am a cane nut, because I was unsure if it qualified as a fetish, but after noticing my obsession I now announce to the world that I Wonder Womyn am a cane fetishist ... but I will not be going on a 12 step programme ... just bend over and I will rip you apart - or if you are very lucky I might bend over for you!

Canes are objects that I am sexually aroused by. It is not just the thrill of giving or receiving cane, but the sight of them, the smell of linseed oil which I associate with my canes and the sound of canes whooshing in the air.

A friend who is also a cane fetishist (amongst other things) said that he can "spot one at 50 paces in dense fog or lurking amongst umbrellas and walking sticks in a hallway. It is the wanting to touch it and if one is in a room with one even if it is mostly hidden, it exerts a fierce and palpable presence just because you know it is there ... The blood races, the mouth dries and that object for the time being is the most important thing in the world".


If canes are near me I am drawn to them. I want to pick them up and touch them; I am distracted thinking about using them (and occasionally having them used on me) while they sit there almost calling me to pick them up. They give me a thrill and a warm feeling when I see them and touch them - which immediately turns me on.

I will go to a sex shop and on rare occasions there will be one there. I spy it at a distance. I like to wander about looking at everything else first, or at least leaving that section for last.

Leaving the cane until last is like leaving the exceptionally yummy chocolate desert until after dinner. But the whole time my attention wanders back to it. I get excited thinking about holding it.

I wonder about its weight and texture. Will it be a good or poor one? What have they encased it in? Where did they get it? How many have they sold - and to who??? Am I totally mad to compare them to violins? It is as if they take on a life of their own. They have history and personality.
And then I allow myself the pleasure of picking it up. Behold it's beauty - sight, sound, smell *sometimes even taste* or behold it's poor, sad state – I commiserate with it.

I come across them at people’s houses. Sometimes it is very sad to see the state they have left them in. I feel like taking them home and bringing them back to life much as you would a mistreated pet! Once I could not put one down until I had instructed a sub to bend over and I gave him a cold hard caning. What a buzz!

I had cared for my four canes myself, but due to my living conditions I once entrusted this job to trev my 1st subby. He did a good job, but it was difficult for me to entrust the job of soaking, drying and straightening to someone else when I was not there to supervise. He did something not the way I would have. My babies were ok, but I fretted a little until I could visit them. I thought about them often and anxiously awaited reports; and probably drove the boi mad with questions. I restraightened them to my specifications.

I was then forced to realise how important they were to me. It is as if each one has it's own personality. Two are very smoothly turned with no nodules. They are oiled. They feel so much more alive than the varnished ones, but the varnished ones are safer to use on multiple people due to the transfer of body fluids. I strongly encourage every masochist to have their own canes, so that they may look after them and have them oiled instead of varnished. I want to start a collection when I have the money to do so.

Listening to individual cane sounds as they swish through the air is exciting. I love the mind and body reactions I get from caning individuals - soft to hard and everything in between. And the many variations of rhythm. The big canes are very erotic and thuddy - enjoyably painful; while the thin ones are whipping and deliver a pain filled with both love and fear.

I cum very easily from caning and love it when I can make others do the same. I was lucky to have been trained to take the cane by an excellent old school caner, and to have had a sub with an incredibly high tolerance to hard, fast, skin tearing, blood trickling caning. I am training more to take the same.

I love S/m sessions to end with caning. Build the body up and leave the best pain for last, before the sensual touching and painful scratching subsides the session. Once I pull the cane out a whole new energy bounds into a session. The air seems to thrill to my excitement as I listen to, watch and feel my canes performing the job they were created for. If I had not been previously aroused I sure am in that moment. I feel so much closer to my victim and it is as if the canes sing to me. Cane, body, mind and energy meld in the moment.

Did I mention I enjoy cane?

WW ;-)

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Mrs A.

Everyone called her Mrs A, instead of her full name. She was a very popular teacher at our school in the 1970s. She was a very commanding and respected woman, when 'Women's Lib' was something you saw on TV - not in our little community.

When it was her turn for playground duty, you would often see Mrs A wandering around with one or two boys at her side, holding them by their ears. The boys usually had cheeky grins on their faces and Mrs A's amusement seemed to boil close to the surface of her chastising conversation. Her eyes would squint and bore straight through the people that she quizzed about their behaviour. No one dared to give her cheek. We would see her loom up behind unsuspecting boys in the middle of doing something naughty. We would watch amused as she pounced on them asking them "And what do you think you are doing"?

Even then I had the ability to see through veils to what might lie below. I thought that most of those boys actually enjoyed being sprung for doing naughty deeds, and shown up in front of the school by being led by the ear around the playground like naughty trophies on parade, in her quest for an ordered playground.

Sometimes there was the predicament of needing and extra pair of hands for a third or fourth boy. I think they were disappointed if they were demoted to walking behind her, rather than beside her with her vice-like grip on their ear. One day I did see her juggle three boys with two hands - I was impressed! The two boys that belonged to the one hand were finding inventive ways to move in unison to keep up with her as she walked, then quickly swerved around surprising children. Mrs A was one of the rare ones who really did seem to have eyes in the back of her head.

Mrs A was slim and had an elegant firm stride in her elegant, but simple high heels. I now wonder how she got around the muddy bits of the playground, but you never saw her in an embarrassing position or even trip. She was Mrs A, that was beneath her. She often wore tartan capes outside which would swirl in the winter wind. Her cardigans were always slung across her shoulders fastened with one top button, like a cape as well. She wore a simple string of pearls - and yes, often a twin suit. On windy days her hair would be under a silk scarf, Grace Kelly style.

Mrs A played the piano, beautifully. I was in the choir and would often watch her play rather than watch the conducting hands of our fuddy old choir teacher. We had polished wooden floors in the hall, where we practised. I enjoyed listening to her heels as she walked. They still echo in my mind today.

In the second year that I was in the choir the teacher had left, so Mrs A became our teacher. For the audition she lined us up and asked us to sing. She then walked up and down listening to our voices. Inspection time! I was very nervous.

When trev first started to visit me for sessions, I enjoyed having him bent over a couch, naked, waiting expectantly for my next move. I walked about in my high heels on my polished floor, sorting music, choosing implements of torture, pausing and hearing his breath, watching his body language; wondering what was going through his head as he waited for my next move.

Mrs A would not have approved of my music, but when I look back she was very much Mistress material, and the person that B&D fantasies are made from. I wonder how the other teachers felt about her, and wonder what her sex life was like. What was Mr A like? Did she ever have fantasies of dominantion, or wish for someone to take control of her instead of being intimidated by her?

Thank you Mrs A!

How my interest in BDSM started

First it was an inkling of an interest from general media. This was followed by a burning desire when I was in Western Australia after visiting two exhibitions - this was a turning point in my life.

The first was the Robert Mapplethorpe exhibition in Perth. Gorgeous black bodies looking like statues. I did not understand it at the time, but now I know this was the awakening of my genderqueerness - I was viewing them as a gay man - not a bi woman. I cried.

But what really struck me was his extreme cbt photos. I walked past and hovered a little. I returned and stared. I sat and stared and observed how others moved quickly passed these pictures - they were too scared to observe the beauty in them, too scared to acknowledge that people did this, let alone examine what such an image did to them. I thought this a great shame.

Black and white photos of a cock and balls in a vice like contraption - haven't seen them since, but that is how I remember them. Something so painful looking and so hot and beautiful. There was blood in the CBT photo/s that was what moved me the most. From what I gathered these were random men off the street that he befriended and talked into doing this - the power play in that - wow! Sad, but hot and maybe no longer sad for them - I do not know. Shame that he was not careful, because he died of AIDs. But the beauty he observed and left behind once he knew his life was limited - also is a stunning statement. Something I am vaguely aware of now that first my submissive died from cancer.

The second exhibition was not as powerful, but it showed me the way. It was in the Bunbury Art Gallery. Bunbury is usually a conservative place. There was all this BDSM gear and pictures in their gallery! The thing I remember is a table with a mannequin on it. She was strapped and tied down all over. I wanted to be in that position and wondered what it would be like to do this to someone else as well. What would I do? What could I do? How would it feel? I never thought of finding a group or anything. I was so lonely and lost in a crap marriage - I sure wish I had made that move, but it was not to be at that stage.

A number of years later in Hamilton I became friends with a voyeur who was in a position of authority. We talked about our interests; he gave the best 'word' ever while I sat on a bench in the Hamilton Gardens. I came as people wandered around looking at plants. Coincidently I went to a univerisity lecture that afternoon about Hegel and Marx and the Master/slave dynamic. I came in the little class room, surrounded by people,without a sound. Sigh! It developed a little more to private meetings. I did things to myself in front of him after we had hot conversations. Sometimes he caved in and did them to me. There was some great power play going back and forth. When I called it off I contacted the local group - the rest was history/herstory ;-)

Monday, February 14, 2011

Welcome to my world

I have been writing in forums and in my journal on Fetlife for a few years now, and have explored BDSM for a decade. After an extensive time of growth through these years I feel a need to expand my personality and experiences further a field. I shall see if this site fits with me.

Starting as an ethuastic switch I explored submission for a number of years, before deciding I was a sadomasochist. Exploring the bottom through pleasurable pain was glorious. Now my masochistic personality only appears briefly with certain people, because my sadistic and dominant personality has grown in leaps and bounds over the past five years of being a S/m dominant. I do not perform dominance, but rather my sadistic desires and personality move me to a state of dominance that draws people to me.

I love guiding people (especially friends) through pain towards an enlightened pleasure. The process involves taking over a person's mind, body and spirit in a session then releasing them to find their renewed self after a time of loving and sensual aftercare.

For some people the ownership extends. They become my submissives, masochists or slaves depending on their nature and our interactions.

I am neither fully female or male. I have a woman's body, but my gender fluctuates depending on who I am interacting with and to what extent; as well as the identity, sexual, and material space that we are in. I will write about this more later.

My sexual orientation is sadomasochist. I do not see gender as a binary concept and gentials are wonderful variations to personalities rather than being the primary aim of who I am attracted to.

I hope that some of my insights may be of value to some readers. I see that I have been written about on here already. I love playing and therefore to have a glimse into my plaything's perspective is wonderful indeed.

Enjoy your journey

WW ;-)