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 ;-)