Losing Nurse Susan

As suggested, I sometimes glom onto certain segments, subsets of D/s interaction, and immerse myself. But the underlying themes are always the relinquishment of control and the thrill of the resulting humiliation.

Yet, one underlying/recurring theme is medical interplay, and probably results from experiences as a toddler. (See October 13 post).

Years ago I responded to a woman who advertised in New York magazine. ‘Nurse/role play’ if I recall the ad which grasped my attention. Her name was Susan and she was a real nurse doing ‘role play’ as a side. I called and arranged an appointment. She had a separate apartment for her part time activity (I believe in the same building where she lived). It was a 30 minute drive and with the first appointment I was pleasantly surprised to find a massage table and other medical sundries. The abode was immaculate which augured well in presenting the atmosphere of a clinically clean environment.

Whereas I never ‘script’ scenes, I offered her a few suggestions while arranging the appointment. But after arriving, once in the door she took over from there. When mentally entering ‘sub space’ I do not step out, the control element being sacrosanct in my mind.

There is always something that thrills in being completely naked with a fully clothed woman, and Nurse Susan’s white uniform certainly augmented my sense of submission. Susan was quiet yet demanding. ‘Firm’ is the term I most like to use. I have always felt that a woman in true control does not need to raise her voice, use foul language or be nasty. ‘Insouciant’ is a good term. ‘Aloof’ another.

As a noted football coach once admonished one of his scoring players after an animated touch down dance... ‘when you do get to the end zone, act like you’ve been there before’. And so I feel the same when ceding control to a superior woman. If she is in fact in control, there needs to be no outlandish demonstration or verbal excoriation. Calm, cool, stern, unfazed, nonchalant concerning discomfort, imperturbable, that’s my preferred ambiance.

And that was Susan, a professional nurse with (in retrospect I hope) a penchant which so nicely complemented mine. Blonde, blue eyed, tall, shapely, she reigned.

The typical scene...

- stripping under her watchful eye
- a well supervised shower, her softly spoken directions assuring all intimate parts were scrubbed, instructing such that my soaped hands brought myself to erection
- signaling me to turn and rinse, I could feel her gaze
- hands on head, obediently standing while she dried me, inspecting every inch of my flesh (erection included)
- a supervised walk from the bathroom to the examination room and table
- more examination, palpating everywhere
- shaving of the pubes (defoliating the genitals for extreme exposure, I like the governing aspect) most professionally working around my erection, like it was not standing in humble compliance (she’d ‘been to the end zone before’)
- a testicle examination with blunt, questions concerning my masturbation habits
- a command to turn over, rise and kneel on all fours
- a prostate exam, the gentle grip of her hand warmly grasping my scrotum while the fingers of her right penetrated and indeed examined
- a ‘clinical’ hand job, no dirty words, silent stroking, the quiet, assured mechanics adding to the scene, medically depleting me of semen while kneeling on all fours, offering a sense that I was a cow being milked

Yes, Susan fulfilled my dream medical scenario. She rarely spoke, no distracting verbal diversion in allowing my fantasies to mentally amplify a most controlling (and humiliating) scene. Stern as noted. Professional. Pleasant to look at. Totally in charge.

I do not know how many times I visited her. One day I called to make an appointment and left a message. She did not return the call and when I tried again the very next day, her phone was disconnected. After a few more days of trying I drove to her building and found futility since I could not get past the locked doors. I wrote a letter and it was never answered.

Whatever happened I do not know. I have speculated... one, that she ran afoul of the landlord (a large apartment building, a neighbor may have complained about the activity)... or two, she burned out and choose to abruptly discontinue her endeavors.

Whatever the case I lost her and I to this day (some ten years) have not seen or heard from her since.

So Nurse Susan, if you’re out there please comment.

Suspension bondage

This blog has been sadly neglected over the past couple of weeks. I have been ill plus business has kept me on the road.

As one can imagine I have been in the company of many dominant women over the years. The scenes and antics are endless with my hyperactive kinky mind periodically latching on to some form of D/s perversion for a time then ravenously ‘chewing’ on it like a frantic dog with a challengingly sizeable bone. Then having sucked the marrow from it moving on to the next D/s subset.

For example, suspension bondage thrilled for a time and I purchased a most comfortable harness and some simple artifacts to facilitate dangling from a beam in my home.

As I have pedantically offered on many occasions, the two important elements of suspension, rather antithetical to BDSM, are safety and comfort. The first is self evident and the bound should never be left alone with escape readily available. But the second is important in seeking the desired long term elements of control, helplessness and vulnerability.

The harness I purchased was made of broad nylon straps with thick fur-like padding where the body’s weight was supported. (Leather is gothically traditional but rather impractical in that it stretches and pinches, bringing a level of pain which can quickly transform to non erotic). A one piece collection of waist belt, straps up and over the shoulder, and the most significant, straps running under the thighs serving both to support most of the weight and forcefully spread the legs while hanging.

In suspension the straps transferred all the weight to two large thick rings on the shoulder straps, just at the back of the neck. So suspension was a simple matter of stepping up on a chair, hooking the rings to a set of chains attached to the beam and having the dominant partner slide away the chair. (Important to have the chair at the ready to reverse the process).

The effect on the male anatomy is most priapic. Something about shifting the tension/pressure on the spinal cord brings instant tumescence. When cuffed, hands behind the back, the offer of total control and a most humiliating display of the erect penis are quite amusing for the tending dominant woman. It offers intense elements of power exchange.

The design of my harness left the buttocks well presented and free for basic chastisement and the addition of anal plugs. With the support rings at the nape of the neck, the position/posture resembled that of a puppy or kitten held in the jaws of a tending mother hound or cat, quite symbolic.

One word of caution for practitioners is to carefully observe for orthostatic syncope (fainting). Over time, with extensive suspension, the bound can (and probably will) feel light headed and enter a state of euphoria. This phenomenon occurs when held upright and motionless for long periods which results in pooling of the blood in lower extremities (away from the brain) and thus fainting. Soldiers standing at attention for inordinate periods experience this as do choir singers. The proper intervention is to merely lie down which for fainting soldiers and choir singers is a readily available solution.

But this is not readily available for the bound! So observe and have that chair at the ready to end suspension. (Orthostatic syncope can be deadly, experienced rock climbers are very much aware of this and are trained to intercede by shifting positions to the horizontal when stuck).

The biological/anatomical explanation for this phenomenon is that the human circulatory system has never fully adapted to standing upright which cro-Magnon man (?) first endeavored tens of thousands of years ago. Its original design was for being on all fours (can that explain my occasional penchant for puppy play?).

My latest Pink Flamingo release will be out shortly, succinctly entitled ‘Suspension Bondage’. It is male and female dominant/female submissive (sorry Jane, but there are incidental characters you will enjoy) and will entertain the devotees of this form of long term control.

So please purchase, enjoy and by all means comment!

Rough awakening

The NPT was amazingly persistent this morning. Despite the aggravation of the little pecker firmly pressing against the cock cage he soldiered on for what I estimate to be nearly 30 minutes. I finally arose to end its valiant strive for emancipation. Tomorrow I am scheduled for release... shave and cleansing... and we’ll certainly post more over the weekend.

Meanwhile, as suggested, the hormonal burden of chastity has spurred another story and I believe a book length effort will result. A Robinson Caruso saga in which I will take erotic license with Friday as a Caucasian guy and Caruso as a muscular woman of color (readers know of my penchant for what I term ethnic ‘spice’).

I have a question to which I cannot find a definitive answer.

The term ‘gimp’ slave, what is its derivation?

Dictionary.com suggests a definition for ‘gimp’ (putting aside the usage in the textile industry) as;
1. a limp
2. a person who limps: a lame person
and used as a verb
3. to limp; walk in a halting manner: ‘a sprain that made her gimp for weeks’

Used in a D/s context, I first heard it in the movie ‘Pulp Fiction’ in the scene in which some latex clad character, termed 'the gimp', was drawn from a well secured box. A Google search offers ‘gimp masks’, thick latex/leather head covers which deprive sight, sound and the use of the mouth... only holes for the nostrils. But is the item termed after the mask worn in ‘Pulp Fiction’ or did the item predate the movie.

Collarme has a number of ‘gimp’ slaves seeking relations and a couple of deliciously dominant women who purportedly want to keep a ‘gimp’ in long term sensory deprivation. So the term is becoming prevalent.

Anyway, someone let me know if the Pulp Fiction ‘gimp’ is the chicken or the egg.

Locked and fantasizing

Probably should have disclosed this earlier in my blog, but on Saturday 10/18 I returned myself to the Curve chastity device (see the October 18 entry, guess my writing renewed an old challenge) and have remained locked up ever since.

I have been communicating with a woman of dominance and, though having much experience in power exchange relationships, she became intrigued with the concept. The plan was to meet today for an unlocking but I have developed a cold and thus emancipation is forestalled.

Meanwhile the building hormone level has sufficed to bring forth mental snippets of a new fantasy which, if my mind’s film projector keeps reeling, could be the basis for a new book.

Chastity does have its merits.

But also, as on many mornings, this morning I experienced NPT (nocturnal penile tumescence), that odd male phenomenon in which erection occurs in slumber. Obviously in being locked up I could not achieve full erection, but the intrepid little guy fervently swelled against its cage and certainly made me aware of its frustration.

Offering myself some form of relief, I laid prostrate and pressed belly and covered pubes against the sheets, humping the bed somewhat and experiencing mild but quite insufficient pleasure combined with the sensation of forcibly pressing the engorging penis downward, quite the angle of aggravation.

The action reminded my of prepubescent times when a freed penis would be rubbed against the sheets until a ‘dry orgasm’ was achieved... a brief brisance of joy with no ejaculate.

How young was I when I began such a habit I cannot recall (quite young I believe). In curiosity, I years ago attempted internet research on dry orgasms in children and got very little. It would seem that in our puritanical society either we do not wish to admit that prepubescent children can engage in sexual practices, or researchers find the subject too taboo to write about.

Then there is the consideration of obtaining data without in any way violating normal childhood development... a grievous concern.

So, any one have thoughts or experiences? I know at times I rubbed my penis raw in simulated humping of the sheets. When I finally matured to bring ejaculation it was quite the surprise... it spit?

And girls, don’t be shy. No reason to think nature would deny you the ability to achieve similar joy.

Some inspired thoughts

A comment from ‘kisichka’ concerning my October 19 post has spurred some thoughts.

Though I refrain from replicating plots and themes, there appears in many stories a neutered male, oft times as a tangential character (so many times I cannot count).

Kisichka inquires whether I have ever met a castrated male and I replied in the negative. But by inference there is the question as to why so often an appearance of such an asexual luminary?

To my recollection the first plot involving a castrated character was ‘A Gift From James’. I had not read too much/too many published D/s erotica stories involving castration. The Eunuch Archive was rife (and continues to be), but there one finds more gore than sexually arousing theme. Yet the shear number of members and the size of the collective narrative output suggested a demand, at the time, and that something was missing from available erotica.

So I wrote ‘Gift’ and Pink Flamingo brazenly published it, somewhat breaking ground on a subject matter from which many publishers shied. In that story the hapless, infatuated subjugated male agrees to present his testicles to his perceived superior. (Bear with me if this is a woefully brief synopsis, it’s been a long time since I read it.)

What more can a lover offer his mate than a life of loyalty and devotion, obviating all future ability to attract and make love to another woman? Hopefully the poignancy filtered through, but I do have trouble writing romance so I am sure others could do better.

In later efforts, I have used a hermaphroditic character to add what I term ‘spice’. I always imagine the dominant woman reader feels empowered in mentally confronting a once male figure which is sexually comprised and physically weakened (especially at the hands of a woman, of course). And the male reader... horrified... frightened... enraged... perhaps feeling his psychic armor impinged in realizing what little separates his life of virility from one of ‘uselessness’ in terms of the ability to continue pleasing himself.

Hormones so much affect our behavior. Read of the effects of depo provera on the male (aka chemical castration, over time the substance terminates testosterone production in both the testes and the adrenal glands... a wipe out). Obviously it results in lowered sexual desire, but also brings general docility, weight gain, loss of body hair, the growing of breasts. Such luscious fodder for the writing mill!

And the ease of physical castration makes the fantasy so ironic. If memory serves I believe in the movie ‘QB VII’, based on the Leon Uris novel, there is reference to a Nazi doctor who performed castrations and perfected the process to require mere minutes. A fictional account yes, but such graphic imagery of an assembly line leading to feminized males... the most prized male organs mechanically harvested like fruit.

So, kisichka, how could/can I resist!

There is also the perceived attachment element. Admittedly fantasy on my part, the dominant female who castrates comes to be adored by he who has surrendered his balls. Probably an exaggerated extension of our childhood... forced trips to the dentist and/or doctor during which the matronly control figure gently chides... ‘it is best for you... you will feel better... it is the right thing to do... medicine tastes bad but will make things better.’

And so it is for my imaginary victims of orchiectomy. The altered become better mates in becoming more easily controlled, less aggressive, more caring, offer more than take, become physically more appealing (soft and hairless) to she who so much enjoys sexual power. He comes to understand that the dominant woman has acted on his behalf, made him a more loyal and attentive lover.

Indeed... it is for the best. Some simple snips... such meaningful and, in the end, acceptable change.

Love to get feedback on this.

Also, there seems to be a conflict in my research. Some articles suggest that if discontinued, the effect of depo provera can be reversed. Others suggest that with long term, constant dosage, the male is permanently feminized. Any thoughts?

More Antics

With my hyperactive kinky mind, I will on occasion latch on to some segment of interaction within the D/s community. In doing so, I learn all I can... to see, hear, touch, smell, taste... in absorbing what makes the given element a desired form of power exchange.

I have written much pony play stuff, four books with such being the main theme, others where pony play action is included but tangential to the story line.

So I decided that it was best for my literary efforts to experience becoming a human beast of burden in real time. Research on the internet brought me to Maitresse ‘L’, a professional Dominatrix seemingly well known within the pony play community.

At the time, I am guessing 7-8 years ago, Maitresse ‘L’ had a farm in Massachusetts, about a 3 hour drive. So I made an appointment and arrived late one morning. What I always found attractive to the pony play genre was not what attracted most. If you read the articles and stories written by the afficionados, the costumery and pageantry seems to be the driving element, i.e. actually dressing up in showy equine gear and equipment.

No, what attracted me was the unique combination of control and humiliation. Prancing about naked. Being physically worked in bondage with an authoritative woman directing the reins and liberally applying her crop (I have since lost much of my need to experience pain, and now seek to avoid rather than endure such).

Maitresse ‘L’ had a real barn, real horses, and a few secluded acres where she worked her herd, both human and equine. She was joined by an assistant, (I cannot remember the woman’s name) who was being trained in the control and handling of human steeds, and this enhanced the level of embarrassment delightfully.

I was stripped, harnessed, and hitched to a pony cart. Then with both women sitting side by side it was out of the barn into the sunny warmth of August and onward to the fields where Mastresse ‘L’ instructed her protege on the delights of controlling the well bound naked human pony.

She worked me quite hard. With the two, the cart was difficult to pull and she was quite firm with the crop. Fortunately I have always maintained physical conditioning and was able to react as demanded, though her encouraging strokes for more speed seemed endless.

After some 45 minutes I was led back to the barn. On all fours I was hosed down. Then, under Maistresse ‘L’’s supervision, the protege masturbated me to climax on the straw covered barn floor. The forced position was awkward, kneeling on all fours with knees widely parted. With one governing woman stroking and another supervising, the intensity leaped. Maitresse ‘L’ explained that is how she likes her beasts to depart with their sperm and so that is how I was brought to ejaculation.

It was quite an experience, being worked hard. Humiliated before two women adds to the frisson and of course being harnessed and made to respond to governance while outdoors seems to make one very much aware of his physical capitulation.

Maitresse ‘L’, last I read, moved to New Hampshire where I am sure she now has more acreage and even more seclusion. She was quite a pleasant woman, which I have always found to be more alluring (stimulating) than a Dominant woman who is constantly cross and dour. In being agreeably aloof (insouciant), I believe the level of authority comes across as being more confident and knowing.... which of course she was.

I wish I had recorded all my D/s dalliances prospectively. I am going to be hard pressed to remember enough details to continue this blog. And since few readers are commenting, the burden seems to be entirely on me to keep the effort going.

Anyone out there find this chronology to be of interest?

Remember, I welcome feedback, if not here then at chris_bellows@hotmail.com.

Adult antics

Well, the chronology is finished. Short, yes, but a summary of my inadequate and eccentric relationships with women, non professional women. I will continue with other stories, out of sequence, but hopefully of worthiness.

A while back I purchased the Curve chastity device... an experiment (http://www.cb-2000.com/thecurve.html), the hyperactive kinky mind grinding away.

Well the experiment included a people search and I finally came across this keyholder, after much effort. I shaved and donned the CD. I learned through my research all the tribulations of being locked up and struck an arrangement with my keyholder to be released at least once per week. No climactic release, but during this time I was to be shaved and the Curve was to be cleaned (since one wears it during bathing it does not become overly repulsive, but a good weekly scrubbing of the inside of the cock cage does not hurt).

Unfortunately the keyholder lived in south Jersey and had a very busy schedule, which I was aware of in beginning the curious relationship. She was only available early in the morning so I had to arise at 4:30 - 5:00 to drive the 2 hours for release.

Being in forced chastity is not only physically wearing, after a time it feels as if the scrotum is on fire, but there is also an interesting mental reaction, at least for me. There comes a form of depression in being deprived of the nasty male habit. And I learned that in addition to an occasional physical release there is also needed what I term counseling. Best done by a woman of power, the chastised male needs encouragement, perhaps gentle chiding. Needs to be reminded why it is best that a woman holds this simple but meaningful power. He is to be denied. His libido, his most prized possession, is no longer his. It belongs to his keyholder. He must learn that he may ever again attain climactic release and if granted it is done so at the whim of his keyholder. That orgasms are for his superior not for him.

It requires a woman with the proper mindset to keep the subjugated male denied. He will beg and plead and promise anything... like a child trying to obtain more dessert or another toy. And indeed the reaction of the keyholder is best matronly... stern denial but communicated in a soothing and understanding way. Sympathy, discussion, reasoning... but no climactic release.

The interaction can be quite remarkable. After a week I made the long drive to be released. Cuffs were waiting at her apartment door. I stripped as instructed beforehand, (the foyer of her garden apartment had only one other door which gratefully had little activity at that early hour) I put on the cuffs and knocked on her door naked. She opened it, I turned to face away from her and pulled my wrists behind my back. She clipped the cuffs together and then I entered her apartment... like entering heaven. She unlocked the Curve and slipped it off. The tumescent reaction can be quite amusing (for her) and humiliating (for me). I immediately became erect just standing there as she giggled (more of a wicked laugh, actually).

And then nothing happened. She just let me stand there and humiliate myself as my penis celebrated its freedom and engorged.

After a time I sauntered about her apartment cuffed, naked and erect while she gave the Curve a quick cleansing with dishwashing detergent. We talked. She liked viewing my hairless male package, my penis standing in tribute to her authority. As suggested she was soothing and matronly but the complete denial continued. The humiliation of being so presented is quite intense. It’s demeaning to be controlled in such manner... the most important male function ceded to feminine superiority. With the cuffs clipped together behind my back I could do nothing other than to display myself.

She really enjoyed being in command... a totally naked and shaved male. She fully dressed. An amazing exchange of erotic power.

Well she finally placed me supine on a small and low table. Feet on the floor, hands remaining secured, she shaved me, removing the week’s stubble. Though it was clinical, I became even stiffer with her handling. She laughed in commenting that there was no need to touch my engorged penis since it stood well out of the way of the razor. But the shaving lotion felt good and every stroke of the razor added a degree of sensuous delight.

I really thought she would take pity and masturbate me... tease, stroke, amuse herself and then have me ejaculate to her command.

But it did not happen. She retrieved a bowl of ice and applied it to my perineum, scrotum and penis and after a few minutes I became flaccid enough to be locked back up.... which she did.

It was her prerogative to make me face another week of chastity. The decision to allow an orgasm was hers and hers alone... as intended. Never again to be mine.

I returned the following week, (we communicated by instant message during the interim, counseling is required as stated). She said that only a cleaning and shaving would be afforded, which put me further into depression. But instead she surprised me with a handjob... a very, very welcomed handjob. As suggested, climax permitted only at her whim. Joyful yet humbling, I was most grateful.

There comes this strange mindset when locked up like that. The penis becomes something that belongs to another... to a woman of authority. The psyche transforms and my own male package began to feel like it was something I was carrying in my pocket that belonged to someone else.... which in a way it did.

After a month, with her busy schedule and the long drive, it was mutually agreed to curtail the arrangement. For awhile I sought someone closer, where I could stop in, be cuffed and amuse a superior woman with my display of helpless tumescence, but I never found anyone and eventually put the Curve aside.

The adult years...

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On to adulthood

The encounter with ‘L’ was telling for me. Ostensibly trying to spring myself free, playing the role of macho male, but deep down wishing she would enter the basement with her friend and take control.

Having such curious experiences in the formative years, the notable encounters with women all proving how powerful they were and vulnerable I was, my dating and vanilla interaction with the fairer sex became understandably limited. As stated I am shy.

So I induced a lot of fantasy. I was not a good student but read a lot. Porn and erotica when available.

It was when I went off to an all male prep school that the ‘literary’ segment of my innate submissiveness blossomed. For some reason erotica was everywhere at the school. I suppose, with 400 male students, that if only one fourth of the student body procured a sordid book every other month, the numbers would be huge. And indeed, ‘dirty’ books were everywhere. It was a prevalent practice (400 horny young males) to pass around the smut. And I read it all. From the ‘classics’ (‘My Secret Life’, ‘Story of O’, numerous manuscripts by the Marquis De Sade, etc.) to the pulp smut.

Little did my cohorts know in what role I fantasized myself being as I read the D/s stuff. But I read and secretly masturbated, as I am sure they all did as well. I most likely fantasizing differently from them.

College was almost the same. Mostly all male. Very little dating. But the reading material was limited in not being available and passed around daily as in prep school. (Believe it or not the Boston Public Library became a source for some really tawdry stuff. Much is there, one must know the titles and the authors in order to procure it).

No, I did not date much in a vanilla sense until well after college and by then my lack of experience was telling. Dating women is awkward for me... having no training... having no experience. ( I suppose I bored the girl at the hockey game to the point of her wanting to cuckold me). I am quiet in my little world of awe and adoration and I find myself fantasizing during rare dates... wishing that maybe... just maybe... my date will boldly finish her wine and suggest she wants to take me to her place.

She leads. I follow. I am to be placed in firm, knowing hands, stripped naked and used for her pleasure... with that odd frisson of joy returning... the delight of knowing I am under her total control... just as I experienced so many years ago with the commanding nurse... she who found subtle delight in forcibly exposing my nakedness to little girls.

But alas it does not happen.

Done many things. The hockey game incident when I was jilted spurred a rash of visits to Dominatrixes. I shied from the extreme but tried many things. It took me a few years to realize that the underlying theme which stimulated me was that of control and governance... the humiliation of ceding such to a women was thrilling. Knowing that she derived pleasure from my degradation was pleasing for me.

But how can one give up all control when one is being constantly asked by the Pro Dom what ‘one wants to do’. The very question places me back in control... which is what I am trying to give.... a gift of obedience to Feminine Governance... and the professionals keep handing it back requesting that I script a scene so they can act and roleplay. It does not work. There is no awe... no frisson.

More....

There are other episodes during the era of my adolescence which exemplify my innate psychological submission to women, my psyche of subservience. None come to mind as vividly as being held down and made to beg for release. The memories of visits to the doctor’s office, romping about naked before curious girls my age, are fuzzy but understandably remain in the forefront of any endeavor to explain my penchant, as one can imagine.

But there is a tale from my teen years. The younger sister of a friend, a rather vivacious girl, executed a plan to hold me captive for a time. For her it was just mischief (I think). But for me, with my ingrained awe and adoration for women and their perceived superiority, the encounter became more memorable.

Down the street, my friend lived in a capacious house. Many rooms, including a finished basement playroom, gave rise to good times. Therefore it was not unusual to stroll the half block, knock on the door and ask for my compatriot, unannounced, just ‘dropping by’.

Well, on one Saturday afternoon, ‘L’, my friend’s younger sister by two years, seemed to be waiting for me.

"‘M’s’ in the basement."

A logical location. There was a pool table convertible to ping pong. A TV room. Many other diversions. I thought nothing of descending the stairs to greet my friend and plan an afternoon of hanging out. I did not think much when ‘L’ closed the basement door behind me and I heard it latch. But within moments I did think about it when there was no ‘M’. He was not to be found. He was not at home. A girl, ‘L’, had set me up.

I was trapped in her basement and only ‘L’ and a friend, name long gone from memory, were at home.

I demanded to be let out. I was denied release. I became enraged but there was little I could do. An alternative hatch door leading to the outside was a possibility. But when I tried to push it open it would not yield and I heard giggling. The two girls were sitting on it. Their combined weight made it impossible to push it up and open.

Two young women held me captive. I was tricked. I was used. The odd frisson returned. I found myself powerless once again. And once again there came the deep inner sense of arousal. I was angry. I was embarrassed. But there came this sexual excitement in being made to yield, being placed under control. This time, in my teen years, it spurred masturbation. When the girls finally tired of their game, laughing with my entreaties for release, they ran off, allowing me to push open the hatch door. I returned home and stroked myself. Their manifestation of feminine governance stimulated me.

Once again, my vulnerability, having to yield to a perceived superior feminine power, brought an odd sense of composure and inner sense of peace in being under the authority of a woman... however young... however diabolical the motive. A feminine hand brought the frustration of restraint. A feminine hand granted freedom... but only at their caprice. There came a strange sense of having rightfully been put in my place, despite the protest and entreaties for release.

I served on that afternoon. I provided amusement.

What would the girls have done to me, done with me, given unfettered access and time?
They had me. I could not escape.

‘L’ was vivacious, as noted but also devilish. How long had the girls plotted my incarceration I do not know. But I unwittingly walked into their plot and played the price of the humiliation of being held captive.

They told all their friends of the incident.

I often wonder what became of ‘L’. She certainly had possibilities of dominance. She very much enjoyed the hour or more of feeling my labored attempts to push open that hatch door. I exerted myself to no end... complete futility while she and her friend sat and laughed.

Another event... relevant?

So, early in life (very early) the female figure became something before which to tremble, not so much in fear but to hold in awe... awe of the power such had over me or could have over me in bringing forth respect and obedience. Naughty boys don’t get their clothes back.

Georgeann Cross has a well written manuscript, ‘Sexual Power for Women’ (www.francescaspizza.com). For those who have not read it, she very aptly describes the anatomical process evidencing male submission to feminine governance, terming it ‘the Loop’. It is a process by which the very act of submission leads to the physical arousal of tumescence... which leads to humiliation... which leads to further arousal.

Yes ceding power is demeaning for the male, something he is taught and trained to avoid in vanilla society but to which ultimately the submissive male will reluctantly concede (to his subconscious delight). Since he is ‘forced’ to step outside his expected role he feels ostensible guilt... vulnerability... but revels in being soothed by the strong feminine hand which has brought his degradation... that which has forced his concession of power.

The hand that disciplines is also the hand that calms and consoles. So he relinquishes. Such is life’s ironic reality in being disciplined and trained. The submissive male has no other choice but to accept that. There is the curious dichotomy... he does not wish to capitulate but he does, cursing his own weakness but also relishing it.

Sometime when I was 8 or 9 years old I got into some altercation with two older girls, I am guessing they were 11 or 12. One was large and strong for her age the other was cute, authoritative and in charge. I cannot remember the details or what it was that aggravated them. But their solution was to ‘beat me up’, the large girl forcing me to the ground and the cute one commanding that I apologize. I believe the humiliation of being overpowered by mere ‘girls’ was compounded by the fact that the one who was exceedingly cute governed the events but did not become physically involved. She remained aloof, barking commands but not ‘soiling’ her hands with a lowly, belligerent boy. (She later in life did professional modeling, but not much later, probably when she was 13-14).

As stated I was in awe of the female form early in life as a result of the nurse who so often stripped me naked as a toddler. This later encounter, one in which I strangely chose not to resist or fight back, further solidified my feelings. I submitted. I irritated the girls then let them have their way with me. I passively went to the ground without a fight and then begged to be let up. (Something I would never allow a male cohort to do to me). It is not appropriate to describe my deepest reaction at the time as being one of arousal. It was not possible at that age. But once again there was the frisson of strange joy... that I was placing myself into the hands of something, someone with perceived superiority. I momentarily became theirs with whom to toy. I gave.

I suppose one can experience the same feeling in riding a roller coaster, a curious combination of fear and thrill. The ride begins and becomes a mechanism beyond my control, taking me somewhere and I cannot resist... and deep within I do not wish to resist.

‘Powerful’ females were once again having their way with me when I was pinned to the ground. They let me up when I began to cry. The cries were of humiliation, not pain or physical discomfort.

Was I furtively wishing for them to remove my clothing?

As stated, the results of these experiences have been a lifelong shyness which women have interpreted as a form of snobbery. If only they knew of my deep awe and admiration for the power they wielded over me...

Speculating on the Derivation

I have often attempted to analyze my proclivity to mentally submit to the superior female. I have concluded it began as a toddler, at an age when memories can barely be recollected.

Faded visions of visits to the pediatrician’s office remain. The doctor had this head nurse who was most stern and authoritative. And it seemed that no matter the reason for the visit, I was stripped naked for the entire time. I recall prancing about the many rooms without a stitch, being led here and there, obeying every command of this demanding woman. I was never permitted clothing or covering and am sure the nurse would be sanctioned for her actions in today’s environment. But at the time, at some 3 or 4 years of age, I was taught that she was in charge and that I was to obey. No objection was permitted. Therefore I endured the humiliation. Yet with it came this odd thrill that accompanies such an emotional frisson, and it came at such an early age.

There was no physical abuse. I suppose this matronly woman liked looking at the naked form of young boys. But at an early age, the catharsis of having to do her bidding triggered something. Deep down I enjoyed responding to her... I was young and helpless and she provided all... she was in charge... thoroughly... and there came a strange comfort in my nakedness. She held all that I deemed important.... all I wanted, keeping my clothing out of reach in a closed cabinet and subtly implying that with the slightest disobedience such would never be returned and I would leave the doctor’s office naked to the world.

I was stripped of not only my clothing but my dignity, if a three year old can have such. I learned she had the power to do that. A woman! There was nothing to protect me from the curious eyes of others at the doctor’s office... little girls of the same age included. Why were they not deprived of their clothing? It was not fair. But because the nurse wanted me naked and not them, I remained exposed for the entire visit.... moving from one room to the next to be weighed, examined and then enduring the hypodermic shots which children find so cathartic. Only my complete subordination to her will would bring the return of covering... or so I was led to believe.

I believe these early encounters... term such to be discoveries... fostered the stimulation felt years later when my demanding date extracted her fine dinner, enjoyed the hockey game and left with another man. Fortunately I was permitted to remain clothed for the entire ordeal. But a woman was once again trifling with my dignity and I strangely enjoyed it.

The Beginning of Actuating My Kink

I have had curious thoughts/fantasies concerning erotic power and the manifestation thereof by a firm, authoritative woman for many years. Possibly prepuberty, though the recollections at this point are fuzzy.

Obviously I enjoy erotica and have read such since I was a teenager. Maledom and Femdom. But I began to notice that the Femdom was more arousing and better held my interest. Women commanding the male beast. I delved, finding everything I could read to engross myself.

I did not begin engaging in D/s activities until in my thirties. I have always kept my proclivity quiet and when I did date it was vanilla and not often. I have always been shy with women. But on one particular night I took a young woman to a hockey game. She was a beautiful girl, quite stern as you can imagine my preference in demeanor, and quite the hockey fan.

I had obtained excellent seats very close to the ice and near the official who supervises the penalty box. Well, being the fan that she was (and with her good looks) she and the official talked during the first intermission. During the second intermission there must have been plans made while I went for snacks, and by the end of the game it was announced she was leaving the game with him and not me.

Quite embarrassing. Quite humiliating. I had bought dinner and the tickets and she left with another guy.

But deep down I found the encounter strangely stimulating... that she would do that to me... use her feminine charms to extract dinner and expensive hockey tickets and then summarily announce the date was over. She utilized her power and I learned that I in turn was powerless.

That is when I began asking myself questions. My proclivity was for more than just reading books/stories about erotic power. There was perverse delight being placed in a role of acquiescence and found strange joy in being commanded.

It was then that I began to actively seek Dominant women. And of course, at that time before the internet, there were few sources available to assure myself of a woman’s complementing penchant.

If I recall properly, one of the more trashy books I was reading had classified ads printed in the back. All the details are lost in time, but I do remember my hand shaking and my voice quivering in calling a phone number and making an appointment with a professional Dominatrix.

I have been seeking something ever since. And I have not found it.

Visiting a Voyeur

Computer problems have delayed this follow up to Monday, October 6's post.

As suggested I responded to a Craig’s List posting, a woman requesting that a man ‘perform’ for her... masturbating under her watchful eye.

I have attained the age at which writing, reading and fantasizing is the more active segment of engaging in aberrant sex ... partially due to the ebb of hormone flow but partially a ‘been there done that’ type of reaction to all but the most singular forms of play.

Still, the listing sparked interest, so I made contact, set an appointment and visited... a midtown apartment in New York, neat and presentable, small as with all Manhattan abodes for the non wealthy.

The woman was young and quite beautiful and the scene played out as described, probably a bit wordy for me. After all, after some estimated 1,700,000 words of written erotica there is not a lot of verbal interplay that can shock or embarrass.

In hindsight, though touching was forbidden (my touching her), her gentle but controlling hand would have added quite the frisson of delight to her continuous dialogue... not necessarily on any parts pink. But an experienced massage therapist will tell you that there are surprising areas of the human body which invite stimulation and can offer quite pleasant reactions... kneading an ear can be one.

The girl took her time but was somewhat mechanical, somewhat scripted. And I suppose she did enjoy herself, seeming to appreciate her control. (Even at my age I am not repulsive to look at.)

Overall, I enjoyed my visit, though the staying power of age worked against me. In the end my penis was raw in stroking myself to her command but not being permitted to ejaculate.

Why does such simple and aloof interplay attract?

Well, those who have read my stuff know that I have a hyperactive kinky mind, constantly transforming every day events and contacts into depravenous scenes of fantasy (many of which become books). And whereas more physical forms of D/s have been undertaken in the past (used to love suspension bondage), the body no longer thrills in reaction. And the realities of good firm bondage versus mild arthritis and limited range of motion obviate lots of interaction.

Also to be considered in analyzing my enjoyment... is what I believe to be the genesis of my depravity... which I will explore in future postings.

An experiment

Over the past two years I've self published a few books on Lulu. Writing fantasy involves (for me anyway) letting the imagination run a bit wild (and letting my penis do some thinking as well... it's a 'guy' thing).

In so doing, publisher's guidelines are occasionally trampled. Not purposefully, I suppose it's like letting a two year old loose in a flowerbed. Botanical mayhem will result despite the innocent intentions of the toddler.

So when the finished product is in violation, my solution has become to self publish rather than expurgate. For those who have never written stories of 50,000 plus words, it is difficult to explain that trimming a story to comply with guidelines (age of characters, bestiality, etc.) is more laborious than writing an entire book... and also can give rise to folly. Cohesion can easily disappear. There may remain references to scenes edited out. Other concerns... in 'Billie and Mary', I felt the poignancy of the life long relationship would be lost if suddenly the characters became 'kinky' on their eighteenth birthday.

The problem with self publishing is fulfilling the publishers role of promotion. My books on Pink Flamingo sell in the hundreds. On Lulu in the dozens (over the past two years, 89 copies of Billie and Mary have been sold).

To counter, I shamefully salt various sites to promote the books when I can. I genuinely feel they have merit in entertainment value and a quality aspect over most internet erotica. (The feverish elimination of typos can exhaust).

To the point... I recently posted a short story (at 17,500 words about one third of the normal length of the books I write) calling it a Chris Bellows Teaser.... 'Male Subjugation'... the teaser being the price of $1.25. I am curious to judge, in economic terms, the elasticity of the demand, i.e. how much does the price affect unit sales.

To date, the answer seems to be... not much. As practically a giveaway, the price compared to the effort expended, in eight days I've sold 6 copies.

So it seems that promotion is key.... not price.

In conclusion, if anyone knows of blogs or websites where I can post snippets in return for a plug, please let me know. I will 'give to get' and have done so to success on Sir Jeff's Pony Girl site.

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On a different subject, I am tomorrow visiting a girl who wants me to 'perform' for her.

Here is her Craig's List quest...

"I am looking for a gentleman, who is a submissive or exhibitionist and interested in a roleplay in which you perform for me (masturbate) while I voyeur you and humiliate you. I can wear some sexy lingerie, verbally seduce you, guide and tease you. A safe and guilt-free diversion. "

Tomorrow's resulting post will be more titillating.

Compendium of efforts

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

About Chris Bellows

Chris Bellows is a nom de plume. I am single and on the north side of middle age. I live an astonishingly ascetic life in the New York metropolitan area.

After a lifetime of reading erotica, I began to write some ten or more years ago when I found the quality of the store bought material which I formerly enjoyed reading had deteriorated into ‘mush’. With fervent fingers and well worn keyboard, my hard drive filled, yet my early efforts did not initially meet my own standards. I continuously honed and polished until finally, with the completion of ‘Lady Constance’, there came a work deemed worthy of publishing.

Pink Flamingo had the best author’s guidelines and after submission and acceptance in January 2001, Lady Constance was published and the relationship has continued to the present day release of ‘Feminine Governance’, book number twenty-nine with Pink Flamingo. (See compendium of all of my work available on the web.)

Writing erotica..., strong, unbridled, always attempting to push the bounds of ‘conventional’ D/s..., has become a daily passion for me. I endeavor to make my story lines unique, avoid vulgarity, abhor the sophomoric onomatopoeia of flagellation stories, and constantly seek to ‘work outside the box’.

I write in many different genres, salting female dominant themes with male dominance and vice versus. I have written credibly from many viewpoints including ‘first person female’. I avoid duplicating themes and I attempt to introduce new forms and methods of manifesting sexual power with each story, a trait which has become an unwritten warranty to my readers.

There is no prepackaged format for my work product. I have turned down offers from other publishers when such have sought to trim my efforts in order to more suitably conform my stuff to their envisioned ‘box’ of erotic offerings.

I believe the results speak notably... readers with an interest in D/s who hopefully will be surprised, enlightened and entertained with each unique plot and storyline.

I truly enjoy reading and responding to readers comments, both positive and negative. Contact me at chris_bellows@hotmail.com.