Of Vice and Virtue

F=ma

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Sun, 07 Dec 2014 20:37:00 +0000

I was daydreaming idly the other day, as I tend to do, about force.

Namely, I wonder what force I am able to exert solely from my bicep? If I were arm-less, save for my bicep, with what force could I strike someone across the arse?

Probably, not a lot.

Consider then, if I now add my forearm. By allowing my forearm to go limp, and only moving my bicep, I am able to generate an order of magnitude greater force from my arm, using a swinging motion, to strike a willing someone. What is the amount of power added vs the ratio of arm being added I wonder.

Consider then, if I now add my wrist, hand, and fingers, all with more pivot points. What proportional power would be added then? By my entire arm to be relatively limp and using my bicep to throw my arm, I am already generating significant power and concentrating it into my fingertips, if I can efficiently hit my willing subject at the moment of highest energy.

The exact models for the physics of what's going on evade me for now, but note here that if I were to continue to add length to my arm via the use of instruments such as a whip, I can generate enough energy and power solely from my arm to break the sound barrier, hence why whips can 'crack'.

It was this insight that made me think I'll probably never invest in any canes, whips or other such pain instruments again. The hand is a much better method of pain stimulation because not only does it restrict the forces at work to a safe level, but it allows me direct sensory feedback into what the sub will have experienced.

My Rules of Engagement

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Tue, 01 Apr 2014 18:22:00 +0000

First and foremost; kink must be !!FUN!!. There is no other ultimate goal, no higher purpose; only the simple trickle of endorphins in the company of people who are friends. Every action, every word that takes place during play, must be for this purpose and this purpose alone. Anything done in order to get the better of the other person, anything to hinder their ability to have !!FUN!!, anything that causes their flow of endorphins to stop, is against the entire spirit of the venture and that person will be excluded from play. At least from me.

With that in mind, There are three identifiable routes to take in kink in order to achieve a flow of endorphins:

Pleasure via Pain
Counter intuitive only to those who have never experienced it; the flood of endorphins after enduring brief periods of pain is overwhelming and potent. Guiding a bottom into subspace is the ultimate goal of any true top. Pleasure gained by the top in inflicting pain (something I personally don't enjoy that much except for the bottom'a happiness) is secondary to the bottom's needs.

Pleasure via Pleasure
More easy to understand to the average person; fucking each other's brains out and bringing each other to orgasm. Possibly multiple times. Both partners are equally responsible for the other's pleasure; the sum of the two parts must be greater than the sum of each partner alone. In the same way that my first point is so overlooked by those not in the lifestyle, I found it surprising sometimes how overlooked this avenue was compared to the first.

"Other"
Here is where the true spectrum of kink lies. Whether it's from cleaning someone's house, from licking their boots, to being verbally abused or degraded, this is the category for it. Everyone is different and has their own personal tastes, and while everyone should oblige those who have them to the best of their ability, no-one should force their particular tastes on those who don't share them. Also under this category however, is the simple and divine pleasure derived from cuddling on the couch after a play session watching Firefly, or the delightful feeling of two bodies sleeping next to one another who have drunk too much wine. Not all time spent together need be role played.

Announcing the Triumphant Return of My Libido

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 01:14:00 +0000

I realised, with some relief the other day, that I wasn't a eunuch.

It took some guidance and persuasion from a certain someone, but after almost a year and a half of higher-higher education sucking the life-blood out of me, it appears I emerged relatively unscathed psychologically and with my lust intact.

It feels, like I'm remembering how to eat. The fact I had to look in a text file to find not only the log-in for this blog but the address probably says as much as I ever could. However it appears all things are as I left them when I locked the door; all that was needed was the faint musk that lingers on the backs of the necks of women, just behind their ears and in the base of their hair.

If I was to hazard a guess I would say that I am currently heavily involved in relishing the 'virtue' side of things with her. As to whether I ever come back to the 'vice' like I used to is yet to be determined, sometimes I feel like I've inherited the memories of some impostor who wore my name and bore my face galavanting around London.

Gods, even typing here feels unfamiliar and awkward, and thoughts come slowly and unformed. If nothing else, take from this that I'm still alive and well.

A, B, or C

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Thu, 09 Sep 2010 22:02:00 +0000

"Vice, what do you look for in a girlfriend?"

"A worthy opponent."

Valentines Box

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 17:27:00 +0000

I sat looking at the package she said would be arriving to my room at some point this week.

"Really? How big is the package?""
"Mmm, not big. Medium sized."
"Shoebox size?"
"About that, yeah. Hehe!"

It didn't feel very heavy, and the return address was discreet. Carefully, I opened it up.

...

WHAP.

WHAP.

WHAP.

I had gone into her bedroom unannounced, to find her indecent, and, telling her so, proceeded to tell her to suck my cock, which she did, and yet, somehow, never once gave the impression she's being obedient.

Now, fully in the throes of post-orgasmic chill, and her head lying my my chest, I suddenly move her head down, further, so that her waist is equal to mine and facing away, slowly pulling off her underwear and casting it aside. A beautiful, stunning view.

WHAP.

The first stroke of the back of my hand lands perfectly across her ass and her body tenses from the surprise. She's breathing heavily now.

WHAP.

Her fingers dig into the bedsheets, and she tries to turn around to look at me. I hold her legs fast in place.

WHAP.

Across the other cheek in a beautiful backhand, and she lets out a small yelp and tries to turn around again, but I hold her fast.

WHAP. WHAP. WHAP.

She moans this time and, shaking slightly, turns around and lays on my chest, clawing at me slightly.

…

Gods, where does this woman shop, I wondered. Toys with obvious and alarming purpose bulged in the package, and at least one with battery requirements. Several batteries, in fact. I make a mental note to add this to my shopping list.

...

She had decided not to join me when I finally told her the real extent of my nocturnal weekend exploits in London; in fact watching her face closely in the few moments that followed she showed almost no shock or surprise, and still has yet to.

Ah, the escalating games that we played, always trying to shock the other or get them to back down, opening each other's doors in the house without knocking in the hopes of catching them in an undressed or otherwise compromised state. The time I caught her knelt by her bedside with one hand down her jeans and breathing hard...

Though vanilla she had tastes that rivalled my other friends, and both a libido and imagination to equal them. If nothing, a proud girl, casually post-feminist and utterly feminine in her own right.

They are not won easily.

Punk Rock:

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 16:26:00 +0000

Original Gzowski Interview with a rather drug-fuelled Iggy Pop

"I'll tell you about punk rock: punk rock is a word used by dilettantes and ah... and ah... heartless manipulators about music that takes up the energies and the bodies and the hearts and the souls and the time and the minds of young men who give what they have to it and give everything they have to it and it's a... it's a term that's based on contempt, it's a term that's based on fashion, style, elitism, satanism and everything that's rotten about rock 'n' roll.

"...I don't know Johnny Rotten but I'm sure... I'm sure he puts as much blood and sweat into what he does as Sigmund Freud did. You see, what sounds to you like a big load of trashy old noise is in fact the brilliant music of a genius, myself . And that music is so powerful that it's quite beyond my control and ah... when I'm in the grips of it I don't feel pleasure and I don't feel pain, either physically or emotionally. Do you understand what I'm talking about? Have you ever felt like that? When you just couldn't feel anything and you didn't want to either. You know? Like that? Do you understand what I'm saying sir?"

"You're pretty popular; are you happy to be popular? Do you get a big kick out of that? Everyone knows all these bands, who, who do encores, try to be popular. Well, I don't get that much of a kick out of it, really. I, I've... I've worked very hard, for a very long time, to try to make something that's beautiful"

Goddamnit

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 11:23:00 +0000

I miss everyone in London.

I miss my nights of non-normalcy. In London, 'going out' to my nilla friends always meant getting trashed in some pithy pub somewhere, and while fun for a time, it was only bearable because I spaced it out with kink nights where the focus wasn't getting completely intoxicated and hitting on plastic women in clubs. Instead it was about intoxication of women wearing plastic by hitting them in clubs.

*ponders for a moment*

There's a difference in there somewhere. Damnit I know what I'm trying to say.

My sub/good friend/plaything/girlfriend/fuck toy, or whatever definition you care to conjure up, is coming up from London this coming weekend. What I can do in my small dorm room with what limited kit I have, I will be doing to her many times over. Talking to her on the phone gives me the impression she is barely able to keep it together in time to see me.

Should be interesting.

Wordplay

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 00:13:00 +0000

[pain[submission[discipline[sacrifice[bondage[collar[love]collar]bondage]sacrifice]discipline]submission]pain]

Beauty and the Beast

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 23:10:00 +0000

a love story wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a latex teddybear's pelt

I went for a walk with a good friend of mine, and we talked as we walked the path into the park leading to 'us'.

We chatted amiably, talking about nothing and everything as good friends do. I never could put it out of my head that she was a girl and I being a boy knew that we walked down the path leading to 'us'.

On the sunday after a few convincing bottles of red wine, I kissed her cheek, and she, with or without her own consent, kissed me back, and then I knew that we were an 'us'.

After a while, I let out the chain on an animal that scuffled along behind me, as I have with many girls, to see whether they understood, and she, in her own way, let me know that she did, and on that day we did play and play and play.

After some gentle inquiries, and some nudging on my behalf in light of the fact that we were an 'us', I encouraged her to show me herself, unleash and let play, and initially she held back, refusing, but then after some time she let the chain out slowly, slowly...

My God, it had fangs. And claws… it was huge. It had 6 legs, three heads, and several Viking legends attributed to it. A great hairy mane of jet-black evil, and three eyes as red and craven as the harvest moon, and they were LOOKING. AT. ME.

I think it had an eyebrow raised.

I gulped, taking a step back. My animal yelped and ran behind me as the shadow of the Great Demon Beast fell over the two of us.

'My, what big teeth you have…' I said, feebly. She only stood and smiled, giggling, laying on the bed naked and looking rather... expectant....

'Where does this even go?' I asked, puzzled, holding the object in my hand.

'You'll figure it out!' she giggled, like Satan.

My neck was cold, and icy, as the wind moved through the wide-eyed trees.

Au Revoir

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 00:21:00 +0000

I'm at a loss to say where the last month or so has gone, as I sit here in my new room in Edinburgh.

The last year or so has certainly been interesting. What started as a mild inquiry turned into far more than I ever could have anticipated, the small stream in which I had happily been playing turning into a wide-eyed raging river of leather, breasts and latex.

All good fun and sport.

I find it hard to remember being the person who started out on that particular journey, and to be honest I'm confused where I am along that path now. At the beginning I thought I was embarking along a clearly defined path of hedonism, but since then I've discovered that there is no such thing as vanilla, only those who haven't figured it out yet, and thus the new identity for myself suddenly looked exactly as it had always done. I had gone full circle.

I can scarce remember the 'group therapy' sessions with my beloved nibblers, even even less so the Dark, ST and Crimson 'book clubs'. I find that time serves only to make it all a more alien and incomprehensible experience, like a dream. I came to the conclusion that the perversions of the few are better served by one than the many, and so in the spiraling clusterfuck of confusion that was my life mid-summer I concentrated on one special girl.

Slowly but surely, I had all my libido fucked out of me like the last minute of the last hour in the last day by a blonde vixen, and now I wander the streets of Edinburgh a mental eunuch. A month or two of chastity and perhaps the Hunger will return, and probably, this will be good for my study habits. Time will tell.

Certainly though, I have enjoyed the last few months of my own private submissive, if she could be called that. The usual learned definitions did not fit our roles; there grew between us a rich and powerful psychology that fostered a strange but wonderful intimacy, and I savored it every day I had it. I'd miss her if I didn't already know she's coming up to see me soon. I suppose I'd better start doing some ab crunches or something.

As a whole, however, the memories outweigh the regrets, my only real sorrow being that I didn't really get to say goodbye to anyone before I left. So let me just say now then that I think of you all as my friends and when I'm next in London I'll be sure to drop in for chat and... well, other things I'm sure.

Ta ta,

Vice

Black Pudding

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 12:05:00 +0000

a deliciously savage breakfast

"would you like me on all fours?" she asked, innocently.

I have now decided that the upper class English accent lends a unique and deliciously erotic edge to casual vulgarity. If it befits the girl in question at any rate, if she can pull it off, and using an equally vulgar method of measurement it would appear that this girl most definately could.

Such was our haste to get into bed with one another that we had neglected to remove the clown makeup from the party.

Now, naked and embracing passionately, it was adding a rather ...peculiar... air to sex. Expressions on our painted faces became hugely exaggerated, movements that would otherwise have been erotic were now satire, everything became symbolical and for supposedly vanilla sex I found it all rather... not.

Regardless, alchohol suspended the ridiculousness of it all enough that the eroticism could percolate through and I returned to my hormone infused cartoon.

Asphyxisatiation

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 01:03:00 +0000

I am the world’s biggest ice cream fan, and I have the keys to the Ben and Jerry’s factory down the road.

I've loved ice cream for as long as I can remember. I would savour it whenever I was allowed even the smallest micro-bite; every dessert was a golden dream come true. Especially when I dreamed about it. Other boys would come from miles around to talk about their ice cream, and we’d talk about the various flavours, dream about the future ones we had yet to explore, and plan how we were going to taste the ones we’d seen on TV, all of it magical, mysterious. Elusive.

I still see those same boys, now men, sniffing around the ice cream parlors. Some have settled down with one flavour, and even started mixing and concocting flavours of their own. They seem happy. Others however are in constant pursuit of it, the more ice cream the better. Never satisfied. Quantity over quality, and then quality over quantity. They share their stories of the sparing few and tacky tasters of the previous weekend and I flatter them with attention too sheepish to mention my endless bounty; paddling pools full of ice cream containing paddling pools full of ice cream.

And then, slowly, walking the lonely walk back to my ice cream factory atop Lonely Hill, and ascending the stairs passing the huge and endless variety of shapes and flavours on my way to my bedroom. Chocolate. Vanilla. Strawberry. Strawberry shortcake. Cinnamon buns. Key lime pie. Breasts. Rainbow assortment, banana split.

Rocky road.

All readily available and in endless supply; at whatever time I wish and at my beck and call. My initial prayers have been answered times ten, and now, I, being unbelievably and predictably mortal and human, am in great danger of becoming restless and disinterested. Damnit, I would share if only I knew how.

Ah well, I'm enjoying the sweet torments while they last. Desire and Lust can't outrun me for long.

Caffeine Daydreams

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 14:45:00 +0000

Tentatively, I listen as jazz percolates in through my headphones and down into my ears, caffeinating my brain.

Ah, Miles be my wild mistress.

I watch the women's 49kg taekwondo match on the BBC's live olympics channel. The dull task on my computer screen at work only intensifies my interest, as the two stick-thin women throw their legs at one another.

One of them has the letters 'DOM' written on the back of her jersey, clearly indicating that she is the Dominant and the other a submissive. Obviously all this kicking and flailing is some sort of ritual whereby the sub is challenging the Master, wanting to be taken by force. Ah, the mouthy sub routine, I think to myself, it's a classic. The Dom has to not only control their own emotions but bend the will of the other in order to...

I blink and look again. It dawns on me (rather slowly) that DOM problably stands for 'dominican republic', and that this is an olympic taekwondo match, not an elaborate scenario play. I look around and it appears I am not in a paddle-lined dungeon, but in my office, with no other kink stimuli save for the stapler on my desk.

Be wary, dear traveller, the mind of a dom is a twisted and winding garden at best. Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

Then I look at my empty mug, and wonder whether I should start cutting back on the coffee.

Wishlist

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 00:45:00 +0000

Dear santa, you kinky old bastard...

A short list of (mostly) unconsummated fantasies:

Having sex in a pitch-black room, with nothing but UV black lights for light, and then using UV paint on our bodies. Alternatively, having a pitch black room with strobe lights set to go off at long-spaced intervals; contrasting a lack of the sense with it's sudden abundance.

Perhaps mixed with the above, having certain music in the background. A simple fantasy, I know, but to be able to play/fornicate to the NIN album 'Ghosts', or to a Meshuggah album would heighten the experience entirely for me. Music affects me in ways I don't even fully understand. For instance I once had sex with a girl to a tribally influenced bulgarian band, and it utterly sent me into orbit.

I have whiled away more than one dull afternoon dreaming of making love to a girlfriend fully gothed up; black lipstick, black clothing, makeup, a collar. I can't remember a time when I wasn't hugely attracted to goths.

Speaking of fantasy, never underestimate the power wearing a collar has over my libido. Sex with a girl wearing a collar is utterly, profoundly different to me than sex without, despite whatever activities we may get up to.

Though I would consider myself Dom, I have always been of the opinion I would switch submissive at some point if for no other reason than to get a fuller picture of play. However, one fantasy that I have never managed to consummate is my lifelong fantasy of having a more mature woman dominate, to the tune of The Piano Teacher. (For those who haven't seen this movie I strongly urge you to.) This fantasy definitely stems from my secondary school form tutor, who would wear knee-high boots and a skirt to school, and had an elegantly thin frame to her, not to mention a dry sarcastic wit to match (above all else, I prize wit in others). I could even swear that once, during a one-on-one, that she may have let on she would be interested, but the subtleties of it wouldn't allow further comment, but nonetheless it set my 16-year old brain on fire.

Obviously not just any Domme would do, and if one thinks me too discerning in my choice of girlfriends, they would positively gawk at the long list of criteria for which I've set for this particular role.

I'm not sure if I had any particular purpose for writing the above, but perhaps simple posterity will suffice?

I'm sure, more to come.

Penis, Level 10

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 22:55:00 +0000

01:53 in early August. Someone else's bed. I am exhausted and lying on my back. Sweat is dripping from my forehead to the back of my neck. I am utterly exhausted. The girl purring in my side is running her fingers over my chest, pulling slightly at my man-fur.

"You have a lovely cock..." she breathes, contentedly.

My eyes widen.

"Uh...errr...uhhh"

It is 21:13 on a blustery wednesday night in the final weeks of August. I am standing in front of a group of my friends in the pub. Suddenly the conversation shifts to a former encounter between me and a girl who is in the group.

"He has a lovely cock..!". She laughs. The group laughs. I try to laugh, but no sound comes out. I look at my group of friends and realize they're congratulating me. I try to speak but no words come out.

"Uhh.... well... heh... errr..."

It is 03:12 in the final week of August, I am being woken up from my slumber on a couch. I am drunk and sober at the same time. The extremely nilla girl who woke me up is looking at me intently, smiling, and I can tell exactly what's on her mind. I hear a slightly deeper and suprisingly commanding version of my voice tell her to draw the curtains as I unzip my jeans. With an exaggerated politeness I request her to, if she didn't mind, could possibly be so kind as, if it pleases her, to suck my cock. I quietly sip the glass of wine I see next to me and flip the channels on TV as her head bobs up and down in my lap, pretending disinterest. I feel utterly enthralled by her submission, and, come to think of it, sheer enthusiasm. She moans slightly. I push the ecstasy to the back of my mind for long enough to explain without falter in my voice that I am going to come, and that she is going to swallow it for me, and is that quite clear. She moans; "mm-hmm.." while her mouth is over the head of my cock. I utterly fucking love it.

I come inside her mouth and hold her chin up to face me, eyes dead straight.

"Swallow." I order her. She obliges me. "Good Girl". I kiss her lips. Post-coital clarity sets in. I begin to wonder what on Earth I was thinking. Then I wonder what on Earth she was thinking. Then I wonder how I got to the couch in the first place, what day it is, and what my name is. In that order. My alarm matches my surprise when I realize who it was that just went down on me.

The thinking proves to be too much. I wince. I get up from the sofa and make my excuses.

"Vice," she says, slowly. I pause, turning to face the formerly extremely nilla girl. She smiles to herself, wiping the side of her mouth and sipping from a glass of wine.

"You have a lovely cock".

".........."

It is 12.32 on a quiet and entirely dull sunday afternoon a month prior. My 16GB iPhone 3G vibrates in my pocket. It's my brother on the line.

"Dude, I don't know what you did to that poor girl, but she has been grinning from ear to ear the whole morning. Hahahaha. Did you have fun?"

I blush and grin sheepishly. "Heh, of course I did. Frankly I'm surprised she didn't wake you up. Did I mention she was calling me Sir in bed? How the hell do they know?!"

"I don't know, but apparently she said something about you having a great cock."

"err....guess it runs in the family?"

"Hahaha you bet it does. See you soon Bro"

"uh... heh... uh..."

It is 22.46 in the early days of October. I sit in my bed typing and look down at my penis. It looks back at me, expectantly. I hesitate and push it back into my boxers. I pause and stare at the computer screen, reading over my previous exploits.

The space at the back of my neck feels cold. I rub it, and look anxiously out of the window to rid myself of the feeling I'm being watched.

A simple gesture of Femininity

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 19:43:00 +0000

Going to a good friend's party, I had, as usual, I mistimed my departure and arrived unfashionably early to my hostess, who, delighted, greeted me, kissed me on either cheek and ran off again to get ready.

Having come straight from a day of rowing, sun, dehydration and post-award ceremony drinking, I was in my dirty training gear, and had only managed to purchase a six-pack of stella from the off-license down the road before arriving at her house. I probably smelled like the Thames, though thankfully my memory fails me. Knowing that the attendants were mostly students, I assumed that I wouldn't be too out of place and that excuses would easily be made, none would care.

I was wrong.

Not long after arriving, I was immediately contrasted against a couple. a boy and girl in their late twenties, who were dressed as though for a dinner party, brought with them a bottle of wine and even a bouquet of flowers. My feeling of awkwardness grew as they settled at the table with a bottle of red wine and I stood by the counter in my hoody, a lukewarm stella in one hand.

I began to make hasty excuses about coming straight from rowing, and my completely unplanned state of drunkenness, and my general lack of anything resembling class and sophistication, but I was distracted and noticed out of the corner of my eye my friend, the hostess, rummaging for a vase and clucking away with the female of the pair.

Deftly, she moved (no, perhaps hovered, or floated?) around the kitchen and placed a small glass vase next to the sink.

Next, she unfurled the bouquet and started picking up each flower in turn, holding it upside down against the vase and cutting each stem to suit; with movements as fluid and natural as an old tailor. Each flower was planted in the vase, arranged by colour and height, and then given a brisk tussle to bring out the petals before her hands deftly moved to the next. Purple flowers which had looked cheap and tacky in their cellophane wrapping suddenly looked exotic and regal; as the entire foliage finished and presented itself.

I grew quiet then, this simple gesture betraying a simple elegance and beauty I never knew her to possess. Standing there, arranging the flowers, an aura of femininity grew around her; something which I rarely see in women and behold in quiet awe when I do. Though she is not someone I'm attracted to per say, she looked positively beautiful at that moment, with the purple flowers contrasting with her freshly dyed crimson hair.

She was completely oblivious, and if anyone else noticed what I had just seen they didn't show it. I would have loved to tell her so, but I kept quiet and sipped my tin of stella, as a ragg'd and miserable pauper, in my ditch of classlessness and putrid social ineptitude.

Finally

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 20:08:00 +0000

Christ on toast. At long last.

After three or four months of not having either a laptop or internet with which to indulge it, I am finally availed with both, and as such there shall be updates, changes and possibly even movement to a new blog on wordpress should I ever get a spare moment.

[one minute silence for all the posts, thoughts, ideas and notes stored in the folder marked 'Vice' that have been lost forever due to a hard drive failure. You may laugh but I'm still quite devastated about it.]

If I may make a small nod here to Keiron & Anj (who know who they are) for presenting themselves as a most unexpected audience; and burning my cheeks crimson with their compliments.

[Insert one-word post title here}

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:34:00 +0000

[this is where the small italicized witty and self-parodying remark would go]

[this is where I would have written about all the clever ideas I have in store for her on the school night, and I explain the forethought that preceded them]

[this is the short joke I insert to break up the structure a bit and cleanse the literary palette for the further explainer]

[this is where I would reveal that every now and again at work I giggle to myself and laugh at what I'm getting up to these days, and reflect on how unbelievably fast it's all happening and coming together, wondering in a small moment of introspection at what strange desires my mind conjures up, what feats of ingenuity I devise in order to satisfy my inner muse]

[another small but witty joke to break from the seriousness of the last paragraph, and remind the reader that I don't take myself seriously, that I think I'd kick my own ass and steal my lunch money before anything that terrible ever occurred]

[this is where I tell the reader that there'll be more to read after Friday and possible Saturday if I stay for that long, that they definitely don't want to miss out on that story, whether it turns out as I have planned or whether it goes altogether horribly wrong]

[wherein I reaffirm my hopes for the night, namely that all concerned have a great deal of deliciously safe and kinky fun, that she can see how what I have planned was planned specifically with her in mind, should she choose in the end to accept the invitation]

[and finally small morsel of wit to end]

Thoughts before my first munch

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 00:29:00 +0000

you can smell the nerves

I wrote this in the afternoon preceeding my first munch; whereby I arranged to meet up with a certain Viskan at the London fetish meeting, also known as a 'munch'. I think that my overcoming these initial fears proves to me my seriousness to explore this facet of myself.

When I think about it, it's actually taken me quite a very long time to get to this point, whereby I am setting off to develop this aspect of myself in the real world, rather than assume a digital daydream. It's been nothing if not difficult, and as I look back I can see that I had been fighting myself the whole way, and reluctantly, petulantly, dragged kicking and screaming towards investigating my... I still don't even really know what to call or refer to it as, my... Dominant side?

Most people like me, I imagine, start noticing these longings and desires when they're young; though they find that they do not know how to express it. Thus, their early dating attempts are filled with confusion, trying to understand how to actually have a relationship with someone and then understand where exactly these persuasions fall. Many of my early sexual experiences, my early attempts at expressing my Love for another in the form of D/s, are fraught with attempted power games and the resulting negative feedback from the second party's not understanding this language, followed by second attempts and more confusion, frustration and unconsummated desires with vanilla partners.

...though looking back I suppose it wasn't always entirely unconsummated. There have been occasions where I would get drunk enough that I could no longer hold myself back and transformed into some kind of sex-starved werewolf, waking up the following morning confused and disoriented to torn bedsheets and extremely happy-looking women...

The (mostly...) unconsummated desires accumulate over time into something far more powerful, and, like a rolling wave, guided my course without my fully realising it, from a private inner thought to the physical, or at least digital. I watched in silent terror as I began to seek out an outlet for the restlessness within me. I joined certain websites, watched certain movies, read about the experiences of others, exploring the surface of the culture, entering as I did into a world I had never expected to go, a world that both utterly terrified me and drew me in ever deeper.

For me, this was a slow and painful prospect, as with every step I took I stopped and tried to reason myself out of moving forwards in that direction, convincing myself as I tried to that this was not me, that I was acting out of character, that I was in error, and in spite of all my inner pleading it was all I could do to keep from moving towards D/s, longing for it, falling back in fits of conscience, questioning myself and my ethics, and yet still moving forward in spite of it all. Frankly, it seems, I had little choice in the matter, divided as I was by both wanting to venture outwards and desperately wanting to be 'normal'.*

But, one day you wake up, look in your wardrobe, and notice that 3/4 of your attire are the colour Black, and you finally realise that there is quite simply nowhere to run anymore.

Tonight I stand at the door at the end of this long path, and behind this door, beyond anything else, at least lie answers. Answers that pertain to some of the deepest parts of my inner self, and in light of this fact there is little I can reasonably do except open it and walk through...

needless to say, and even as I wrote this post I knew this would be the case; the evening was totally fine. Once I walked down the stairs I knew I was at home, and was instantly at ease, if not a little high on adrenaline.

...actually, I take that back. The point at which I felt I was truly at home was when a certain rather delicious miscreant ran one talon'd hand up my chest and pinched my nipple.

Finally, a place where one can pinch another's nipples without shame.

*I don't think I need to go into the details of what would happen should I be found out by my vanilla friends; indeed only now with my levels of adult privacy, my own room, living on my own, is anything like this even possible.

Wherein I play the waiting game...

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Tue, 27 May 2008 22:14:00 +0000

We laid on the couch pretending to watch the movie, trying to ignore the fact that the other was desperately trying to think of a way to fall into the other's arms.

Patience, patience.

I am in a strange situation. In one hand, I know you want to come over to me, but I also know that you would have a fit of conscience if you did. If I make a move it will be for nought, but on the other how can I possibly not? How do I simply sit here and swallow everything that's in my mind?

Silence? No, under the dull noise of the TV there is a flurry of conversation on every level. Every body movement is analyzed by both of us, an invitation? Like two gamblers we're both weighing up the odds of risk and winnings trying to find the moment when we can be sure no face will be lost, if one of us makes a move and the other declines all will be done for.

I remember when you told me that you were the kind of girl that goes after the man, not the other way round. You probably only mentioned it in passing, but I noted it word for word. I've played this game before.

Patience!

Finally, an answer comes to me, and with a sudden knowing smirk on my face:

"Well, time for bed, see you in the morning"

I listen intently for your reply.

"Oh.."

Ah-ha! There it is, before you can catch it the clear disappointment falls out of your open mouth, though you try to recover quickly I don't hear what you say, I have learned all I needed to know.

"Guess I'll see you tommorow" I depart.

Perhaps next time you won't let me go so easily.

Back in hiding

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 20:30:00 +0000

*sigh*....

Alas, for the lack of muse, and the start of a new job that lends precious little free energy in which I can indulge myself searching for a new one. I find spare contentment in memories, and in planning; though I find I am still recovering to some degree from the last encounter. Apparently, I've scared off one would be candidate, just as it was getting interesting.

Alas.

Fanning the Flames

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 15:10:00 +0000

my first proper exploration of my Dom side.

Friday went well, I picked her up at the station wearing a suit jacket with a black t-shirt, black jeans and smart shoes, in the hopes that it would be emphasizing the power assertion between us. She commented on it but only lightly, and we walked back to my house. She had frizzed out her hair, which I approved of. Because of her dark complexion, she looked like a black girl with her hair in that way, and with it straight she looked italian, either of which suited me, and I liked having the option.

When we got home we wasted almost no time in getting upstairs. I sat her down on my bed and prepared her to give my gifts. As I said, the previous day I had gone into my local sex shop and made some purchases, namely a thick leather collar with o-rings on the sides, and a small bullet-shaped remote controlled vibrator. I presented these to her great suprise and delight, and instructed her to put it on immediately. And What had she gotten me for christmas?

A small silver keyring with my name engraved on it... which I proceeded to thread onto the front o-ring of her collar that she was now wearing. *very very wicked grin*

By this time, I was as hard as rock, so we fell into each other for a very hasty, frantic first round. I had enough time to put the collar on her before she was putting the condom on and thrusting her hips into me. I can attest that the collar is indeed very strong and holds very well, after I guided her head to various places using the o-rings. It's leopard print looked tacky in the store, but now, contrasted against her beautiful dark olive skin, it looked perfect, gracing her every attribute with a feline presence. She looked, in a word, beautiful. I told her so as I, thrusting hard, came inside her. Round one.

We lie still for a while, and cuddled, with me kissing her and telling her what a good girl she was, glowing in the warmth of the shared bed. After half an hour or so I was ready again, and instructed her to put the collar back on, as well as the wrist and ankle hogties that I had. As I stood up and prepared the room for her, I turned and instructed her to touch herself until I was ready, and as I set up my laptop* to the other side of the room I could see she was very wet and receptive to me. I tested the air and decided the room was warm enough for her, placed a pillow on the floor at the foot of my bunk-bed's vertical ladder. Truly, I thought to myself, the practicing Dom is the most creative person alive to see a ladder and realize it's bondage potential.

I instructed her to get up and bend over on the bed, ass towards the camera, which she obeyed. I spanked her a few times and rubbed her rather wonderful little ass, and displayed it for later viewing pleasure, asking her the while whether she was going to do as I said. I asked her to get the vibrator and hand it to me, and I rubbed it over her before pushing it deep inside in full view of the camera. She shivered, and I spanked her again as I turned it up to the full setting for a few seconds. She uttered a moan and I spanked her again, relishing her ecstasy and her wetness.

I told her to get down on the floor, and she did so, getting on her knees and looking up at me, her eyes blurry. I allowed her to take me in her mouth for a while, which she confessed that she loved, all the while watching the screen and seeing us at work. It was quite the sight, and I had to hold myself back in anticipation of further action.

I took her hands and led her, standing up towards the ladder. Putting her torso through the third rung and placing the pillow under her as I did so, I bound her hands using the small clips beneath her to a lower rung. I spread her legs and spanked her a few times, relishing the sight and teasing her with my dick, which she was begging for by this point. Her wetness proved her sincerity, as the vibrator came out at one point and I stuck it back in, turning it up to full for a few minutes inside her and teasing her clit with my mouth. Finally both of us could take no more, and I fucked her from behind with my now almost painfully-hard dick, making small motions over her clit with my right hand and pinching her nipples at points (she liked that). She was so wet it was running down her legs and into mine, and her orgasm was extraordinarily intense, as was mine. It lasted for a fair few minutes, with her loud primal moans as I continued to thrust deep inside her, causing wave after wave of intensity, visible in her legs shaking. I only stopped when she begged me to, not because of pain but rather of that curious and deliciously-unbearable post-coital electricity that now wracked her body every time I touched her. I undid her restraints and allowed her to rest in bed, the previous orgasm being so intense as to allow us to do nothing else. After a while I let her take the condom off and clean me with her mouth, which her hot, wet little mouth did very well, before falling into a deep sleep next to her.

As you can imagine, for the rest of her time here that was quite hard to top, so I only had her go down on me a few times, using her collar to do so, and having her use the vibrator on herself for my viewing pleasure. There is something extremely satisfying about telling a woman forcefully to 'put this inside yourself' and have her do it, especially when she's fully clothed, one hand in her jeans and the other touching her breasts through her clothes.

This will likely prompt further thought in the following weeks. Stay tuned.

*She had consented freely at an earlier date to be recorded, as she knows the video will never leave my laptop, in it's hidden and encrypted folder. I had told her previously that it belonged to her and if she asked me to delete it I would immediately, and she trusts me (quite correctly) in this aspect.

Stoke the fire

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Wed, 02 Jan 2008 23:58:00 +0000

My recent vanilla convert is due to spend this weekend (4th Jan) at my house. Fertile is the imagination with which I anticipate her further submission.

The first scenario I have in mind is to strip her bare, collar her and have her lean through a ladder in my room, bending over through a rung. There, I will bind her hands to a lower rung, and spread her feet apart facing away from me, leaving her behind fully in my possession to do with as I will. We shall see whether this plays out to my expectations.

This friday will be her collaring, though I doubt she understands what that means. She either has a submissive nature or a perverse one, either of which suits my palette for now. I will be visiting certain stores and purchasing her collar and a vibrator, both of which will be given to her to keep, and to use in my presence.

The wait while I had been away on a trip has made me eager, and it will be difficult to hold myself back long enough to take her where I want to take her.

We shall see.

Despite

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 20:22:00 +0000

The evening with the vanilla girl went very well despite the circumstances.

We started the evening with a light meal, and going out for a salsa dancing club that I had heard about, I had wanted to take her because she was a ballroom dancer and I wanted to see her move, which she did very well indeed.

Unfortunately, it was a bad time of the month for her to have a date with me, so I was somewhat limited in what I could do with her, so I accommodated by detailing exactly what I had planned for the next time that she was over, namely handcuffing her to her ankles, using a vibrator whilst giving me head, among other things. She seemed very agreeable, so perhaps next time I'll be able to enact my fantasies more exactly.

Meanwhile, there was a great deal of passionate kissing and necking, and we laid in my bed watching porn while she gave me head. I had the idea of using my macbook's camera to tape her and she agreed, so after a few minutes of that we kissing and watched a video of ourselves, which was quite a turn on.

The last time she had gone down on me, she had gotten up and went to the bathroom when I came, so I made sure there was none of that nonsense this time. I held her back by the hair and told her that when I came, she would swallow it down like a good girl, to which she answered 'Yes Sir, all of it Sir', and swallow it down she did, which I praised her for.

Something else interesting after that happened as well, wherein I was holding her hands down and kissing her neck, quite passionately I must admit. I noticed that there were two spots on either side of her neck that provoked quite a reaction when teased, so I proceeded to kiss, lick, and generally quite fiercely bite these spots, over and over, telling her what a good girl she had been that night. Being that she's quite petite, my whole hand could practically fit round her throat, and so some combination of the restraint and the kissing her neck, talking in her ear caused her to orgasm, and quite spectacularly at that. Considering I could barely touched her below her shoulders, this was extremely satisfying for me, and I savored it.

So, a good result despite the circumstances. In another month I'll be back from the states and in London so we shall see what happens then... Hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I did recalling it *wicked grin*.

MV x

Wherein Student becomes Teacher

noreply@blogger.com (Vice) — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 04:24:00 +0000

It was with some excitement and with some skepticism that I took one from the vast numbers of the population of London, the ones who know nothing of the lifestyle, the vanilla, and beginning my courtship of her.

Slowly, we become close, but I made her wait, showing her that I am not one to be hurried into any sort of relationship. Three weeks of playing before I finally kiss her, and one thing is clear, that by that time she is beyond wanting. Lust had driven itself deep into her veins, willing her to give herself up to me, beholden to a baser instinct.

Boundaries continue to be tested, pushed. Slowly, surely. We begin to make love, in the dark, with awkward movements known only between new lovers. Small instances that can easily be neglected, a tussle of the hair, a rough gesture, a clawmark on the back, are answered with the same, urging me forth, and this is noted at the back of my mind for later.

Boundaries are pushed further. Unlike when I was an adolescent, I know exactly what I am doing and why. This time, I don't need to hold myself back on a leash, as I did then, for fear of hurting them for real. I am ready now, but the question remains as to whether is she.

I wouldn't be so careful if she had given any indication that she had these inclinations. She hadn't. She had given every proof of good breeding and elegance, which is what made these boundary pushing so nerve-wracking, but oh so worthwhile. Every step outside the boundary had no guarantee of success, worse, it risked everything, however I had to know, I had to push.

Small games played with giggling carry a small hint of seriousness. However, pretend roleplay that culminates in her addressing me as 'sir' takes me somewhere beyond oblivion. I pull up close and ask her what she would like more than anything in the world for me to do to her....

"Tie me up?"... she said, tentatively....