August 2007


In a recent post, Bitchy Jones talks about service submissives, and how the cliche of the sissified male sub in a French maid’s outfit, doing housework or some sort of work that falls in the category of “chore,” is not a kink for her.

A woman I know who is very much a dom is the type of dom who is always looking for male subs who will do housework/yardwork/handyman-type work around her place. She’s not inclined to inflict pain on them, or tie them up, or carry out any other type of nefarious deed upon their submissive asses. She makes no bones about the fact that she’s gathering a stable of service submissives.

And I tell you what, I have been at her place and seen them working for her, and they work HARD. And look properly adoring towards her while doing all her yardwork, etc.

The thing is — I just don’t get it. I don’t get what the erotic thrill is, for her (or any dom) in having a submissive come over and…clean the house. Or mow the lawn. Yes, I understand that service submission emphasizes the power exchange between dom and sub. And you have never seen as big a fan of exchanging power as I am. But when it comes to housework, well, I’d be grateful and all, but it’s still not erotic for me.

Which has led me to ask, more than once, isn’t it just a way to get your house cleaned by someone else without paying for it?

Maybe it’s just that chores like housework seem too impersonal to me. Because I *do* get a thrill from direct, personal service, like serving me a meal, massaging my feet, attending to my every whim. But that’s something that the sub is doing *directly* for me. Serving me via cleaning my house puts the chore in between us. Like he’s actually subbing to my apartment, or something.

….and of course, it’s possible that — as always — I think about these things too much.

In a welcome contrast to the party at which I called red during a scene and then had a meltdown, T. and I went to a play party this past weekend that turned out to be a delightfully switchy little event for us.

T. flogged me — first my backside and upper back, etc., and then had me turn around so that he could use his riding crop on my breasts, which I LOVE. It was a great scene, partly because we were in the same general area as another impact-play scene that was just really, really high energy — there was a constant back-and-forth of conversation between the top and the bottom that was just as lively as their actual impact play.

And because they were already playing when T. and I started, we knew that was the kind of general energy that was going to be present — meaning, if we wanted a quiet, intense, trancelike scene between the two of us, we’d have to go in another room. But we decided that it would be fun to play near the other scene, and it worked out great.

After T. and I were finished with that scene, and we had something to eat (man, I seem to ALWAYS crave beef after an impact-play scene), T. decided that he wanted to do some self-bondage. Which is fine by me, because I can be a lazy top and just watch him go to work. Which I did. And he did.

T. is very good at self-bondage, and has actually done presentations on the subject for different lifestyle groups. So watching him tie himself up is (1) fascinating, (2) kind of amazing, and (3) hot hot HOT. Once he was as securely tied as he could get, including a rope gag, I decided to start teasing him and fucking with him. (Not fucking *him* — fucking WITH him.)

I tugged and yanked on various ropes, trying to create some friction to his general crotch area, since he had also tied rope around his cock and balls CBT-style. Judging by his reactions, I succeeded in doing exactly what I wanted to do, which was create *some* stimulation, but not *enough* to get him off.

I tormented him in various other ways — pinching his nipples, pulling my shirt up and dangling my breasts in his face (since he had a rope gag in, he couldn’t do anything to them…though he certainly tried). And then I told him to untie himself so that we could go home.

Heh. I’m good. And when I’m bad, I’m better.

A true conversation between T. and myself:

Me: “I’ve been thinking we should do a role-play scene soon. Like, I could be the stern teacher, and you could be the errant student who didn’t do his homework and copied off another student and then lied about it…. What do you think?”

T.: “Role-play? I get to roll around on the floor?”

Me: [pause] “No, you have to dress up like a giant dinner roll. Maybe sourdough.”

T.: “Ha! If you get me excited, I could be a hard roll!”

Me: “Oh my god, you giant DORK.”

T.: “….or if I’m *really* excited, a baguette!”

Oh, yeah. The uncensored conversation between 2 utterly dorky switches. The truth is out.

I’ve been AWOL for a month — not on purpose, but just because of summer torpor. I’ve actually done stuff recently that I intended to post about, but, again, laziness overtook me. So, without further ado, here’s what I’ve been doing and thinking about recently:

New Ropecast is up. If you’re not listening to Graydancer‘s podcast, Ropecast, I have to ask: why the hell not? I listened to the first half of the newest podcast on my way to work this morning (my commute isn’t long enough to listen to it all in one shot). He talks about floor work, as opposed to suspension, and how there can be a bias towards suspension being The Shit when it comes to ropework. (Er, that’s my paraphrasing, NOT a quote. Graydancer is way more articulate than I am.)

I like that he discussed that topic, because my experience has been similar — people will ooh and ahh over a suspension but then totally ignore beautiful ropework with incredible energy, just because it’s floor work and not suspension. That’s crazy. I’ve seen Master David and shevah, for instance, do “simple” head bondage that just took my breath away with its energy and gorgeous ropework. (I say “simple” because a lot of people would view head bondage as simple when compared with suspension.)

In fact, I think it’s Master David who I heard say, “If you can’t fly on the floor, you’ll never fly in the air.” Too right.

Bob Deegan and the singletail. T. and I were at a recent leather event, where Bob Deegan was one of the presenters. I’d never seen him before, though I’d heard a lot about him. Let me tell you, watching Bob Deegan use the singletail is like watching a gorgeous combination of fencing, tai chi, and dancing. And it left me really REALLY wanting to get a singletail. Although there was a vendor at the event, I decided to be fiscally self-sacrificing and not buy a singletail right now. But it’s now on my list of Toys To Buy And Learn.

Finally, When a scene goes wrong. (If there were audio embedded in this post, you’d hear me sighing heavily here.) There are a lot of ways that a scene can go wrong. (1) You can have equipment failure, such as ropes breaking or cuffs tightening too much (or larger equpiment failure, like a suspension winch getting stuck while the sub is suspended). (2) You can have an atmospheric failure — not the sudden loss of all air in the room, but, you know, when people who are watching your scene decide to start talking LOUDLY to each other, or, worse yet, TO YOU. (3) And then you have the type of failure that results from just not being in the right headspace/frame of mind/mood to pull off the scene. It’s not really a “failure” in the sense that ropes breaking is clearly an equipment failure, but since I can’t think of the best terminology for it, I’m calling it a “headspace failure.”

That happened to me Saturday night. Big time. I was bottoming to T. at a party, and almost *everything* affected me negatively. I didn’t like the music (which was a mix CD that *I* had made, so I *should* have liked it), I could smell the paint on the cross (which had apparently been recently re-painted), the ropes were not staying where they needed to stay, I was too warm, and I was almost painfully aware of the people who were watching. Every piece of equipment we tried was just uncomfortable to me, and it was clear that I could not get into any kind of bottom-y headspace.

I ended up calling red when T. flogged (or maybe spanked; I can’t remember) me a little too hard. It wasn’t excruciating pain, it wasn’t even “Stop this NOW!” pain — I think it was just the unfortunate combination of my shitty headspace and inability to get comfortable PLUS a swat that was a little too hard.

And then, of course, the meltdown. I lost it, crying and berating myself for not being able to get into the scene, for calling red, for not being a good bottom, etc. We ultimately went home after that, although T. didn’t want to leave right then, because he thought that the company of the other party guests (along with food and water) would improve my mood. And he was probably right, but I was so upset with myself that I didn’t think I could sit and talk to people without continuing to cry, which I absolutely did not want to do. So we left.

We talked it through the next day, and it turns out that T. was having a hard time getting into *his* headspace, too, which I didn’t know at the time. I mean, maybe I had picked up on it on a subconscious level, but I certainly wasn’t aware of it in any intellectual capacity. All I knew was how uncomfortable *I* was.

In a weird way, I’m glad it happened, because at least now I know that we can have a scene go wrong — in terms of “headspace failure” — and work through it. I sure the hell would prefer to not repeat it any time soon, though.