No Smoke Without Fire

As David was led from the plane by security he looked back and caught one last glimpse of the attendant named Anna. He was sure he made out a look of contempt in her face. He would never see her again. And all because of a cigarette.

It had been the gloves that started it got him, dark brown leather gloves, tight around the knuckle, loose at the wrist. Gloves from fetish heaven.

The Anglo French Airways flight from Paris to Manchester was nearly ready for takeoff. The flight attendants were making the final checks and walking down the plane, counting and checking that the passengers had fastened our safety belts.  David watched intently as the attendant who has smiled at him as he boarded made her way down the plane. He watched her pretty face with immaculate make up, the crisp uniform, the hair worn severely up under a hat, the leather gloves, tight round the knuckle, loose at the wrist, the gloves, the beautiful leather gloves……..he was soon lost in a kinky reverie, transfixed by the gloves as she made her way towards him, checking, counting.  Submissive urges pulsed through his body as he imagined her as a police officer or a prison guard, someone with authority over him, power to inflict suffering. She came closer and closer and the erotic tension of the moment became unbearable. She looked at him and asked him to move his arm so that she could see he had fastened his safety belt. He blurted out

‘Yes Mistress,’

and went bright red. She reacted to this unusual response with practiced sang froid, smilimg a knowing smile which might have meant

‘I know you’re kinky. I might be kinky too, you never know.’

David began to fantasise about smoking in the toilet, about confessing his offence and submitting to the punishment she would be obliged to inflict. And he had lit up, not because of the punishment but rather because he was desperate for nicotine. And now he was under arrest.

 

Three days later he was back at home having been fined and cautioned for his offence. David was sitting in his flat one evening, watching football and drinking beer, when there was an unexpected knock on his door. He opened it gingerly and stood transfixed at the sight of a pair of boots gleaming in the pool of light cast by the security light.

‘Mr. Grant, ‘ said a voice ‘I am from Anglo French Airlines Discipline Unit. I am here to punish you for smoking in the toilets.’

David looked up and recognised the flight attendant from the week before, her uniform under a coat, the same severe hair under a cap and now gleaming knee boots instead of the courts of the plane.

‘Pour that beer away, turn the television off and come here,’ she commanded.

David did as he was told, at first out of pure astonishment and then out of a feeling of submissiveness that was starting to overwhelm him as it had on the plane. He went to stand before her.

‘Take your clothes off’ she ordered.

David undressed and left his clothes in a neat pile on the sofa. He stood before her, watching his cock rise like the nose of Concorde as it neared take off. He felt a surge running down the shaft and saw precome begin to glisten in the light of the standard lamp.

‘What’s that?’ she demanded.

‘It’s precome’ answered David a little embarrassed.

‘Eat it.’

David hesitated.

‘You’re in enough trouble’ she said raising her voice to give a little added authority. ‘I strongly advise you to do as you are told. Eat it!’

David rubbed the palm of his hand against the end of his cock, pulling the foreskin back slightly as he did so to ensure that hr scooped up all of the precome. He raised his hand to his mouth and licked long and hard, sticking his tongue out so that she could see him complying.

‘Good’ she said. ‘Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

‘No’

‘No Ma’am!’ she shouted and David felt a gloved hand impacting violently on his cheek.

‘No Ma’am, sorry ma’am.’

‘Get over here, on your knees,’

As David knelt before her he looked at her lap beneath the skirt that was at his eye-level. He began to imagine the throbbing cunt behind the lace panties that must be underneath the skirt. He would lift up the skirt, thrust his head inside as if into a royal tent, pull the lace panties roughly to one side and rub his cheek against the luxuriant protruding pubic hair before thrusting his tongue in to taste the sour but sweet juices. Again his cock betrayed him, rising inexorably up, dribbling pre-come from the end.

‘What did I tell you?’

She grabbed David’s hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look her full in the face. She was furious, her face contorted in contempt. She spat in his face, twice, the second time with emphatic violence. David suddenly felt he was not enjoying this, felt that somehow he was in out of his depth with a woman who, for all her youth and her pretty face, was a sadist. There was no other word for it as she clearly took the greatest of pleasure in his suffering. She pulled his hair again and he let out an involuntary cry of pain which drew another fierce slap across his face.  As someone had so rightly said when he had told them of his fantasy

‘Be careful what you wish for.’

She took a cigarette packet from her handbag. Placing the cigarette on her mouth she handed David the lighter and said

‘You enjoy a smoke don’t you? Well I’ve got plenty of smoke for you. In fact it might help you to give up.’

She laughed contemptuously, put the cigarette back in her mouth and said

‘Light my cigarette!’

He reached nervously up and she was soon blowing smoke contentedly.

‘Open your mouth.’

He knelt, mouth wide open like a communicant at the altar rail. She drew on the cigarette  and leaned forward, bringing her mouth almost close enough to his for a kiss before exhaling into his mouth. David coughed and spluttered.

‘In hale it and enjoy it. It has been in my mouth. What more could you want?’

She drew on the cigarette bagain and this time David held the smoke in his mouth before blowing it out.

‘That’s what I want to see, smoke coming out of your mouth. I want to see you enjoy it.’

She looked at the cigarette, studying the length of ash at the end. David remembered his duties as host and said

‘Would you like an ashtray Miss?’

‘You’re going to be my ashtray.’

David looked at her, a little nonplussed.

‘Open wide and show me your tongue!’

David thought that this really was like the communion services of his childhood. He thrust his tongue out as of for a communion wafer and felt warm ash drop onto it.

‘Now swallow.’

David did as he was told. He suddenly felt the submissive urges he had felt on the plane return, only this time much stronger. He was enjoying this humiliation. He became aware of a cold string of pre-come hanging from the end of his penis.

‘Have I told you to come?’

‘No Miss.’

‘What’s that on the end of your useless little prick then?’

‘I don’t know Miss…’

‘Well I do. It’s precome and it’s horrible. Clear it up with your hand and rub it round your face.’

David moved his left hand to his cock, and moving it up, caught the filmy thread on his palm before rubbing it round his face.

‘That’s better’ she said. ‘If there’s any repeat you’re going to suffer….like this.’

She held the cigarette by each nipple in turn. He smelt the burning of hair, felt the intense heat, just millimetres from his skin. He cried out, in fear as much as in pain.

‘Aaaah, please Miss.’

She laughed and said simply.

‘It’ll be your cock next, with the foreskin pulled right back. Now open your mouth.’

Again she inhaled long drawing the smoke deep into her lungs. Again she drew close, pursing her lips as if to kiss him before blowing the smoke into his mouth.

‘Tongue.’

Again he felt the warm ash on his tongue, its acrid taste and cloying texture when mixed with the saliva filling him with disgust. He wanted to spit it out but that was forbidden him. He swallowed and showed her grey tongue as evidence that he had obeyed her order.

‘Lie on your back.’

No sooner had he lain down than she sat on him ordering him to open his mouth.

‘I suppose your mouth is a little dry with all that ash?’

David nodded.

‘Open wide then.’

He saw a fat trickle of saliva coming from her mouth which dropped into his. Almost immediately a further little pile of warm ash followed it as she surveyed him with wry amusement.

‘We don’t tell many people about the airline’s disciplinary procedures for troublesome passengers but we find they are highly effective.’

He screamed with pain as the burning cigarette brushed his left nipple, then the right.

‘Just be thankful I’m in a merciful mood today. Do it again, you worthless piece of shit, and I’m going to burn your cock.’

‘No Miss…’ exclaimed David involuntarily, seized with horror at the thought that he was now in the clutches of a sadist who made no attempt to conceal the pleasure she was getting from torturing him.

‘Why shouldn’t I? After all that pathetic piece of skin is no use to any woman is it?

David said nothing.

‘Is it?’

He felt the sharp blow of a gloved hand slapping his cheek.

‘No Miss’ he said, by now crushed and humble.

‘Open wide.’

Again he breathed in smoke followed by the warm sensation of ash on his tongue.

‘Well I think I’ve finished the cigarette. Open wide again.’

She leaned forward, let another line of saliva fall into his mouth after which she thrust the burning cigarette into his mouth and stubbed it out on his tongue.

‘Eat it!’

David swallowed the butt as she stood up and looked down on him. Again he felt saliva , this tome from a greater height that missed his mouth and spattered onto his cheek.

‘Next time you’ll do as airline personnel instruct you, won’t you?’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘That’s more like it’ she answered grinding her leather boot into his crotch and laughing again, even before her could let out a cry of pain.

Then she was gone. David lay on the floor, naked, bruised and humiliated.   He felt great peace and calm come over him. He noticed that she had left her cigarette packet behind. He looked inside and noticed that there was one cigarette left. He lit it and drew deeply and contentedly on it. Then lying on the floor he held as close to his right nipple as he dared, burning the hairs of his chest as his left hand took his cock and began to move up and down the shaft. The stewardess he held adoringly in front of him as he imagined the boot coming down on his face, imagined being ordered to lick. Soon he was coming, the creamy emission spilling out and matting his pubic hair. He thought to himself

‘I must go to Paris again – soon.’

Going to Cirque

I guess most of us are on our own at the start of our journey, knowing that we are somehow different and maybe burdened with feelings of shame about our feelings and fantasies.  Some never really get beyond that phase and kink for them will always mean, for example, sessioning  with a pro domme when time and money allow. After each session they will go back into vanilla life and bury their kink selves as deeply as they can, that is, until the urge again becomes irresistible and they pick up the phone.

If you had asked me a year ago I would have had no hesitation in saying that this was bad for them, that they needed to get out into the scene, go to a much, go to a play party or tow and see what is out there. I am now a little older and wiser, a lot more experienced in the ways of kink, and can see that for many people this is the only viable option. This is certainly true of some of the deeply submissive men who meet me for play. Deep down they are content with that. Having a rich kinky fantasy life, with occasional forays into the world of real life kink for the relief they crave, works for them. I will not judge them. And, let us be frank, the BDSM scene isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. There are predatory and abusive individuals out there, unskilled would be doms whose play is downright dangerous, there is politics too , as everywhere else in human life. I have known deeply kinky people who have turned their backs on the scene, bitterly disillusioned.

But staying in the closet wouldn’t have worked for me. All the more so as, knowing I was really transgender as well as kinky, I was in two closets. And while there have been disappointments along the way, there have been many more positives than negatives. I have met some wonderful people and formed lasting friendships. Through interacting with others, playing in some cases, I have learned deep truths about myself. I know I am not the only one who feels this.

One moment will always remain with me. This was the first time I went to Cirque de Chaos. This, for those that don’t know, is a popular fetish event held in the West Midlands, one that involves live performances, play and plenty of socialising, a place where you dress to impress. People come from all over the country to attend.  As I walked in, nervously and looked around, took in the sheer numbers, the age range of  literally 18 to 80, the multiplicity of shapes and sizes, of sexualities, of genders,  I experiences a thrilling moment of empowerment and liberation.

“My God” I said to myself, “There are so many of us.”

I will be at Cirque again this Sunday, no longer a nervous newbie. There will be live performances, fabulous costumes, friends to catch up with and, not least, new people to get to know. I will be in a iliac skirt suit and brogues, looking a bit schoolmistressy with my cane. Do come and say hello if you see me. I won’t even require you to bend over for six of the best, not, that is, unless you have been very naughty.

On The Other Side of the Fence

In my sub days I had often wondered what it would be like to be on the other side of the fence during a CBT session. Now I was finding out.

I have been on the receiving end on more than one occasion so knew exactly what was going through the head of my sub who was strapped helplessly to the cross as I slapped on the surgical gloves and laid out the pegs in a neat row on the table. What was going on was what I wanted to be going on, apprehension, anticipation, the fear of the unknown. Above all the fear, for good BDSM play is as much about what you might do as about what you actually do do.  Mindfuckery is at the heart and for the domme a key element in the pleasure she has from the scene. But I was nervous too. This was a new departure for me in my still young domming career.  But I didn’t let my sub see that. Be in control, be composed, be dommely in every word, every movement. Do nothing to break the spell.

I took his cock in my hand, stroked it, felt arousal pulse through it before pulling back the foreskin and flicking hard at the end. He winced and breathed in sharply. I moved my face in close to his and laughed.   Then I got to work with the pegs, a colourful arrangement around the tip, along the shaft, on the scrotum and a few in his bushy wiry pubic hair for additional suffering.

I applied the penis gag and ordered him to suck. I stood back, amused at his predicament, and admired my work. It was artistic what I had done, a Mohican of pegs along the top of his cock, blue pegs dangling like cows’ udders from the bottom, red pegs as sentinels around the tip from which precome was starting to dribble. I flicked hard again and his erection began to subside as he whimpered through the gag. I stood back to admire my handiwork again. A pathetic inadequate cock had been turned into a bold strutting peacock, a creature of savage beauty exacting its due toll of pain.

I left him in that state for several minutes and, to mess with his head a little more, took out my canes, stroked them lovingly, smelt the heady aroma of my cruel rubber flogger, ran the lovely tails through my fingers. A taste of delights to come. I walked up to him to tweak a nipple, whisper in his ear.

When the moment came, the knocking off of the pegs with the cane was pure sadistic delight. I laughed again, removed the gag and could feel the rush of relief going thorough him, and gratitude to the domme who had inflicted this pain and yet shown him mercy. I almost felt that he would do anything for me. He had offered me his manhood to play with. He was mine.

I think that CBT can be one of the most beautiful of all BDSM activities, and not just physically. It symbolism is profound. It is the taking of the organ that is a locus of power and pleasure, often both together,  a tool of the subjugation of women, and remodelling it as the locus of humiliation, of pain and of subjugation to woman. No man who has offered his cock to a dominant woman to be cruelly used for her amusement c an ever be the same again, For it is not just that he gives her, it is his soul.

Sharing the Love – Eroticon 2015

It’s been a while since I last posted a blog post. I’ve been too busy sorting my life out …oh and being naughty. Now I think I have something to say again. And my weekend at the start of the month in Bristol renewed my commitment to what is a lovely, supportive community of eroticon fiction writers and bloggers. I feel I would be letting people down if I didn’t start writing again. It is with Eroticon 2015 that I will begin…..

“I feel loved” I said looking Ruby in the eye.

“You are loved” she replied.

This is not the introduction to (or even the end of!) a love story but an exchange with Eroticon founder and organiser Ruby Kiddell in the bar of Bristol’s SAS Radisson as I reluctantly prepared to return to Temple Meads station for my train home. The conversation actually picked up the threads of one from the previous evening. I had come to Eroticon 2014 in male persona so this year was my first time as a woman. And the fact that I have taken this step is due in no small part to a very profound (and unexpected) conversation I had at the bar at Eroticon 2014. You see, I owe a lot to this event.

I had expected to be accepted, after all the sort of people who have a problem with transgenderism are not generally the sort of people who are likely to go to Eroticon anyway. I got much much more, support, encouragement, and from several people a real sense that they were happy for me. It was in this sense that I felt loved.

There is actually an awful lot to love about Eroticon. The presentations and demos are always interesting, frequently fascinating and sometimes utterly amazing (the rope bondage demo will stay with me for a long long time) but it is the people who make this event. Where else can you find a group of people who, whilst coming from diverse backgrounds, essentially get sex and sexuality, will not judge, and are always ready to talk and engage with you.  I, for example, found myself in in very deep conversation over pizza and Prosecco on the Saturday night, this with two people who had been strangers only 24 hours earlier! This is what Eroticon does. Knowing you will not be judged, you can open up and share. And really, the trust implied by others sharing intimate things with you is humbling.

I should also add that the people at Eroticon are also fun to be with as well and partying is a big part of the weekend (even if the noise in Revolution bar was a bit much for some!) Nervous newbies don’t stay nervous long in this environment. For me Eroticon is a family, one that I could really not do without.

After the final session with an awful feeling of anti-climax descending many of us went back to the bar at the Radisson. I decided to stay an extra hour and catch a later train. I am so glad I did because it gave me an opportunity to have a deep and thought provoking conversation with Remittance Girl .

I’ll mention a few others I talked to at the event. Apologies if I missed you out but in no particular order: Rebecca who blogs about sex education and tweets as @sextracurricular, @earotica aka Jonathan Keith , Marie Rebelle, Ashley Lister, Girl on the Net, Preston Avery,  KD Grace. Lily Harlem, Violet Fenn,  Celia Vargas, F Leonora Solomon and  Charles J Forrest, recipient of a free cocktail as I rushed for my taxi on that final evening, this in the spirit of Eroticon generosity of course and not a hint for next time we find ourselves in the same bar!

We shouldn’t wish our lives away but I really can’t wait for Eroticon 2016 to come round. And you now what? I’ve not felt the drop this year. Yes I felt loved and I want all those I engaged with at Eroticon to know that I love you too.

And you know what? I haven’t felt the drop so much this year. I was left with a feeling of being sure of where I will now be going in life, in terms of gender, sexuality and kink, a feeling of being deeply comfortable with who I am. And the lovely vintage frock I had ordered arrived while I was away. That sort of things lifts any girl’s spirits!

Vile Bodies

I  am old enough to remember Spanner. It is the jokes made in the office where I worked at the time that stick in my mind. I remember thinking that it seemed illogical that consent could be a defence to an assault in a boxing ring but not to the infliction of pain in a BDSM context. But that was all. I am ashamed to say I rather enjoyed the titillating stories in the tabloid papers and did not think about the wider implications. I was, after all, only dimly aware of the huge part that BDSM would come to play in my life.

That was all nearly thirty years ago and the reason why I attended a conference at Royal Holloway College in early September. At times this day was heavy going with one presentation following another and some of the delivery being a bit on the dry side. An honourable exception was Myles Jackman who was both entertaining and well informed. His presentation was, however, a sort of appetising side dish (or maybe unappetising in view of what he had to say) to the main course which was academic lawyers and criminologists, (some of them with a personal commitment to alternative sexualities) sketching out the bones of theoretical perspectives on the control of our bodies and the politico-legal discourse surrounding it. This work will draw on Spanner and its implications but move far beyond it to look at what has happened since. There was too much said in the course of a long day to summarise what every speaker said , and my notes are sparse and illegible, ere but I will just set out a few thoughts:

In terms of the case itself homophobia has been cited as a main theme. The judgement, it has been argued, was not homophobic as such although I do wonder whether the case would have been brought at all today, when Clause 28 and the AIDS moral panic seem a distant memory. two themes emerge,  manly pursuits and homophobia. Nonetheless when Lord Justice Templeman addressed the question of the seeming illogicality of accepting consent as a defence against an assault charge in the case of combat sports but not in the case of BDSM play he made specific reference to combat sports being  ‘manly diversions’ the implication being that being kinky or gay or both is ‘unmanly’. Isnot this whjat popular prejudice has said about gay men since time immemorial?t

I will not pursue the issue of homophobia here, but will turn instead to the real significance of the case which is much more interesting. It is, of course, that this was an example of the  state sanctioned policing of bodies.

This, of course, raises all sorts of issues of the [political significance of certain sexual ;practices. And questions these practices. For example is BDSM genuinely transgressive and subversive or is it simply a form of hedonism without wider significance? If the latter, why is it stigmatised and, as we have seen, potentially criminalised?

So why the urge to control what we do with our bodies? A couple of speakers offered neo-liberal free market capitalism as a potential explanation. Where economic efficiency and profit are ultimately the only things that matter the human body has value only as factor of production. If bodies are to be productive in economic terms the capitalist state must intervene to proscribe activities deemed non-productive. Enjoyment is subversive by opening up perspectives of human fulfilment that go beyond work and the consumption of fetishized goods.

There are a couple of problems with this. Whilst I accept that the social construction of the family, of gender identity and sexuality have undergone significant change in the last two hundred years and that much of this change has gone in step with the development of industrial capitalism I am a little wary of taking this argument too far. The argument has a certain whiff of functionalism not to say crude reductionism about it.  What are the mechanism by which the legal dispensation around sexuality and its expression are changed in response to the needs of capital? This is not clear. Secondly we can observe that the control of sexuality has changed significantly over the last hundred years or so within the context of a mode of production that has remained essentially free market and capitalist. A notable example of  this is the decriminalisation of homosexuality begun in 1967 and ending with the laws to equalise the age of consent. I would suggest that the politico-legal debates about sexuality are, to a degree at least, autonomous.  Furthermore, some functionalist and reductionist arguments deny the meaning sometimes even the possibility of struggle. Those of who  identify on the LBGTQI spectrum (this includes a number of the participants at the conference) are not, and never have been, passive recipients of proscription , persecution and so on. We are active in creating our identities and in resisting attempts to make us conform to norms and regulation imposed from above. This recognition is important since, surely, one of the aims of gaining a better theoretical  understanding of these issues is to inform struggle. Theory and praxis if you will.

A  further point is that capitalism is a flexible also chameleon like mode of production. Anything can be commodified and exploited for profit. There have even been attempts to patent genetic sequences,  attempts to commodify the very stuff of life. The same is true of sexuality. Kink, gay sex etc etc can all be exploited for profit and, at the same time, rendered harmless. We need only look at homosexuality and look as the way being gay has gone mainstream, how gay culture has ben captured in the corporate embrace. Not for nothing have alternative Prides been held as a protest against the depoliticisation of mainstream gay culture.

What I am arguing here is that the relative autonomy of the political and legal sphere creates a dual threat, The battle against criminalisation will not end in victory if the price is the corporate embrace and the mainstreaming of our sexual practices. I love BDSM precisely because it is transgressive.

And talk of commodification brings me o n to areas that were touched on but which it would be fascinating to see developed as this project progresses. not developed and which could usefully form part of the project not least because some of them are forming new terrains for struggle, sex workers rights and the rights of porn producers and performers moist notably. Prominent in the campaigns that threaten the livelihoods of both sex workers and porn producers are radical feminist.

Radical feminists are not only hostile to sex work and porn, however much these may be expressions of female empowerment, they are also hostile to BDSM generally, (femdom very much included) and all manifestations of transgenderism. In fact anything that has the possibility of being transgressive and subversive of the gender binary and accepted expressions of sexuality they are against. In their fight against patriarchy and gender they end up paradoxically as agents of the patriarchal capitalist state doing the enforcing. None of this is new but worth saying again. But in the struggle for true sexual freedom they have nothing to contribute. It is the queers, the kinksters, the perverts, the trans men and trans women who can take the battle forward, both intellectually and in terms of political action. And a conference on a sunny September day at Egham was not a bad place to start.

We finished off with wine and snacks in the Colonnades of the lovely main building before heading  to the pub afterwards where I had rather too much wine. I vaguely recall staggering around Egham with Roz Kaveney trying to find the station and then waking up the following day with a bad head. But that, as they say, is another story…..