But I can’t say that I’m terribly enamored of her topic choice for this particular Kink of the Week. Sorry Jade . . .
Instead of maschalagnia, why not merinthophilia 1 instead?
I could talk about rope and bondage forever.
But armpits? Not so much. Armpits are a ticklish subject!
I’m committed to tackling my kink of the week, every week, but this is not an easy one for me. There’s just not much there . . .
Do you find yourself sexually attracted to armpits?
Not really. I love a woman’s body, all of it, but armpit’s aren’t a big deal for me. I enjoy tickling, and that can include armpits.
Is it the smell? Is it the sight of them?
I’m not the kind of people that’s offended by a fellow human that’s not freshly bathed. I was an athlete. With that said, I love a soft freshly bathed body, so it’s not like armpit smell is an aphrodisiac.
Looking at armpits doesn’t do a whole lot for me. I just flashed my bare armpit at Serafina and asked if she got all hot and bothered at the sight. She giggled . . . Not so much for her either I guess.
What about hair? Do you prefer shaved?
Vive la différence I say! I don’t shave mine. Serafina shaves hers.
She plucks her pussy though, maybe I should make her pluck her armpits too . . .
Jade, I’d like to thank you for this thought provoking subject . . .
Have you ever done sexual acts that involve the armpits?
The answer is no. I thought really hard, trying to remember tickling a girl’s armpits while we fucked. I still had nothing.
Do you worship them?
Really? Really? Nah, I don’t think so . . .
Maybe you don’t like armpits at all?
I’m not anti-armpit. It’s not that I dislike the humble armpit, I bear them no ill will. They just aren’t my thing.
I guess, if I learned to properly torture armpits (I have used clothespins there once or twice, now that I think of it) I might appreciate them more. Ya, that’s the sadist talking . . .
Let’s talk about pits!
I already gave about all there is. <calls to slave with wicked new torture! you are going to love this one more than being tied up and having your pussy plucked with pliers!>
When I saw the topic for this week’s Kink of the Week, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t BDSM.
I know, shocking isn’t it?
Instead the prompt almost immediately brought to mind a couple of lines from a classic 1970’s movie called Silver Streak. The comedy stared Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor1. Essentially, it’s the story of a man who suffers a series of misadventures surrounding a murder plot while travelling cross country on a train called the Silver Streak.
In one of the movie’s scenes, Wilder’s character has been thrown off the train, and in order to get back to the train, he must help Rita2 finish her farm chores before she will help him get back to the train.
George Caldwell: I’ve never milked a cow before.
Rita: Cut the gas, Steve, you’re a grown man. I’m sure you’ve had some similar experience.
~ Silver Streak (1976)
Then after arriving back on the train, he encounters Ned Beatty’s sex obsessed character, Bob Sweet.
Bob Sweet: What were you doing back there? Getting a little ass?
George Caldwell: No, I was squeezing tits!
~ Silver Streak (1976)
You’ll have to excuse me. I could have sworn the joke’s punchline was “pinching tits”, hence the title of the post. I suppose that’s not the worst fopah I could make. And, it’s rather understandable that I’d get a detail like that wrong. The last time I saw the movie was probably 30 years ago . . .
I don’t want to get too far off track with the movie references. The point of the post isn’t to become some sort of kinky IMBd. I was just doing a bit of “free association” with the word pinching, and that movie’s jokes were the first thing that came to mind.
Hopefully the old jokes serve as an adequate and unique introduction to a brief discussion on pinching (and squeezing) breasts3.
Yes, there are other body parts to pinch and squeeze. Grabbing a woman’s ass is second to “pinching tits”, but it’s a relatively distance second place. I mean, everybody loves boobies4, right?
Nipple play is a passion for me. If a woman’s body were a web browser, nipple play would be my home page.
And I do like to play with sensations of all kinds, and not just on beautiful breasts. The pinching sensation is a big one in the sensation player’s arsenal, no doubt about that. I have a box with 250 clothespins in it, and that’s just what get’s taken on trips to the Kinky Kabin!
What are your thoughts on pinching – good, bad, indifferent? Something you do a lot, a little, occasionally?
Daily! At least in terms of nipple play with Serafina, some pinching is a daily activity. Early on in our relationship I told her that I’d keep her nipples extraordinarily sensitive all the time. And I am, after all, a man of my word. it’s take some work and “training”, but now when I apply the right pressure during our lovemaking, it will trigger an orgasm for my sweet slave.
Are there places that you get pinched that send you to the moon, or through the roof? Certain body parts that are okay to pinch and others that are not?
I’ve been known to make a woman orgasm by pinching her clit, so there are no body parts that are off limits for pinching. But, of them all, pinching tits is by far the best!
What kinds of pinching do you like? Sharp, needle-like ones or big hand grabs, or something in between? Are there times that one kind of pinching is okay, or one place to be pinched, and others when it is not?
Variety is truly the spice of life! I employ a variety of techniques, a variety of pinches on my partners. Everything from big boobie mash squeezes to tiny little fingernail bites on nipples, and all points in between.
Does it make a difference if it’s a hand pinching, or pinchy toys, like clothespins or clamps?
I’m a hands on kinda guy, no tool will ever match the subtlety of sensation I can create with my fingers. With that said, I love my toys. I’ve already mentioned the plethora of pins I take to the Kinky Kabin. Clamps and clothepins free my fingers up to wander and do other mischief.
If you have piercings, do you like having those played with so that they pinch, or do you have a partner with whom you like to play this way?
My own left nipple is pierced, I had it done based on a promise by a former submissive of mine who said she’d get her nipples pierced, but only if I had one of mine done. After I fulfilled my end of the bargain, she reneged on her half of the bargain. I don’t know that it creates better sensations than the un-pierced nipple. I like to have them both played with.
When we first met, Serafina vowed to have her nipples pierced for me. I’ve never had it done, because piercings can limit some forms of play, especially while they heal. That’s not to say it won’t happen tomorrow, I think that I’d just need to be caught in the right mood at this point.
If you are the Top, do you employ pinching for pain or punishment, or because it elicits sexual pleasure?
I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again (and again) – Variety is truly the spice of life! I love pinching nipples to elicit pleasure. It’s really fucking hot to spend an hour tormenting a bound victim’s breasts, to discover that without touching her anywhere else, she’s become wet, nearly to her knees.
I also love to apply enough pressure to make my “victim” wince, perhaps make those knees buckle. Oh yes . . . No doubt that the sadist in me loves pinching tits!
Edging is a form of orgasm control sometimes practiced as a part of a BDSM scene, or relationship, where an individual is brought to the verge of having an orgasm, only to have the stimulation withdrawn, the potential orgasm delayed/denied. Usually, that cycle of excitement and denial is repeated again and again before the scene is concluded. The way most people play this particular game, it’s the dominant’s prerogative to determine when (or if) the submissive is allowed to orgasm.
Orgasm control is a broader term, it includes edging, tease and denial, as well as a variety of other techniques. It’s ultimate expression is when a submissive has been trained to orgasm on command, usually with a keyword or signal acting as the trigger to cum.
Edging and orgasm control are an important part of the Master/slave dynamic between Serafina and I. I control all of her orgasms. It’s been more than a decade since Serafina has cum without first asking my permission. I expect, that as long as we are together, it will remain that way. And, why wouldn’t it? It’s a very fulfilling “game”1 for us to play together.
A lot of dominants choose orgasm control as a way of expressing their dominance, their mastery over their submissive. I suppose that psychology does exist as a part of the dynamic between Serafina and myself, but that’s not how it started for us. Believe it or not, my control of Serafina’s orgasms started inside the context of Tantra.
I started by teaching Serafina to “hold” her orgasms. The idea was to help her learn to sit right on the edge of orgasm, to extend that delightful moment just before cumming as long as possible. In Tantric terms it’s called “riding the waves of bliss”, and it’s actually part of where my former submissive got her name.
I’ve been controlling my submissive’s orgasms far longer than I’ve known Serafina. It’s been a regular part of my play since 1990. BlissfulTorment, my prior wife and submissive, was very well trained in this sort of play, but she never became as advanced as Serafina has grown to be.
Serafina has learned to ride that edge almost indefinitely. She’s learned to beg for the privilege. And, I must say, she does beg beautifully.
Serafina’s multi-orgasmic. She’s capable of cumming again and again and again, we’ve counted more than 30 orgasms in a single session. Eventually she reaches a point where they never quite quit, the orgasms ebbing and flowing like a river, but never quite stopping. Of course she only gets to that point when I allow it.
With a woman like Serafina, it might seem cruel to deny her even the slightest bit of pleasure. She’s a beautiful slave, she serves me well, and she’s an incredibly sexual being (underneath a calm surface that might appear to be more like your school librarian – prim and proper.) Why not let her cum and cum and cum? Why deny her pleasure?
I guess the simple answer to that is, “Because I can!”
I have that power, and I do enjoy using it. There are times where I tell her that I’m going to use her like a whore, that it’s not about her pleasure, it’s about mine. At those points in time, I’ve trained her to think one thing, and one thing only.
“It’s all about the cock, Sir!” she says to me.
But, if I even start counting backwards, her demeanor changes. She can sense her trigger coming. The need inside her grows. If my countdown reaches “1” she cums, it’s involuntary at that point. If I stop at 2, it’s just more edging and orgasms control, pure and simple.
We’ve got more than our share, and then a few more still.
There’s always a story that goes along with my posts, and today is no different.
Not too long ago, I decided to go on a quest. Now, it should be said that quests are funny things. They aren’t meant to be simple tasks. No, not at all.
Quests are meant to be mythic endeavors, perhaps in actuality not truly unattainable, or seemingly not. I mean, isn’t the the point of a quest? To prove the impossible can be done?
So I set myself to take on a quest. It’s not an ordinary quest by any means, but it is one nevertheless . . .
What was my quest you ask?
I set out to find the “perfect” dildo.
stalking the perfect prick
OK, so let me say up front that there is no such thing as a universal version of the “perfect” dildo. I know that, and anyone who has experience with more than one partner knows too. The perfect prick is a very subjective creature.
And, for the record, we are talking Goldilocks and the Three Bears kind of different. What’s just right for one might be absolutely horrid for another. So, my quest was a little more personal, find the perfect prick for Serafina. Complicating things is the fact that she swears the perfect prick is mine . . . Hey, I’m not going to let a little detail like that get in the way! I’m on a quest after all, no time for details . . .
Of course, I do know that I’m fencing windmills. Some quests are like that, you know . . .
So here, without further ado my dear friends and readers, are the results of the quest – so far . . .
is the perfect prick silicone?
Some believe that the perfect prick is made of silicone, so I began to explore those realms first . . . .
the realm of tantus
I brought back a number of examples from the Realm of Tantus. My questing was very productive there.
I think the very best are the dual density dildos, but I’m not the one who needs to be impressed . . .
I did find wider variety there than just that specialized medium. I mean, the prefect prick could come in a number of sizes and densities . . . Right?
bad dragons (mostly)
One thing I had to consider, the prefect prick might not be human in shape . . .
Wanting to leave no stone unturned, I had to explore the Realm of Bad Dragons . . .
maybe cold steel?
Some swear the perfect prick is made from cold hard steel.
So, my quest took me to the Realm of N-Joy.
perhaps it could it be glass?
Others say that the mythical “perfect prick” is made from glass. So, I made my way to the Realms of Glass . . .
The diversity found in those realms was amazing!
the quest continues
In the end though, none of the candidates I’ve found so far could be said to be perfect. Perhaps, it is as some tales have foretold, that my dream truly is the impossible dream.
I may not have yet found the perfect candidate. So my quest must go on, I must return to stalking the perfect prick.
“Oh my beloved Serafina,” I call, “Will you hold my scepter until I return?”
Perhaps it doesn’t have the same impact as saying “Oh, Fiddle!” as I’ve quoted my wife saying in a post for Sinful Sunday. And, I’m not saying my phrase should have that sort of effect either.
I’m just little bit frustrated.
It seems as though pigtails are a topic that’s designed to frustrate me. Pigtails are one thing Serafina thinks she might wish to deny me.
Now let’s be honest, Serafina’s a slave. She’s my slave. That’s the kind of relationship we have.
So, I really can’t be denied something I really want.
So I ask myself, do I really want pigtails that badly?
“You really want pigtails?”
A couple of weeks back, I had a dream about Serafina in pigtails, as a young girl. At least it seemed like a dream. I don’t think I’ve seen any yellowed pics from her youth with Serafina in pigtails. Maybe I have? I guess I’ll need to ask . . .
Regardless of the motivation, whether dream or reality, for a moment I thought it would be cute to have Serafina grow out her hair, and put it in pigtails. More than anything it was a whim, not much more. With that said, I’m the kind of guy who’s used to his whims becoming reality without much more effort than expressing them. Yes, my Serafina really is that good.
Well, most of the time. Every now and then, I hit a point of resistance. It’s not common, but it does occasionally happen. When I mentioned the possibility, my slave said to me, “You really want pigtails?” It wasn’t as much a question, as much a as it was a statement of disbelief.
I’ve found that when that sort of thing happens, a bit of patience goes a long way. When we first met, Serafina thought that sucking cock was a most uncivilized, unsanitary, and un-lady like thing to do. As we speak she’s putting together a collection of pictures of herself sucking cock. She’s come a long way.
Well, my dear friends and readers, I had to stop in the middle of writing this essay to talk to my slave. I said this is a time for patience, and it’s like my words were prescient.
Serafina had to wear her hair in pigtails when she was a girl. She hated it. She hated her mom for making her wear pigtails.
I was informed that pigtails look stupid. That she looked stupid in pigtails. And, that if I wanted to put her in pigtails, it would be because I wanted her to look stupid. Like I said, it’s a time for patience.
We all have “triggers” – things that we cannot abide. Undoubtedly, I have my share. I’m sure you do too. Serafina cannot abide the thought of being made to look stupid. We are a pretty good match in that, I prize intelligence. To my eye, the mind is by far our largest sex organ. If a submissive can stimulate my mind, the rest will follow . . .
So, it appears that pigtails are a trigger for my slave. Should I choose to enforce them upon Serafina, it will be traumatic. Perhaps for us both.
I’d like to see Serafina in pigtails again, but I do understand it would be an ordeal. So, I ask myself, do I really want pigtails that badly?
Well . . . Not for now . . . Serafina can breathe a little bit easier.
This week’s Kink of the Week is a difficult topic for me. Not that laughter is anything foreign to House of Samadhi, not at all. It’s simply because laughter was the prompt for the past week’s Sinful Sunday. So my most obvious pictures, as well as thoughts on laughter in the dungeon, were posted just this last Sunday. Twice. The Laughing Scene was my SinfulSunday entry here, and while service = satisfaction (for all) was posted at SpiritualBDSM.com. Thankfully, I’ve got a good number of pictures in the vault, so I still have one of my favorite pictures to share today. But still, it’s a challenge to write again on the same topic so soon..
I’ve mentioned our friends Dee and Gatekeeper before, they are a wonderful couple we’ve known for some time. We get together when family, work, and other necessary obligations don’t get in the way. Technically, I’m their BDSM mentor, but those lines got blurred long ago. Nowadays the relationship is some sort of hybrid between mentorship, play partners, and just damn good friends.
It’s hard to explain. In fact, we’ll be meeting soon to discuss where we are at, and where we all want to go from here. Coincidentally, that chat fits in pretty well with the theme of the workshop on communications Serafina and I attended this last weekend. Isn’t it funny how the Universe tends to deliver the message we need to hear? And, just when we need them too?
Part of the time we spend together is serious, intended to be educational. When we first met, Gatekeeper and Dee had only just discovered BDSM, almost by accident. Upon our first meeting in person, I agreed to try and help them along their journey. The relationship has grown from there into this beautiful undefinable friendship. It’s hard to put to words, it just works. One of these days when I put together a “cast of characters” of our family and friends I’ll try and explain it better, but that’s not the purpose of today’s post.
The real point is the joy, the pleasure, and the laughter that our play together brings to our lives. And, ya know, that’s true for all of our close friendships in this community. We play together, but we laugh together too.
When Serafina is warming up puppet for his Mistress Lady Jennifer, he often giggles the entire time. That’s how puppet reacts to a number of different stimuli, he laughs and giggles. We laughed with Dragonmoon when she came to visit, not to mention turning her sweet ass red. We laugh with Kenn and DarkKitty when they visit our dungeon too. And, we laugh too when our friend Alpha comes to visit, he’s a wonderful man, who is my closest friend (outside of Serafina, of course.) And, despite the ups and downs I’ve had in my friendship with Lexxi Derrière, we always manage to laugh when together too.
I’m serious about BDSM, I take my responsibilities to my slave very seriously, as I take my responsibilities to my friends as well. But, if you can’t take time for laughter, you can’t take time to really live. When I take myself so seriously that I can’t laugh at myself, Michael becomes a pretty dull and monochromatic character.
Without laughter my life is like a black and white picture. It’s joyous laughter that gives everything color.
Tell me what fills you with laughter, what makes you giggle, why you need laughter in your kink.
I need laughter along with my kink for balance. I like to play in the area between pleasure and pain, pushing sensations one direction then the other. It’s a razor’s edge of balance, and staying on thar edge takes huge amounts of concentration. Without some occasional comic relief, I’m afraid that maintaining that level of concentration would become a burden rather than a joy.
Tell me what makes it hot, or what makes you giggle. Tell me why it makes you hot – or makes you snort with laughter.
Laughter doesn’t make me “hot”. It’s a part of the play, but not the part of play that makes a guy’s pants feel too tight. At least that how I look at it.
Tell me why it makes you hot – or makes you snort with laughter.
I probably laugh the hardest around my friend Lady Jennifer. She’s an absolute hoot. Oh, now don’t get me wrong, she’s also a nasty sadist. But, she’s the kind of sadist that can spout a comedy routine while wielding a cane. I wonder, when we are done, if I don’t hurt as badly as the masochist, because I do literally laugh until it hurts, and then laugh some more.
Tell me a time when it wasn’t supposed to be funny…but was.
My most memorable scene that wasn’t supposed to be funny, but turned into a laugh fest, was way back in the early 1990’s. At that point in time, I was enjoying using goth music for scenes. I very much liked the mood it set. The dark and heavily echoed music seemed more than appropriate for helping to create a dungeon setting. So, I put together a “mix tape” of goth, taking care to select the music carefully, building from slower paced songs up to a driving crescendo. It was all choreographed to go along with the rhythm of the scene I’d planned.
I had two submissive ladies under my control that evening. My ex, BlissfulTorment was the first. Our former lover and decade long playmate who was introduced at SpiritualBDSM.com as “Cherub” was the second. I remember starting the music I’d prepared for the evening, and then going about the business of tying up my two girls. Things were going smashingly, I was really feeling my power, and soaking in the girl’s submission. It was like a picture of the perfect scene I’d imagined.
Then the song changed. The new song’s buildup was an echoed spoken voice intro, full of dark overtones. I thought it was a great way to heighten the suspense of the scene as it got started. Just when the voice coming over the stereo invoking the name “Nosferatu”, my two bound beauties looked at each other, got the silliest grins on their faces, and broke out in uproarious laughter. Not just giggles, it quickly turned to belly laughs.
Apparently, the seriousness of it all was a bit too much. As a 50 year old dominant, as I am now, I’d probably join the laughter, then continue the scene. I wasn’t quite capable of that 23 years ago. Looking back on the scene I smile, but at the time I was devastated. The giggles acted like a safeword, I was done. I think at that point I went and took a bath, telling the girls they could untie themselves, thank you very much.
I’ve learned a lot since 1991. Most of all, not to take myself so seriously. I had to learn to laugh in the dungeon, it wasn’t a natural thing for me. It’s good to learn and grow, and it’s good to laugh too.
Some submissives find rope bondage comforting. I’ve heard it described as feeling like a warm and tight embrace.
Others (like my Serafina) love the feel of leather cuffs, and feel much the same way about restraints made from buttery soft cowhide. My slave finds the feel of her leather restraints very much comforting. She often wears them around the clock except for when showering or doing dishes. After some time wearing them, Serafina says she feels naked without the leather restraints.
The psychology of metal restraint is entirely different though, it seems. While I have known a submissive (or two) who enjoys handcuffs and steel shackles, I’ve never heard them described as being of any comfort.
Steel is inherently unyielding. And, until warmed by the body, steel is usually quite cold on the skin. The physical sensations are unique to this particular form of restraint.
Then there’s the weight. Steel shackles (as well as some models of traditionally styled handcuffs) are weighty. While a slave like Serafina might forget she’s wearing leather restraints, nobody ever forgets the weight around their wrists when wearing my Clejuso Heavyweight Handcuffs. Likely the heaviest weight handcuff manufactured today, they weigh in at 47.7 ounces, or roughly three pounds!
Steel comes with special aural pleasures as well. There’s nothing like the distinctive snick of a button-release spring-blade-knife snapping open. Because the distinctive sound is associated with intense mind and body play, the sound can make my slave shudder, and cause goosebumps. Handcuffs come with their own distinctive metal on metal sound, the clicking of a metal ratchet as the cuffs are closed.
Metal rattles when worn too. So, while it’s not totally unknown for Serafina to wear her leather wrist cuffs under her winter coat while running errands like grabbing our mail, that’s just not going to happen with steel restraints. Not only do they make distinctive noises, there’s also that heavy chain connecting everything together.
Handcuffs are not generally appropriate with jeans, or an evening gown. Unless, that is, you find yourself in a dungeon (or police station.) Apparently, there are circumstances where handcuffs go with everything!
Why are handcuffs such an ubiquitous symbol of BDSM iconography?
For a symbol to raise to the status of becoming a cultural icon, it must be ubiquitous. Handcuffs are exactly that! While a vanilla inclined person might not recognize some of my more exotic toys for what they are, everybody knows handcuffs.
I think it’s primarily because handcuffs are such potent imagery for captivity. We are raised on police dramas where handcuffs are used in a matter of fact fashion in nearly every arrest. So, as a result of their common use and high visibility, the use of handcuffs is easily the most familiar form of restraint most folks have seen.
It’s also worth noting that handcuffs are commonly one of the earliest sex toys adventurous couples add to their toy-chest. They aren’t necessarily the best choice for neophytes, but because handcuffs are are such a commonly seen method of restraint, they end up being purchased by default. I know lots of folks who don’t consider themselves to be kinky but have a set of handcuffs in the top drawer of their nightstand.
Do you play with them?
Yes, of course, I play with handcuffs. Metal restraints have some special qualities I enjoy using from time to time. I’d characterize my use of handcuffs as being somewhat infrequent, rope and leather restraint are still more common. My favorite handcuffs are the Clejuso Model 15 Heavyweight Handcuffs that I mentioned earlier.
What do you like about them?
I’ve already mentioned the special feel and sound of handcuffs. The other thing to like about handcuffs is that they can be put on a struggling victim much more quickly and easily than rope or leather restraints.
How do they make you feel, either as a Top or a bottom?
This is a great question! I’ve spent plenty of time pondering the effect of metal restraint on a submissive, but I’d never before thought much about the effect handcuffs have on me.
In a scene where handcuffs are used, I’m always a bit more on guard, and I’m certainly more aware. That’s because I know that metal restraints are truly unforgiving. A struggling victim full of endorphins could potentially cause ligament or joint damage to themselves. So I watch carefully. I do also enjoy the inescapable nature of handcuffs, as once I’ve locked a pair on a sub, I know she’s not going to slide out of them.
Is play with them part of a larger roleplaying scene, or are they just another implement in your kink arsenal?
When I read this question, I found myself nodding my head up and down in agreement with both. So, it’s a situation of using the word “and” instead of “or”.
I like using handcuffs in the context of role playing. Almost entirely on their own, they can give a sense of being under the control of law enforcement. Because handcuffs are relatively easy to put in place, they are great for abduction, captivity, and other similar scenarios where a struggling victim is part of the play.
And . . .
My perspective really is that handcuffs are just another implement in a Master’s arsenal of tricks. Overall, I’m far more prone to using rope or leather restraint. I get out handcuffs when I’ve got a specific purpose in mind.
When it’s all said and done, whether they are used for a specific role-play scenario, or whether it’s one of the unique qualities that metal restraints offer, handcuffs and steel shackles are an essential part of my kinky toy bag. It’s quite likely a pair will (if they haven’t already) someday play a role in your own explorations of the joy of kink.
cold steel shackles
Today’s post is in response to a prompt from Kink of Week. Click on the icon to find out who else is discussing handcuffs this week.
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.
While this essay is part of an upcoming series of posts I’m writing about “Whips and BDSM”, it’s also very much on theme for this week’s Kink of the Week (KOTW) topic – Pony Play. While I’ve assigned the post to the Kink of the Week category, as well as the Tools and Technique category, it can really only be a part of a single series, there it will remain part of the collection of essays on whips.
While I’m sure there are enterprising minds out there who could imagine a multitude of different uses for a holly whip than equestrian eroticism / pony play, that’s really the only place I can envision their use. With this particular essay already completed, Jade’s decision to give us Pony Play as the KOTW simply pushed the publication of this essay forward, a few weeks ahead of it’s intended schedule.
I hope that despite being shoehorned into two categories, the piece will have appeal to both equine enthusiasts and whip aficionados alike.
what the heck is a holly whip?
The holly whip, (or holly stick as it’s also called) is a less commonly used disciplinary instrument only occasionally found in the BDSM parlor (or dungeon). While not as famous or well-known as their cousin, the classic rattan “English Cane” or “School Master s Cane”; holly whips do have their aficionados. The holly whip isn’t a whip for cracking. It’s nothing like a signal whip designed for directing and spurring on dogsled teams with noise. It’s certainly no bullwhip either. It’s not going to flay anyone’s flesh.
Holly whips are actually a variant of what some folks would call a “driving whip”, which has its own sub-set of regional and colloquial names. Growing up, I always called this sort of tool a buggy whip – in other words – a whip meant for use with a horse and buggy. Perhaps that’s not a perfect technical term, but it was all I knew growing up.
Most horse riders never use any sort of crop or “whip” when actually riding horseback, they guide the horse with pressure from their legs and knees. That changes, however, when driving a horse-drawn carriage of most any sort. When driving a buggy or carriage, the driving whip (holly whip) then takes the place of a rider’s legs. The holly whip is used as an extension of the driver’s arm, by giving nudges and taps, the holly whip is used to give the horse a proper sense of desired speed and direction. Having a holly whip (or other similar buggy whip) is considered an absolute essential for anyone driving a carriage.
At one point, before the age of the automobile, a holly whip was a very common tool, available in most any household with a horse and buggy. So, it’s no great surprise that they found their way into use whipping people too, that’s just human nature. Like the riding crop, the holly whip is another “classic” BDSM implement who’s use has carried over from the equestrian era. The riding crops use has really been turned on it’s head too, as I’d wager that the majority of riding crops sold at saddlery shops never see the slightest bit of horseflesh. I doubt that’s true for “hollies” as they are called by some. But, it’s also true that, for the right individual, a holly whip can have a special role in exploring the joy of kink.
Here’s a basic description of whips of this sort from Judy Newbert of Newbert Equine Enterprises in Alberta, Canada, excerpted from a PDF she authored – The Whip As An Aid In Driving.
Whips all have some common characteristics; they include a stick (the rigid straight part), a lash (flexible string, leather, or nylon) and a handle. In the old days, whips were made of holly, bamboo, braided leather, whalebone, and goose quills. A traditional holly whip has a holly stick with a leather and brass (or silver or gold) handle and a goose quill in the end of the stick covered with a braided leather lash of the appropriate length. There are a few companies in Europe, which even today continue to make traditional holly driving whips. Holly whips are expensive ($350 US and up) and somewhat fragile but they are considered the ultimate traditional whip.
it’s just a stick with a thong?
The “stick” part of a holly whips is constructed from the woody stem of the Holly plant. By nature, each of the holly stems is different, and their manufacture is a relatively slow process. It’s still done individually, in “old world” style, by artisans. To the uninformed, the finished product may look very much like little more than a fancy varnished stick. At their essence, that’s pretty much what they are.
With that said, holly whips really are considered to be the “ultimate” by their aficionados. I’m not sure that I can understand that perfectly well from my own limited perspective. While I occasionally rode a neighbors horse while growing up, I’ve never driven a horse drawn buggy or carriage. What I can understand, however, is a deep appreciation for real craftsmanship. And there’s no denying that the very best holly whips are beautifully and painstakingly finished. To some eyes, they are very much considered to be works of art.
That I can understand, and I do suppose they could be considered to be something similar to folk art. Antique holly whips, undoubtedly aged to the point they are too fragile for use, can sell for significant sums at auctions in England. And, in my own explorations of the topic, I found that Judy Newbert’s estimate of $350 as a starting point for one to be rather conservative. Holly whips offered for sale by Driving Essentials Inc of New Holland, Pennsylvania (but crafted in Germany) are available in lengths from 130 cm to 170 cm in length, at prices from $475 to $550. The measurement is for the length of the stick, whatever the length of leather thong on the end, it’s a separate measurement.
The different lengths are designed for different horse types and teams. It just makes sense that a single pony holly whip would be shorter than a single horse whip, with holly whips for teams being longer still. So, quite obviously, no matter how finely crafted and finished, a thin wooden stem four or five feet long with a leather thong attached at it’s end isn’t going to be the most sturdy of objects. So what happens when your really expensive stick breaks?
breaking a holly whip
The breaking of hollies is a constant source of annoyance, more so perhaps to the manufacturer who only gets grumbled at than to the saddler who can charge for the repair. An unsound stick may occasionally escape detection, but the amount of trying that the sticks get during dressing and thronging is so considerable that very few rotten or weak sticks can get passed, the only defect that is likely to get missed is what is called an “open knot” that is one going very deep into the wood and such may occasionally overlooked, as the whip may be smacked in every direction but one and stand it all right, but if smacked in that one direction, the knot may open, and the stick will break.
It is really astonishing how often, according to the user’s account, the stick broke “the first time I smacked it.” It will be found more often than not, when holly sticks are brought back broken, that the end of the thong is squeezed and grease-marked, shewing that it has been caught round the wheel or axle; or that the thong is scored and marked where it is quilled up, showing that it has been against the top of the coach-house door or into some low hanging boughs in a lane, rather than that there was any real fault in the stick itself. We know that the saddler very frequently dare not point out such factors, but he may remind a customer that the top of a holly whip is not as thick as a lead pencil, and consequently, although it will stand fair, it will not stand rough, usage. ~~ excerpted from Whips and Whip Making by W.G. Ashford, Birmingham England 1893
I suppose the quote is just as much about human nature as it is about breaking whips. “It broke the first time I used it,” has to rate right up with, “The dog ate my homework,” as self-serving phrases uttered to avoid responsibility for one’s own actions. As a dominant, I can’t complain really. I have benefited from this quirk of human nature on more than one occasion in the past. You see, for some, the act of submission is simply another way to avoid feeling responsible for the nasty things they dream of having done to them. When a scene is over and they are flying on endorphins, there’s a built in excuse for them too . . .
“Master made me do it!” Yes I did. But, I didn’t eat your homework. And, I didn’t break your holly stick!
holly whips and BDSM
Obviously then, holly whips aren’t an element commonly found in your average run-of-the-mill dungeon. It’s not likely, except in very unique circles, that you’d ever see a holly whip at a play party. Instead, a holly whip is a very specialized equestrian tool that can be, with appropriate care and caution, adapted for light BDSM play. In the hands of a serious sadist, it’s not likely to be of great use. But for equestrian role play, a nice holly whip could be the “ultimate” – the unique look of every stick has great potential fetish value. I’d imagine that a beautifully finished holly whip could be the perfect compliment for a House of Gord style pony cart rider.