I not only enjoy photography, I also enjoy playing with photographs . . .
By that, I mean I like to use image editors, illustrators, and the occasional Photoshop technique to turn my photography into something more akin to artist’s renditions. I’ve always been better at using pen and ink to create imagery with words, rather than to try my hand at illustrating the visions that manifest themselves in my mind.
To be very honest, my best artwork was mixed media starscapes, imagining the chaos near the center of a galaxy. The handful that I created we made under black light with paint, markers, and crayons (yes crayons) that glowed under a black light. Shredded glowing crayon is an interesting media to work with, everyone should try it once.
But I digress . . .
That’s the way my art was made back in the age before computers.
Digital photography, along with the wide variety of image editors available, has allowed me to become a bit different kind of artist. It’s nothing serious, just something I play with.
In the end, that’s all my previous attempts at artistic creation were anyway. Just something I played with from time to time.
Back at the start of the 28 Days of Serafina, I decided to attach one of my artistic impressions to each post as a feature image. Occasionally, I included the artwork in a posts photo gallery, but often I did not.
So it seems fitting, as a final part of this series, and as an homage to my wonderful partner/wife/submissive/slave to have a mosaic gallery of the different artistic impressions that accompanied the posts of this series. The “Art of Slavery”.
And, to conclude my writing for this series, I’d like to simply include a short heartfelt note.
When I look back, it’s a marvel that we ever became a couple. Yet, at the same time, it all seems preordained, like it was completely inevitable.
From the first day we met, it seems I’ve loved you with all my heart. You compassion, poise, and grace impressed me long before we ever actually met. I think I knew it was real before we even made it home from the airport. We went thought so much the first few years together, it seems as though the reality we share today is our reward. We certainly don’t have everything we could ever want, but there’s no doubt in my mind we already have everything we’ll ever need – each other.
You are everything to me, everything I could have hoped for in a partner and wife, and far more than I’d ever dared dream as my playmate. You are the one I will always come home to. In fact you are my home, it’s simply a shelter over our heads, because my home is in your heart.
I love you, and don’t be surprised if someday there’s a bit more than just 28 days of Serafina – next time I do this it’ll be 365!
Today is the 27th day of my 28 day tribute to my wonderful slave (and wife) Serafina.
To be honest, I’ve probably got another solid month or two of great photos in my archives. Photography is a favorite hobby of mine, especially since I purchased a Nikon D7000 a couple of years ago, my first digital SLR.
Between the slave and I, we’ve shot 7000 images over a 2 year period. Although they all aren’t sexy, the vast majority are of the erotic variety.
And, I could probably wax poetic about her for at least a few more weeks. Serafina is a wonderful erotic slave, she’s really grown into the role.
But, I fear that I’m getting a bit repetitive. What more can I really say that I haven’t already?
I guess I could tell you that she’ll literally bend over backwards to please!
Lost and alone on some forgotten highway
Traveled by many, remembered by few
Lookin’ for somethin’ that I can believe in
Lookin’ for somethin’ that I’d like to do with my life
There’s nothin’ behind me and nothin’ that ties me
To somethin’ that might have been true yesterday
Tomorrow is open, right now it seems to be more
Than enough to just be here today
And I don’t know what the future is holdin’ in store
I don’t know where I’m goin’, I’m not sure where I’ve been
There’s a spirit that guides me, a light that shines for me
My life is worth the livin’, I don’t need to see the end
I’m sure that everyone who’s been following along with my February Photo Fest entries knows by now that I dote on my slave.
Serafina truly spoils me, that I cannot deny. I rule the roost, and she empowers it all with her service. So, to my eye, it’s only right that she’s spoiled in return.
One way I spoil her is with corsets. The running joke, started by my friend Alpha, is that I’ll only stop buying corsets when my slave/wife has a different one for every day of the month.
In my defense, I’m only a little over a third of the way there. A quick accounting of Serafina’s wardrobe found a baker’s dozen, thirteen corsets in all.
I also indulge her in her training and play. As Serafina was transitioning from being my submissive to being my slave, I brought in my friend Alpha to lend a hand in her training. Alpha is a true gentleman dominant, as well as being a great friend.
Yes, he’s an invaluable aid in her training, but to be honest she’s already a very good slave. She’s grown and learned so much over the last couple of years, it’s sometimes hard to say where she can still realistically improve.
So, if for no other reason than the fact that we enjoy inviting Alpha to be an accomplice in my plans for Serafina, he’s a regular guest in our adventures. What are good friends for, right?
I’d like to add that the pose in today’s feature photo isn’t posed at all. The downward cast of her eyes, the hands clasped behind her back, that’s not something she puts on for show, it’s just classic Serafina. The picture’s a candid shot.
The coy/demure smile my slave flashes in the gallery (left) is classic Serafina too. What can I say? My wife’s a corset cutie!
There’s no denying the power of feeding a bound submissive. I like to think of it as “feeding submission”, it’s a very powerful and primal activity.
Perhaps that’s because food, nourishment, isn’t a luxury. It’s not a lifestyle choice. Food is an essential.
So, playing with food (and feeding a submissive) can be very heady stuff. Not to mention that sensual food play, in and of itself, can be a very joyous activity on it’s own.
People identify kink and BDSM with a lot of things. We have been known as the “whips ‘n’ chains” crowd to some.
To others still we are the unspeakable, the unwelcome, and the unwanted. Back in the 1980’s I was known as “the guy who had ropes attached to his waterbed”around the restaurant where I worked in my late teens and early twenties.
Once we were associated with the Story of O and the Marquis deSade. Now days it seems we’re inescapably associated with the cultural phenomena of 50 Shades of Grey and mommy porn.
But rarely does the mainstream, what some might call the vanilla world, realize that when D/s is well done, it can become a beautiful erotic dance. That also seems to me to be a wonderful analogy for hand feeding submission.
I know submissive individuals of both sexes who struggle with truly giving their submission.
Now don’t misunderstand, they very much crave the sensations and play that a dominant can provide. They very much want what an experienced Master such as myself can give. But, they seem (at least at times) to forget that D/s is about an actual exchange of power. They seem to forget that to give them the scene that they desire, it is going to take a significant expenditure of energy on my part.
And, I’m not talking just the effort I put into it, because to me power exchange is really about an exchange of energy between the submissive and myself. The rope, restraint, whip, blindfold, and gag are just props. Crawling on her knees to me is an nice action, but it’s not actual submission. There are actions and tools to facilitate the exchange, but the exchange itself is a much deeper. Individuals observing my scenes may pick up technical hints and techniques they can apply in their own scenes, but the energy exchange isn’t quite so obviously apparent.
Of all the people I’ve played with in my life, Serafina understands this best. She has truly given herself to me, mind, body and soul. Everyday I feel the gift of her submission, I feel the energy she so freely gives. She gives joyous submission, without reservation. She is light to my darkness, she is the yang that balances my yin.
How do you show that to an individual who’s being mentored? It took years for Serafina and I to get to this point, it’s not a path that can be wandered down causally. If you want what we share, it’s going to take work, it’s going to take real effort. I’m not talking effort for a day, a week, or even a month. I’m talking years.
And, it doesn’t happen without allowing vulnerability. Serafina’s heart is in my hands. One moment of callous disregard could bring everything crushing down. With everything she gives to me, it’s absolutely essential that I protect and nurture my slave, as her gifts come from a place of very real vulnerability. Serafina cannot give me joyous submission without reservation if I don’t create the conditions where that gift can be given safely. I can’t truly give her the gift of my dominance without the very real exchange of power, the exchange that can be so difficult for some.
How do I describe that for an individual I’m mentoring? How do I show all of that in a picture?
Excluding rope, my very first BDSM toy purchase was a riding crop. I’m not going to be shy in telling you that I bought my first riding crop something more than 25 years ago. I know it ages me pretty strongly, but so does the grey in my beard.
More than my share of more standard sex toys like dildos and vibrators came home, and then went away, over that quarter of a century. I’m tempted to say that legions of dildos and vibes have come and gone, but that’d probably be at least a minor exaggeration. Still, I’ve gone through more than my share.
Funny thing is, I still have the riding crop. I still use it too. From one perspective, I could claim it’s been my most valuable BDSM toy. As I’ve already pointed out, it’s by far my longest lived impact toy. And, if I remember correctly, it cost me something like $10. That’s not a bad price for a toy. Thinking like a business, figuring it’s initial cost out against it’s current 25 year lifespan, the riding crop cost me one-tenth of a penny per day that I’ve owned it. For all the fun it’s created, I can’t think of anything even close to being such a bargain.
That 25 year old riding crop was in a scene in 1991 that helped shape the course of who I am today. It was a a scene where I realized who I truly am, and what really drives me.
What drives me isn’t money, because money’s only good to buy things. It’s not the people who were in that fateful scene either. One’s now an ex-wife, BlissfulTorment, she was my submissive for 15 years. It’s been 5 years since I’ve seen or talked to that one, obviously she’s no longer relevant. The other lady in that night’s fateful scene is still a friend, we still even use the word “love” to sign our correspondence, despite the fact that it’s been more than a decade since we last spoke in person. I even anticipate that she’ll be joining us here at Joy of Kink as an additional author and reviewer. Great friend, wonderful woman, we exchange wonderful emails two or three times a week, but hardly a driving force in my life these days.
No it was more than the people I was with that night. The revelation was like a coming home. It was about me, and me alone. That one night, with that crop in my hands, I knew who I was.
My friend and I double teamed my ex-wife that night. We spanked Bliss, slapping her ass with our hands. We whipped her with a short flogger made from latigo leather. We used a leather strap, a hairbrush, a wooden ruler, and, we beat her butt with a riding crop. Of them all, the riding crop was the best. The scene lasted for hours. It was, without a doubt, the strongest working over I’ve ever given an ass before this last year. The color of Blissy’s butt was incredible that night. Her ass actually reminded me of a bed of coals, glowing red and radiating heat.
It was over the glow of that fire we lit in her ass that night, that I had my revelations.
I am a dominant.
I am a sadist.
I struggled with those terms for the longest time. White male dominance and white male privilege were things to be fought against, not embraced. I was a political activist fighting for equality, justice, and democracy. And while BDSM has little or nothing to do with justice, from a male dominant perspective, it’s certainly the polar opposite of democracy and equality.
I rule the roost in my home. When she addresses me, my slave calls me “Sir” or “Master” in the most respectful tone. She addresses me as Sir even especially when we are alone. I direct Serafina’s actions in all ways and control her sexuality as if it belongs to me. I choose her clothing, order her food when we eat out, and at the end of the night, I tell Serafina when to cum too. She wouldn’t even dream of having an orgasm without my permission.
It was standing there with a riding crop in my hands, over the lady lifeguard and personal trainer who was bound to my ottoman. It was striking her with that crop, hearing her grunt and groan, but also feeling her get wetter and wetter. It was the heat, the glow, the power . . . the passion, the desire, and the power (again) that seduced me. I actually fell in love with who I was that night. For perhaps the first time in my life, I actually was ready to embrace the whole man.
I wasn’t striking her ass because I was a son trying to please his parents. Quite the opposite. I wasn’t striking her ass because it was one of my pet political causes. It was (once again) the opposite of what was expected of me. And it was fucking glorious! It was real, it was right, and it was me!
I can’t say I’ve never struggled again with being a sadist since that time, that would be untrue. There are times, still to this day, where I wonder why I need this outlet, why I have to be the admittedly difficult man that I am. I only know the good Lord made me this way for a reason. If it’s hard for some folks to embrace a sadist, hard to understand why they have the need to hurt others, imagine what it’s like to have the need yourself . . .
This is my riding crop reminisce for today, and for posterity (not to mention posteriors!) It was only with a riding crop in my hand that I learned to embrace who I am, to love the sadist at my core.
riding crop reminisce
Today’s riding crop reminisce is in response to a prompt from Kink of Week. Click on the icon to find out who’s discussing riding crops this week.
Traditionally, the term cabin fever referred to the restless, irritable, and claustrophobic feeling one gets after being stuck indoors for an extended period of time. Here in the upper mid-west, severe winters can cause a person to feel cabin fever by mid January. It’s been one of those kinds of winters this year, and we’re now well beyond mid January, it’s the 22nd day of February.
Our misery this year has been exacerbated by a winter of sinus infections, colds, and flu bugs. Sadly, we even had to cancel an outing to see some kinky lifestyle friends tonight, we’re just feeling too ill. As much as it would have been good to get away, I don’t want to pass along the crud that’s getting me down. I just can’t visit our misery on others.
So, cabin fever is in full force, in our home, and in the homes of many others in our region who find themselves stuck inside. But, while the standard form of cabin fever is certainly relevant, I’m really talking about Kinky Kabin fever! That means it’s getting to be time to plan our next Kinky Kabin outing.
I already mentioned our remote and rustic getaway in last week’s Sinful Sunday post1 Without electricity or even water, the Kinky Kabin is quite rustic indeed. Remote is a relative term in Iowa, it’s relatively hard to find anywhere that’s not within a couple miles of a neighbor’s farmhouse. With that said, the Kinky Kabin isn’t accessed by vehicle, it’s about a mile hike from the nearest road.
It’s a “pack-it-in” and “pack-it-out” sort of facility. We have even purchased a special hand cart to push/pull along with our gear, so we don’t have to make multiple trips with backpacks just carry our bedding, food, and water. Of course, the ulterior motive for the handcart wasn’t so much the case of bottled water we invariably consume over an extended weekend, it was really purchased so I could carry more of my bondage and BDSM gear out for our Kinky Kabin escapades.
The cabin is 30 feet long and something like 20 feet wide, so it gives us over 600 square feet of playspace (less the area taken by a couple of bunk beds and a picnic table.) The brightest white gas lantern we could find provides illumination at night. Although it casts harsh shadows, the lantern provides just enough light for my trusty NikonD7000 to focus and shoot inside after dark. What more could a kinky photography junkie ask for?
The last time we visited the Kinky Kabin was over the Thanksgiving holiday weekend. It was a truly memorable occasion that included an interrogation scene and a plastic wrap mummification. It also featured two different women getting their clothes cut off via my friend Alpha’s machete. Great memories were made, oh what fun it was!
So, now I’ve set the dates for our return to the Kinky Kabin in March. Let’s let cabin fever melt away and Kinky Kabin Fever begin! There’s so much to look forward to, that a quick look back seems in order. Today’s images of Serafina at the Kinky Kabin are from our visit there in October 2013.
There are a great number of things that make my Serafina special and unique. You know, when I stop to think about it, I believe that’s probably true of every woman (and man too for that matter.) We’re all unique, and worthy of special appreciation. Still, there are qualities about Serafina’s history that make her more than just a little bit unique.
For instance, my sweet slave/wife was raised in a Mennonite household. If you aren’t familiar with that particular religious sect, I can best describe them for you as being similar to the Amish, but with slightly more modern clothes. Oh, I should add that while many Amish eschew the used of automobiles, Mennonites use modern transportation without any religious concern. I’m told that those two particular religions are so closely related that the Mennonites consider the Amish to be religious brethren who’ve simply gotten a little carried away in their observances.
Growing up, Serafina often felt like an outcast or outsider. Part of the issue was her attire. While being more modern than the Amish, her clothing still set her apart from other children. She was required to wear long skirts in an era when most girls were wearing pants to school. She hated it! She also had to wear drab colors in an era when everyone else was exploring tie-dies and other colorful expressions of personality. Needless to say, Serafina didn’t enjoy that either.
Ironic isn’t it then, that she finds herself in the clutches of a man who controls her attire, and normally requires her to wear skirts or dresses. (I do love irony, in case you hadn’t noticed!)
I make occasional exceptions. When the temperature gets into negative numbers, I’ll have her wear pants to keep those sweet creamy legs warm. Legs that are chapped and dry from exposure to the elemental forces of a mid-western winters day don’t feel as nearly as nice wrapped around me as legs that haven’t been exposed . She may also wear pants when working in the garden. Once again, the exception is to protect her sweet pale flesh for my enjoyment. I’ve allowed Serafina to wear pants when we go for hikes in the woods too, with similar thinking to the gardening exception. I know she could do those tasks wearing a dress, but I would rather have efficiency than strict adherence to some artificial norm I’ve set. Ultimately, I’m a practical man.
There is one additional exception to my protocols vis–à–vis Serafina’s attire. This one’s not a nod to practicality either. There are occasions where I prefer for Serafina to dress in fetish attire, like the PVC catsuit featured in today’s images. I very much enjoy the look of fetish wear. I have an adorable submissive who belongs to me. Why not dress her up?
My slave/wife is always beautiful, but Serafina’s especially alluring to me in fetish wear like her shiny black PVC catsuit.