Day 6: Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

I have this extreme jail fantasy. I wrote a story about it, that I might publish someday, but I can also envision it as a scene, with me as prisoner, someone as my jailer, and maybe other torturers. This scene would be a long one, so long it would feel it like it would never end. It would be some kind of intense D/s session, but aiming at pushing me beyond my last resistances – and the top’s, most probably. I do not see as roleplay, but just as regular play between someone I trust (my owner, for instance) and me. Trust would be paramount in that kind of scene. So for an extended period of time, I’d be stripped of everything, put in a cage, fed like an animal, beaten at my jailer’s whim, fucked, of course, whenever she sees fit. I am craving to lose all dignity… and that scares me at the same time. The scene could be interrupted by real life at some point, but it would resume eventually until everything has been pressed out of me. Is that a weird or interesting scene? I don’t know. But it sure is a fundamental one for me, a scene that dates back when I used to play Barbie (see day 4), although I am not so sure how far I could go without breaking down, and also how far would a dominant go into that scene before it became too much for them too.

Find the complete set of questions here.

Day 5: What was your first kinky sexual experience?  If you haven’t had one yet, talk about what you hope to have happen.

It is hard to identify my first kinky sexual experience, I mean one that was not just virtual, fictional or a fantasy going on in my head. Back then I had to talk my partner into gradually moving toward kink, so there was no drastic jumping into kink, but rather a continuum. I remember very well one experience, though, that made me aware that there was no going back; that, all that time I had been on the right path. It was at a kinky weekend, one of the few I had been without my partner (with whom I then had theoretically opening but still an actual monogamous relationship). Before I went, we made an agreement: she would trust me and, in return, I would not go further than I thought was safe for both of us. The last day of the event, I found myself playing with a transman. It had started only as some kind of game: he wanted to try his canes, I wanted them tried on me; he had needles, I had available skin. Finally, we played for I don’t know how long, but certainly for an hour, and canes were used over needles too. At the end, my breast and ass were black, blue and red, and I was flying and kept flying the days after contemplating my bruises.

Find the complete set of questions here.

Day 4: Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hinted at your kinks?

In retrospect? Oh yes. The general way I approached sexuality from the very beginning, and my intimate relationships, for example, or what I seeked (and fortunately found) in my partners. But also, much earlier experiences. Me in the school yard playing with the other kids a game in which members of a team were “captured” and held by the fence, then freed by their teammates, with all those images going on in my imagination, images of being chained to the fence, for instance. At approximately the same age, me watching pirate or peplum movies in which people were captured, tied up, whipped… More specifically, Planet of the Apes with human being caged and enslaved. And me playing Barbie, in my own personal way, alone in my room, because I already had this sense that the way I was playing was special: Barbies held prisoners, tied down with leatherette bracelets, chained with necklaces, whipped with tiny little whips I made with elastic bands… And, later, me playing the same game in my head, for I was too old for Barbies, self-censoring those images because they were not proper (how could I, a feminist, nurture all those images of enslaved women?), then finally going back to them as bedtime stories. Early short stories, also, and especially one involving power exchange and leather gloves.

Find the complete set of questions here.

Day 3: How did you discover you were kinky?

I was an early kinkster in my head, but a late bloomer in my life. I finally acknowledged and recognized the fact that I was kinky in a moment in my life when I was questioning my sexuality. Events had occurred in my life (elements of a relationship) that had made me think that I was not completely living everything that made me sexual, if I may say. I realised there was a cleavage between, on the one hand, what I was experiencing as fulfilling and how I behaved when I was being sexual, and what, on the other hand, my partner was expecting from a non-kinky point of view. I also realised I was censoring myself in order not to be… what? outing myself as kinky? too intense for my partners? I never thought about it that way, but, thinking back, I guess that is what it was. So I began questioning myself about what aroused me, just as, years before, I had questioned myself (and found an easy answer) about my sexual orientation. And just as, back then, when I had engaged in the process of acknowledging I was a lesbian, or a dyke, or queer (not everything came at the same time) and began with theory instead of practice, when I decided to explore what triggered my sexual response, I began by a virtual exploration. Back then, I had read books, tons of books. Now that I was a writer, I started to write an erotic story. Well, what I thought would be an erotic short story, and that finally became a full-length bdsm novel about a D/s relationship (a novel written in French which can be found here).

Find the complete set of questions here.

Day 2: List your kinks.

If I were to list all my kinks, the list would be very long. And unfinished, as I discover new ones, or variations on existing ones, all the time. (By the way, those who say that living your fantasies can be risky as it gradually deprives you from fantasies are miserably wrong: living your fantasies only leads to the creation of new, more complex fantasies.)

So, a summary of my kinks… Some are more on a psychological level, others are more physical, but they all fuck with my brain as they all play with power. For a long time, I thought that pain was not my kink, but that experiencing pain in my body helped me be more aware of my state of submission. I still think that is true, but I have to admit that I like pain, that I crave and need pain, sometimes, somehow. When it is happening, it keeps me focused; when it has happened, I feel powerful; when it does not happen for a while, I become grumpy then numb. On the receiving end, my kinks go to heavy play. I may be not the heaviest of players (but it is not a contest, is it?), but I like types of play that feel heavy, edgy. I like to feel like a slave, a pet, a piece of meat and also to look up for a split second and see the satisfaction in her eyes, or to hear it in her voice. To be chained, to be made to eat on the floor or from my dominant’s hand… Needles through my skin, in the most intimate places… To be ordered to do humiliating things, to be humiliated in front of other people, to be made to show how much that arouses me… The heat of hot wax going through me… To be pressed down by a boot, and yes, the sole can be on my face… Having my holes filled… Intense thrusting, wherever feels appropriate… Thorough beatings with canes, whips, bare hands, until I collapse… I like to cry in a scene, and I like it when my tears do not mean the end of a scene. I like to be stripped naked of my clothes, of my pride, of my self-control.

On the pitching end, I enjoy the same thing, I guess, except that I have not experienced everything above. I like I like to inflict pain with a cane or crop or a handful of needles. I like to be mean. I like to look them in the eyes and smile. I like to punch them in the chest, in the back, I like to kick them. I like to pin them down and to invade their privacy. And I need them to show me they like it for otherwise it is pointless.

Find the complete set of questions here.

30 Days of Kink

Here is a meme that I found on a few blogs. I am not planning to post an answer every day, but I eventually will go through all the questions.

Day 1: Dom, sub, switch?  What parts of BDSM interest you?  Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self for us.

Dom, sub, switch? The list is too short, and so are those words. I need the words “bottom” and “top” to fully define myself. And a few more. Although, I would say “submissive” is at the core of what I am, BDSM wise. However (again), submissive is not what I universally am.

SUBMISSIVE: I can only see myself being submissive in a context where I am being it to someone, or being someone’s. “A” submissive, to me, does not make much sense, as it is a dynamic, and a dynamic I engage into with someone specific, someone special. I can then choose to be submissive to them, or to be their submissive. It is a matter of level. That is as submissive as I would get, which does not mean that I do not then crave to be completely submissive. In this regard, “submissive”, to me, means “she who is surrendering everything to a special someone” (which I have been doing for over a year now, to a, indeed, very special someone). That is not an end, but an on-going, never-ending process. That “everything” is not “bulk-surrendered”, but is given/taken gradually, bits by bits, and over and over again, for the benefit of the one who dominates me (I like to believe that my “benefit” is collateral). That sounds pretty serious, doesn’t it? It is, but that is also exciting, exulting and very, very arousing to be aware and reminded that you have put and are putting yourself in someone else’s hands and that there is no going back within that relationship. That moment of realisation is what I crave.

BOTTOM: Bottoming is an option. I may not submit to everybody (and, really, I submit to only one), but bottoming, sometimes, does the trick for me. It is not a matter of degree or intensity, with submitting implying a greater dedication than bottoming, but a matter of quality: one can submit more or less, bottom more or less, but the two experiences, to me, are distinct if compatible. When I bottom to someone, I am in a different state of mind than when I submit. Yes, it is also a matter of putting oneself between someone elses’s hands, but bottoming, to me, is more on the physical side. However, I cannot help it: I always need to know that the person I bottom to is pleased with what is happening and that it is not only “all about me”.

TOP: Yes, I do top. It is something I discovered after I lived some of my bottoming/submission fantasies first. I do not think I could have topped at the very beginning, with all the cravings I had inside. Those had to be fulfilled before I could look around. Nor do I think I could only top only all the time, as something would be missing from my life, but, at the same time, the first minute of the first time I topped, I realised how gratifying (read: exciting, arousing…) that could be (before, I did not get what tops got from doing what they did). What I like in topping is the intense concentration, the extreme focus on the here and now that provides me. It almost feels like painting, except that the brush is a flogger or cane, the canvas is flesh, and the colour is pain or, at least, sensation.

MASOCHIST: Most likely.

SADIST: Probably.

SWITCH: Maybe.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

Find the complete set of questions here.

At the event Spring Fling (Malmenage du printemps), I will be facilitating a workshop called « To Weep, To Sigh, Perchance to Beam: The Role of Pain in BDSM Scenes » (see details on their website). Here is the description:

To Weep, To Sigh, Perchance To Beam
The Role of Pain in BDSM Scenes

Pain is a natural sensory or emotional response to unpleasant or potentially harmful situations. As animals, we are wired to avoid pain at all costs in order to stay alive and healthy. However, some of us human beings seek pain or, at least, pursue activities where pain is part of the game–activities such as those included in BDSM but also ranging from extreme sports to self-mutilation. There are those who simply accept pain as necessary evil, as a means to access fulfilling states. For some, pain is part of a regular play diet; for others, pain is the occasional name of the game. This workshop is for those who want to reflect about pain in all its expressions, within play or within a relationship. We will discuss the mechanisms of pain, from the initial response to the unbearable, with a strong emphasis on the multiple ways, means and motivations to processing pain within oneself or someone else—or not. This seminar is appropriate for all levels, from novice to extreme players.

(Version française.)

Dans le cadre de l’événement Malmenage du printemps (Spring Fling), je vais donner un atelier intitulé «Souffrir, fléchir, s’envoler peut-être: Le rôle de la douleur dans les scènes BDSM» (voir la description sur le site de l’événement). En voici la description:

Souffrir, fléchir, s’envoler peut-être
Le rôle de la douleur dans les scènes BDSM

La douleur est une réponse naturelle des sens et des émotions à une situation déplaisante ou potentiellement dommageable. En tant qu’animaux, nous sommes programmés pour éviter la douleur à tout prix afin de demeurer en vie et en santé. Cependant, certaines, certains d’entre nous êtres humains recherchons la douleur ou, du moins, nous livrons a des activités où la douleur fait partie des règles du jeu – des pratiques telles que celles qui sont associées au BDSM, mais aussi d’autres activités allant des sports extrêmes à l’automutilation. Il arrive qu’on accepte la douleur comme un mal nécessaire, comme un moyen d’accéder à un état d’esprit gratifiant. Pour les unes, les uns, la douleur fait partie d’un mode de jeu équilibré; pour d’autres, elle est une pratique occasionnelle. Cet atelier est destiné à celles et ceux qui souhaitent s’interroger sur la douleur et ses multiples expressions, au sein du jeu ou comme élément d’une relation. Nous discuterons des mécanismes de la douleur, depuis la première réaction jusqu’à l’insoutenable, en mettant l’accent sur les multiples façons, moyens et raisons de gérer la douleur à l’intérieur de soi ou chez l’autre – ou non. Ce séminaire s’adresse à des participantes et participants de divers niveaux, des plus novices aux plus extrêmes.

(English version.)

Je viens de mettre en ligne une suite de mon roman bdsm Un emploi d’été.

Vous trouverez ici le chapitre 2: « Un bel objet ».

Bonne lecture!

Three years in a row I had been at that kinky event, and three years in a row I had contemplated it. I had seen it being carries around the room, depending on the needs of the other participants, I had seen other alluring queer women come in and out of it, I had seen people have sex on it or around it, be spanked, paddled and caned over it, sucking the whole spectrum of cocks through its bars. I had even watched a scene in which a woman had her long thick hair tied to it. Oh, and that extended scene where another woman has been peacefully lying in it almost all night long under the auspice of her sadistically benevolent top. I had been around the room myself, flogged on the table, whipped on the cross, fucked on a rug, and, a couple of times, I had been seen crawling on the floor, on the other end or not of a leather leash, but I had never been put in the cage.

I had looked at it closely and I knew its every details. It was not your regular dog cage, the foldable kind that you can conceal when you have guests coming. This was a dungeon, and the cage felt real, stable, impossible to fold and hide, resolute, definite, extremely appealing. Really, more than a cage, it was a small cell, with strong vertical bars on all sides including the door, and more bars on the top. The particularly attentive maker had even thought of putting a padded purple lining so the little pet or bad girl or slave locked in it could enjoy some comfort. I liked its cold bars and the metallic clunk of its door when it was being shut closed. I craved to be behind… within those bars, on the other side of that heavy door.

So, when my owner asked me what I was fantasising for the play party, I did not miss a beat and immediately replied: “The cage.” The other details did not matter much to me as long as they revolved around the cage. If I remember well, she just smiled and nodded.

So here I was, waiting by the cage. I had run to it the minute it had become available, because in that crowded space I did not want to miss my turn. Now I was waiting for them to come back. Them both, I mean, my owner and my girlfriend who, in this particular world I live in, are not the same woman. They would be two to cage me tonight, and I would watch two sets of feet walking around the cage when lying in it. Provided I did, because I was aware that I had no power over what would happen next. I could just hope that my plea had been heard.

I had expected my two torturers to beat around the bush, so to speak, that is, to leave me unbeaten around the cage for a while. But I guess they both knew how much I craved it, or maybe they craved to see me in it, for the minute they were back, standing next to the cage, with me standing in front of them in my shiny fetish outfit, they told me… to get undress. Or my owner told me and my girlfriend nodded in agreement. To take off my fishnet shirt, to remove my leather chest harness, to let go of the black kilt, to lower my black panties and pass them over my boots. Those I was to keep. And then, without further ado beside putting a bit in my mouth and buckling it behind my head, oh, and putting a collar around my neck, they ordered me on my knees and told me to crawl into the cage.

The cage was small but could accommodate my whole body. Standing on my hands and knees, I had my head touching one end when the door closed on my feet. But suddenly, it was like the whole world was obliterated, muffled by the bars of the cage. I felt as comfortable as I my moves were restricted, and as I was aware that they could, at any moment, slide their arms and feet and toys through the bars and that there would be nothing I could do to escape their caresses or their strokes. I was theirs, in the space of that cage more than anywhere else. Their drooling captive little thing to use, to beat, to fondle, and to neglect if they so felt inclined. And all along the way I trusted them to use, beat, fondle and even leave me waiting me just the way I needed it which is always my owner’s ways. I could only moan and make indistinct sounds because of the bit that was gagging me.

Everything, from the cage, felt blurred, but I have flashes of vivid memories. I remember a flogger, through the bars of the cage, that I received on my back, on my ass, both soft and harsh strokes, both leather caresses and bites that made me moan and wiggle and scream and want to move away from the pain—but of course there was no way out and I knew I had to send my body back towards the lashes. I recall a foot in the cage, my owner’s, under my lips, that I kissed and licked and would have kissed and licked forever, my nostrils close to the leathery smell of her boot, my drooling mouth making it wet. I have various memories of hands on me with no possibility for me to evade then—had I wished to. And between the fondling and the whipping and the beating and the more tender caresses, I could feel their kissing and fondling each other outside of the cage, and I had thoughts and images of the two of them fucking over my head, coming in my face as I was lying helpless in the cage.

Eventually, I was told to get out of the cage. When they spread my blanket on the padded lining of the cage, I knew what might be coming. Why would they bother to protect the furniture if that was not against the messy slut they were toying with… Or maybe their juices would drip all over me in the cage? My brain stopped spinning again when they sent me back in the cage on my back.

Being in that new position made me feel even more vulnerable. I was lying on the floor, in the bottom of a cage, with my owner and my girlfriend looking down on me, and they could have walked on me and I could not have escaped. She, my owner, walked on me. She slid a foot between two bars and pressed her boot on my face and on my chest, making my head light under the pain. She stuck a cock in my mouth after taking the bit off. I could watch the two of them kiss and being closed to each other as I lied on the floor. Soon they were sitting on the cage, my girlfriend was pressing her body against my owner’s—in that special world where my girlfriend can top my owner. Then flogging her, flogging me too with each stroke. The leashes were brushing against my bare pussy, sending waves of desires through my body, but all I could do was remain there, helplessly and desperately moving my pelvis back and forth to sooth away the desire and, in fact, only nurturing it.

And then, when I thought I would die of unfulfilled cravings, my owner directed her attention to my cunt. She did not insert her fingers or her hands, she did not use a dildo. No, from outside of the cage, she slid a condom on a stick, her holly pagan walking stick, and shoved the covered end in my cunt. Up to the hilt. And I welcomed it, opening my legs even wider, with my feet on the bars to offer full access to my wet pussy that was and is always hers.

And then commenced the long process of playing with my cunt with the stick, filling it wide and deep, and teasing it with its wooden volume. And all that time, they were kissing and fondling each other, only minding my exposed body to fuck me deeper and deeper, almost matter-of-factly. Also hitting the stick, which sent waves into my cunt, arousing it even more. And suddenly, while I had forgotten almost completely about the crowded space since I had entered the cage, I was suddenly aware of the people around, of all those leatherdykes who could witness what was happening to me, what turned me on. I was there, on my back, with my cunt in the air, being fucked like a—what? A slut? A whore? A dirty bitch that is craving to be filled with anything that comes handy. With the stick inserted between the bars of the cage, which my owner was thrusting in and out of my cunt, bringing me to the verge of coming. And I lied there, whimpering, begging softly to be allowed to come, overwhelmed by the sensations in the midst of my body, contained by the cage. And when I finally heard my owner granting me permission, I came hard with my juice oozing from the tiny interstice between the wood of the stick and the walls of my cunt, and oozing even more when the stick came out of my hole before diving back.

I came for a long time, in pulsing, constant gushes, making the blanket wet and pungent with my fluids. Even when I was ordered out of the cage, still on the blanket, I came holding my owner’s leg with mines, my pussy rubbing against her shin, feeling more than ever like her bitch in heat, shameless. Only because I am also a reasonable girl and knew she had to leave did I stop coming.

I was left in good hands, in the arms of my sweet girlfriend, who held in her hand the collar that, at some point, I did not remember when, had been removed from my neck. On the couch I sat with her, for a long time, my thoughts still a bit foggy, still sighting the now empty cage from the corner of my eyes, wondering when I would have a chance to go back between its bars.