Belasarius

Why I can’t do non-BDSM relationships

She moans that she has “Noooooooo privacy” – and that she has no rights. And she maintains that I am as owned as she. Secretly (ok – not so secretly now) I agree. I am captivated by my captive.

Here are some thoughts, connected only by theme:

The other night we had a long conversation about why my non-BDSM marriage was not as successful or satisfying to me (though it lasted longer) than my previous M/s relationship. First, I think my marriage was a mistake held together by children (who are not, never were and never shall be any sort of error – they are loved without limits and I am completely content to accept my responsibility for them). Then, I think my M/s relationship was happy because I never had any doubt that she was less than completely focussed on me – or I on her. When that changed, it failed.

Then we were going out to a posh frock do. She brought several with her, for her to choose. She didn’t: I did. Then, she dithered over “stockings or legs”. I chose legs. On the way to the supper we discussed this. She agreed she was used to parading options and asking DMBLBIT, etc – and that being told what she will wear, and being confident that I do it because I think she looks fantastic, was an immense relief. But – it would not have been if she thought I had other than her best interests at heart. Dressing her for dogging or munching is, of course, quite different. Oh, and she buys my ties…

I am bullying her incessantly about losing weight on her tummy – and she is obdurate in insisting I get to the dentist. Neither of us resents the other in doing this – we are taking responsibility for the other’s welfare.

She knows I want her to be the best she can be for me – and that I define what that means. She stretches to meet my standards and delights in pleasing me, because she knows she is cared for and need never worry about being put in a position that she resents – because I concentrate on knowing her.

I feel great. So, I think, does she.

Who wants non-BDSM? Not I.

Originally posted to “Informed Consent”, 30 June 2009.

Also see:

Making our relationship work

Hard to write this one. It came in response to this thread on “Informed Consent and at the request of some of the posters

Here’s what I said:

“Okay, here goes. I am not going to go into the ins and outs of c_b’s marriage – that’s their affair. I will try to look at the concepts of ownership and possesion in these circumstances.

The first thing to say is that both he and I love her and that she loves us. The love isn’t apportioned. We both get all of it, just as a parent does with children.

If the love did not exist, then what has happened to the three of us would not be possible.

Ok, the O&P thing.

First it took time – roughly three years between our first meeting and her declaring herself to be a possession. Even when we dedicated ourselves on black pudding day we still agreed she was not possessed (no exorcist cracks please).

Next, our dynamic (which is distinct but inseparable from our love) has evolved slowly. She determines what is included in it (she gives informed consent) and I determine all that happens within the dynamic, she has no veto.

Our dynamic has always been based on the fact that once something has been agreed her submission, in that area, is total. I believe this is important to her feeling of posession.

Now, the fact is I have had a long term O&P relationship before and she has a deep need to submit (not just to have scene time with a Dom – she has tried that and it did not compute). Her husband could not do this for her and she was as driven and as unhappy as I was (My problem was I was without someone to take responsibility for).

Please understand that our life together has real depth. it is a sharing.

Getting to that has had its challenges but I have, to all intents and purposes, half her life and we live it as any couple would do, except that we do it entirely within our D/s dynamic.

And, we do our damndest to be different. I take responsibility, I decide and I adore: She serves and is the best she can be, for me.

Spending time apart means we don’t need time off. This helps the feeling of possesion too. In fact, it feels more intense than my previous fulltime O&P relationship (and I know about intensity).

So, I don’t own her, but when she is with me I possess her. And (you are getting no more details) there are some areas of her life I own, just as there are things that belong in her other life but impact on our life together.

Her life with her husband involves no submission and no aspects of ownership and possession.

Then, our relationship is highly ritualised. It is probably never less than medium protocol at any time. This makes it entirely different from life in her other home and because she is so obviously a possession when she is with me it has become true for us.

What has emerged is one wonderful woman with two lives, lived with energy and dedication.

And two happy men (mostly – there will always be challenges).

Best to all.”

Originally posted to “Informed Consent”, 15 June 2010.

Also see:

My Kinda Submission

I’ve a particular view, which I bang on about regularly, about what submission means to me, and my girl.

I build up a head of steam on this so often that I thought I’d blog.

We love each other and we set this relationship in the framework of a D/s dynamic.

She shares her life with me and with her husband (a non-D/s setting).
Her submission is mine alone (and we are generally fairly medium-to-high protocol when we are together – made easier, we think, by the fact we spend half our lives apart).

We regard ourselves as equal in value but opposite in orientation and consider our roles to be to focus on the other person in the manner which that half of the D/s orientation demands.

So, I try to take responsibility for her and she aims to serve me.

We have hard limits, but within those I act at will and she does not ask for anything she might desire. I provide it, or not, at my discretion.

What we do when we play is my choice, not hers.

This feels real to us.

Recently, we’ve had the opportunity to play with someone and I proposed that, when the playmate is with us for play she should not ask for anything nor be expected to take any decisions about what might be done to her (within her limits). So far this has worked and this feels real too.

Originally from Informed Consent, 16 December 2011

The Marketplace – by Laura Antoniou

“To be thrilled at the touch of leather, aroused by the sound of harsh words, or satisfied by the security of rigid bondage is the mark of a lover.

“To be thrilled at the opportunity to provide useful service, aroused by a pleased nod, and satisfied by the proverbial job well done, is the mark of a slave.

“It may sound severe. Almost anti-erotic. Until you see two people, owner and owned, existing in a complementary relationship where each suits the other like balances on a delicate scale. Until you feel the energy of their rapport, you cannot understand how they fulfil each other, take and give in ways no negotiation could possibly express.”

From “The Marketplace” by Laura Antoniou

This means much to me. I don’t use the word slave of my partner, but I do understand there are those who use it and for whom it is real.

But, this expresses, very closely, for me, the difference between a primarily erotic BDSM relationship and one based on service and responsibility.

I respond to the balance of owner and owned.

I should also emphasise that my thinking does not encompass inequality in the way some do – I think of my partner and myself as equal but opposite.

Wikipedia on the Marketplace Series
Marketplace Universe Wiki
Publishers’ page
Author’s page
Author’s Wikipedia
Author on Twitter @LAntoniou

Originally posted in “Informed Consent, 28 May 2012

Hooray for Activists (belasarius.com)

Definitions – BDSM Punishment

This is the latest of my proposed definitions of BDSM terms.

My aim is to create debate and, if possible (it may not be) to get consensus on what these terms mean to most people. Why? Because I think it helps us communicate effectively and it helps people new to the scene to understand what we mean.

So, what is BDSM Punishment?

I think that we often do the same things in BDSM but with different motivations. Certainly there are times when I confine, restrain or hurt my partner just for our mutual enjoyment. But, there are also times when I do more or less the same things to her but because there has been an issue between us and, in our dynamic, the issue has to be resolved (at least partly) by punishment that reinforces our roles in the relationship.

If the crime is small, then it can be a swift and sometimes tongue-in-cheek response: If it’s an issue between us then it is the fitting culmination of the process of dispute resolution. But it always feels completely different from the things we do to make each other feel great – even if they are the same things…

So, here is my first stab at a definition:

BDSM Punishment is the use of any BDSM practice but not for the mutual pleasure of both parties. BDSM partners use BDSM punishment to reinforce their dynamic and their roles in the relationship.

Other BDSM Definitions
The BDSM Ritual (mlbk7.wordpress.com)

Waxing her fou-fou

Last night I waxed her fou-fou. Not for the removal of hair – she’s quite well disciplined in matters depilatory – but for my pleasure. Mind you, when it comes to hair I think this experience has probably taught her to pay more attention to those that grow in the folds around her cunt.

“I’m going to wax your fanny” I said. “OK” quoth she, and shuffled off to pop on her wrist and ankle cuffs and her collar.

I spread a blue tarpaulin on the sofa and the floor (wax gets everywhere) and lit two candles. I use Spa’s cheapest – after many years I find them the best – not only the lowest melting temperature but also when it cools the wax is quite brittle – making it ideal to peel away, mould-like, if one wants a memento (and I did), but also by far the easiest to brush off carpets and furniture. It also clings like a limpet to hairs, as she was to find out.

Low temperature candles are good for accuracy too – you can hold them quite close to the victim without the screams becoming unendurable.

She positioned herself , thrusting outwards and stretching everything for me as I attached my longest spreader bar between her ankles and a second, slightly shorter, to her collar and then her wrists. At first I fastened it behind her neck but she whinged and I relented, re-fastening it in front. After all, it was not my purpose that she should not be comfy – just that she should not be capable of interfering.

She closed her eyes. I dribbled a little wax on the inside of her thigh. She seethed. I let the dribble move closer until a steady two or three drips per second (these Spa candles burn fast – another advantage in my book) was dripping onto the top of her business end and dribbling down a little further before it solidified, creamy white. At this point she was roaring and I was ignoring it.

For twenty minutes or so I dribbled the pool of first one candle, then it’s twin, onto my darling’s lotus until the whole thing was covered by a carapace of wax, around 5mm thick. We’d used more than half of both candles.

I took pains to make sure I did not just create another layer, but always covered some fresh flesh too: we didn’t want the bellowing to stop, did we?

But, I could see her becoming more uncomfortable (more from the bondage than the wax) than I desired, so I let her blow out the tormenting flames and released her legs and arms. And took a gentle finger to lady jane. She moaned – but quite differently to the angry hippo bellows drawn from her by streams of hot wax.

“Is that nice?” I asked. Fervent nods. Sighs through half-parted lips. “would you like to try?”. “Yesssss”.

She took three fingers and began to rub the wax back to a state of warm translucency. I gently bent away two of the fingers, reminding her that this was a spectator sport and not for her satisfaction, and let her carry on for just a little while.

Then we started to strip the wax. Most came away in a single chunk – a sort of plug (I think, someday, she may be taken out in this condition: It would amuse me greatly). And I got my memento – the wax cap clasping her clitty came away easily and now resides in my treasure box, along with two nipple moulds from an earlier session.

Some of the bits running along each side of her slit refused to budge though, caught on unshaved hairs. I volunteered to deal with them and just pulled hard (and fast – most unsubtle). The bellows were the evening’s best.

We cuddled, we talked. She obviously wanted to play with her clitty again. “Was it strange? I asked, “when it was covered with wax”.

“Uh-huh: It didn’t feel like it was me doing it, not quite – it felt like we’d been separated. It was good. Different – but good”.

“Would you like to do it again?”. Vehement nods. “Now?” “Mmm – err, yes” she said, quietly and unsure whether she’d be allowed the privilege. I re-lit a candle.

Originally posted on Informed Consent, May 09.

First night; an exhibitionist’s tale

I took her home. I told her to make ready.

It was her desire, her fantasy. But she would not have done it except for me: she needed to know she was pleasing me.

She wore her reddest lipstick and almost her reddest nails, her red, lacy, bra and panties and beautiful sheer black stockings, her scarlet heels and covered herself up with her black macintosh. Before we left I insisted she wear her ankle and wrist cuffs. What colour? Red of course.

She walked proudly to the car – but I knew she was nervous, terribly nervous. She wasn’t the only one. She had smudged her nails readying herself – but I was taking wrong turnings to the destination, 20 minutes away, where we had promised to meet our first audience.

I kept glancing at the tom-tom and gave her a countdown. “Just 9 minutes to go” I said. “I think I am going to vomit”, she replied.

She was breathing heavily. I squeezed her hand.

We drew into the appointed place. At first I could just see one white van – but then, further down, Other dark shapes lurked.

We parked between them, switched off. I kissed her, held her for a moment and asked if she still wanted to please me this way. She looked terribly scared but nodded, tight lipped. “Sure?” , I said. She nodded again.

I told her to take her mac off and asked if she were ready. She pulled a black mask from a pocket and tied it around her eyes. “Your public awaits” I said and switched on the interior lights.

She changed, in an instant – and, as the car doors slammed around us, I saw my showgirl grin.

She lay back on the reclined seat as I asked her to play with herself. I told her she had four, maybe five observers, all watching eagerly, attentively, quietly.

I told her to take her bra off and hold up her breasts for her viewers. She did better – one by one, she pulled her titties up to her moth and bit and sucked her nipples til they were, I think, harder than I’d ever seen them before.

I told her to turn over and kneel – to push her arse in the air and pull her panties tight over her cheeks. She knew she was being naughty, so I spanked her. Not hard, because this was good naughty – but hard enough to produce an attractive wiggle.

Now it was time to reveal all – I asked her to remove her panties and to show everyone her freshly shaved and sopping pussy.

She was really into it by now and I knew she’d do anything I asked, without disturbing her showgirl smile.

I told her to raise her legs onto the dashboard to give everyone a clearer view. She did so, eagerly, and slammed a heel into the wheel, setting off the horn. Our audience took a step back – and she started to laugh, almost hysterically. Within a moment the guys outside realised we hadn’t wanted to scare anyone off and gathered around again. They took a pace back again when I started the engine – our windows had got rather steamed up and the air conditioning rapidly cleared them.

By the time our public could see her clearly again she had taken the silver dildo from the glove compartment and was sucking it suggestively in true porn-star style.

She lowered it and pushed it into her dripping fanny, smiling eagerly. I asked her to use her fingers and had to instruct her to spread herself properly and use just one red talon to rub, so as not to obscure people’s view.

She knew what she was there for, to show herself off for others’ pleasure, and she obliged, touching herself slowly and sensously, with much pouting and wriggling.

I was so proud of her.

I turned her over again and invaded her anus wih my finger. She moaned and sighed and then bucked hard into my fist: She was enjoying herself: “My turn” I said. She knew what to do.

I reclined my seat, unzipped my fly and pulled my penis out. She covered it instantly with her clever mouth and sucked and licked. I was ready and took only a moment. She held it all and licked me clean.

Then she sat up, holding my semen in her mouth and smiling, closed-lipped. She straightened, looked – for the first time – at the guys outside and then back at me. I assented: She gulped and swallowed – just like she does at home. I kissed her.

“Time to switch the lights off?”. She nodded.

Perfection

I posted this as a thread on Informed Consent on 12 February 08. C_b was just a twinkle in the eye.

I thought it defined aspects of what I saw then as submissive perfection so closely that it was worth putting here: C_B has brought her own brand of perfection, but refleting much of what I thought i wanted too.

Perfection: a dangerous subject: first because it doesn’t exist and secondly, because writing about it might make some think that one won’t settle for anything other. Finally, because a post like this (seriously but lightheartedly meant) is likely to attract comments that range from the witty to the sarcastic. Still, my shoulders are broad.

I am risking the post, however, because I think a person’s vision of perfection at least gives other people an idea of how the author’s mind works – and that may be useful.

So, here’s my vision of subly perfection – I’ve thought about it and I suspect I’m about to expose myself as the stereotypical male Dom. Here goes:

She’s proud of herself and likes to make me proud of her too – she strives to excel in all aspects of her life and service.

She knows her limits but wants to be eased (sometimes cajoled) beyond them

She desires her limits and wants rules and rituals to reinforce them

She expects respect – and shows respect

She sees her submission as part of all of her life and not just a sub set of it

She gains my attention through her behaviour – but never asks for my attention

She revels in praise, but accepts that punishment is a vital part of dispute resolution

She wants me to want to show her off – and her dress, grooming, deportment and behaviour reflect this at all times

She expects to be protected and adored and is not afraid to expose her vulnerabilities (to me) to achieve this

She expects to support and nourish me – and thus I am unafraid to expose my vulnerabilities, when I feel them

She appreciates formality and can associate it with intimacy, not aloofness

She has strongly held views and expects to express them, in a respectful context.

The maturity to accept there will be differences and the attitude and desire to overcome them (an addition courtesy of BearofTwo)

She delights in delivering her curtsey.

If Betty Page and Audrey Hepburn had had a daughter together – she’d be her

Disappointment vs anger: rite of passage

What’s worse? Doing something stupid & thoughtless and making him angry? or doing something stupid and thoughtless & hearing THAT tone in his voice: you have failed to meet the standards he expects and he is disappointed.

The punishment is swift and not hugely severe – but every stroke feels like a hundred and the tears are not from the pain but from the fear.

Fear that he will decide that I am not worth working at, not worth the effort: after all, why should

he bother if I am not prepared to make a proper contribution to the dynamic? Why should he persist, if his requirements are over-ridden?

And suddenly it becomes real – rules are rules, and infringements will have consequences.

And it’s a rite of passage, that tiny yet monstrous step into the the D/s unknown that accepts the first rule. That he has been given, and will take, the right to decide what is important. Talk the talk, even write down the rules – but if it is to mean anything, it must also be real.

I don’t learn easily at times, but I think I have learned this lesson the hard way today.

From my Informed Consent blog. March ’08

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