My kinks and fantasies sit on a spectrum from those I’m super-comfortable talking about in public to those that I keep a little (or a lot!) closer to my chest. That’s true for many people, I’m sure, and I don’t see it as a bad thing; where I’m more reticent, it’s not because I’m ashamed of what I desire, nor do I think I’d disgust people by writing about those things. It’s more that some scenarios feel very situational – for want of a better word – and often more instinctively private as a result. They’re tied up in specific moods or mindsets – or people, for that matter – and it would seem odd somehow to throw them out into the wider world without that accompanying context.
Maybe that makes sense, maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know. Either way, about a year ago, I got involved in what developed into a ridiculously hot conversation on Twitter with a few people I follow/know. Ridiculously hot to me, at least. The clipboards, the lab coats, the measuring equipment, the tutting – the whole thing just works. It really turned me on at the time, and I’ve masturbated many times since then to various iterations of the scenario they described. It tapped into something that one of my partners, Malin James, also used to excellent effect when she wrote this guest story for me a few months earlier.
That desire to be observed – or assessed, measured, analysed – is at the core of my most submissive fantasies. It’s why, when I get into conversations with people about erotic humiliation as a kink, I don’t really go anywhere near the more physical stuff. I have no interest in being used as furniture, or urinated on, or put into domestic service* – but talk about displaying me to a roomful of critical/giggling observers, or using a spreadsheet to record how long it takes me to orgasm under various conditions, or calmly/mockingly comparing my sexual performance/cock size to other partners, and it hits me in a range of deliciously masochistic spots. Or it can do, at least. Like I said, it depends a lot on context – get that right, and the whole dynamic is fucking hot.
Of course it doesn’t work for everyone. For some of you reading this, it’ll be an active turn-off, which is another reason why I’m often reluctant to blog about it. A pretty unhealthy reason, I’ll grant you – or maybe just a bit vain. I know I ought to write for myself first, but it can be hard to do that in a bubble, without thinking at all about the people who are going to see it. Sometimes I catch myself making editorial choices that I realise are less about what I actually want to say, and more about my (probably flawed) perception of what my audience wants to read. Unchecked, those choices can push me away from the niche or personal and towards the mainstream – and that’s not good.
I’m also aware that some people just psychoanalyse the shit out of kinks rooted in humiliation or degradation. They make assumptions about ‘where that desire comes from’ or what it says about me…and I have (extremely) limited patience for that kind of conversation. Perhaps if I thought my fantasies had an adverse effect on my wider sex life, I might be more interested in understanding the psychology behind them, but I don’t so I’m not. They are what they are, and I’m fine with that.
I’m writing about it now because one of the participants in last year’s Twitter conversation, the lovely @EuclideanPoint, recently sent me a story that I want to share here. I’m always really flattered when someone takes the time to write something tailored specifically to my interests, and this is no exception. It’s her second guest post for me, after this wonderful piece on switching – I hope very much that it won’t be the last.
The images I’ve chosen to go with her words double as my February Photo Fest post for today. I’ve been a bit hesitant about using them until now, in part because they don’t really say much on their own – they need the wider framing that this story provides. Even if I couldn’t quite get them done under lab conditions…
(*These are not my kinks, but obviously if they do it for you, that’s wonderful!)
He’d only gone into the pub to get a quick drink to reward himself after a tough week. It was busy, but the wait at the bar seemed worth not having to go and find somewhere else. As he waited to be served he could hear the conversation of the three women next to him.
‘It feels so good to not be on that boat anymore.’ She briefly caught his eye.
‘Tell me about it. If I have to log one more measurement I think I’ll go crazy.’ This time a longer glance in his direction.
‘We did make quite a team though. Seems a shame to let that go to waste.’ A definite, lingering glance down his body.
He hadn’t taken much convincing to accompany them back to a flat in a nearby street. They told him they’d been working together on a post-doc research project, oceanic biodiversity. After three weeks at sea taking measurements of marine organisms this was their first day back on dry land. And with very little to keep them busy in the evenings on the boat, they had spent their time trading stories of every sexual encounter they’d ever had.
Once they arrived at the flat the three women got straight to work. As they entered the living room one of them dragged a chair from a small dining table into the centre of the room. Another was unbuttoning his shirt, nudging him backwards as she walked forwards into the room. If they hadn’t done this before, they’d almost certainly talked about it. As soon as he was down to his boxers she pushed him down by his shoulders onto the chair. The third woman appeared in the doorway holding several bundles of rope.
‘You don’t mind?’ she asked.
All he could do was smile and shake his head. They quickly tied his wrists together behind the chair, his ankles to its front legs, and then circled rope round the back of the chair and his chest. It wasn’t uncomfortable as such, but tight enough that he couldn’t take a deep breath.
‘So what sort of experiments will you be conducting, ladies?’ he tried to sound casual but he heard his voice waver with something between excitement and apprehension.
‘I think we should gag him’ one of the women said whilst raising her skirt. She pulled down her knickers, walked over to him and slowly, with one hand on the back of his head, stuffed them into his mouth. He took a long breath in through the fabric, savouring the warmth and scent of her.
One of the women reached down and pulled the waistband of his boxers down, tucking it neatly below his balls. He’d been hard since they’d pushed him down onto the chair.
‘Looks a decent size to me’ she said, gently grasping the head between her thumb and forefinger and moving it from side to side.
‘I’ve certainly had bigger.’ Her friend added, leaning in to get a closer look.
The third woman knelt between his legs. She had found a tape measure somewhere and now she held it up against him.
‘13cm long.’ She announced.
‘I’ve definitely had bigger then. Jake was at least 17.’
‘But he didn’t know what to do with it.’
‘Do the circumference next.’
She delicately wrapped the tape measure around his cock at the base. ‘11cm.’ Taking both ends she pulled the tape measure tight around him. Tighter. And tighter. He closed his eyes and held his breath as pleasure turned to pain. He reflexively tried to pull his arms forward and felt the ropes digging into his wrists. Opening his eyes he saw her staring at him with the detached fascination of a scientist. She slowly released the tape measure and smiled as he breathed a sigh of relief.
‘How quickly do you think we could get him to come?’
‘Pretty fast the first time I reckon. Second one always takes a bit longer though.’
‘We could speed the second one up with a bit of prostate action.’
Now two of the women were sitting in front of him on the floor, one leaning on his thigh and the other absent-mindedly fondling his balls. The third was standing behind him and leaning on his shoulders.
‘Do you think a little pain would help?’ This from the woman behind him as she reached down over his shoulders to his nipples. She slowly circled and raked over then with her fingernails.
‘Seems to be having an effect’ replied the woman holding his cock. The tip had already begun to glisten and she studied this as she gently squeezed the shaft.
‘I think this calls for some case-control studies.’ The other woman on the floor said. ‘Someone grab the laptop. We’re in for a long night…’