Rough sex, power and male entitlement

‘Single. Bit of a loner. Into my motor bikes and guitar. No kids. Was married for 8 years. Love to fuck more than anything. I like the power.’

I’m currently looking for a new slave and I’m spending some time on dating and fetish sites trying to find a suitable candidate. This is how one prospective candidate described himself. I can’t be sure why, but even before I received this message I had an uneasy feeling about him.

I was puzzled why someone who likes the power he gets from having sex would want to apply for a position as slave. So I asked him why he wanted to get into a dynamic where he doesn’t have the power. He replied, ‘To see how it feels from the other side. Does that make sense?’

It does make sense to me that he would want to experience what a loss of power feels like, but it is not sufficient reason to commit to being a slave. His next question was,

‘Is there anything sexual involved?’

This is a complex question. While not all kinky play involves sex, my experience has been that all kinky play has a sexual dimension to it and very often the power exchange is around sexual desire, need and frustration or control of that need. I told him,

‘Sexual desire is a powerful tool of control.’

I asked him whether he thought he could commit to giving up his power for an extended period of time and whether he realised that this could be mentally and emotionally taxing. He responded that there was no way of knowing unless he tried it and that he deserved it. This caught my interest. He thought he deserved it. The question was why?’ The ensuing conversation was revealing and unsettling.

‘I have been dominant for a long time. I think it’s time the role was reversed. I’ve humiliated a lot of girls in the past and I deserve some pay back. I used them for sex, as cum dumpsters or hard anal without an invite. Rough sex.’

Clearly this was a man who had little respect for women and used them to bolster his own need for feeling powerful in a non-consensual way. I felt that submitting to me would not help him deal with his actual issue – a lack of respect and empathy for women – and that he should instead commit to treating women well and make amends to those he’d injured in the past, and told him as much. Our interaction ended there.

However, the conversation has stayed with me since then. Not only because I feel for the unsuspecting women he abused and of whom he speaks so disrespectfully. But also because he bluntly articulated a power dynamic and lack of respect present in many male-female interactions, one that ‘more enlightened, sensitive guys’ still subscribe to but are often unable to recognise within themselves.

I’m thinking of a recent interaction with another man, with whom I’d been texting on and off for months and with whom I‘d gone out a few times. This man considers himself to be an enlightened left leaning thinker. He is in poly relationship, stands for equality of the sexes, is into community development, tantra and the sensual side of kink, where D/s forms part of sexual play rather than a real power exchange.

From the get go I had told him that while I liked him and enjoyed his company I did not feel a sexual spark and, in any case, I was not interested in taking on a submissive role – which is something he was pushing for. This went back and forth for months. I was happy to spend time with him because he always had interesting stories to tell and was entertaining. But I made it quite clear that I was not interested in anything more.

He, however, remained convinced I was deserving of his love and needed it and he was going to give it to me. Somewhere along the way his primary partner weighed in and suggested to him that he should respect my wishes not be become involved with him. This led to a few weeks of silence. Then he started messaging me again. Contrary to my better judgement I agreed to meet up with him once more. I was in a vulnerable place and could use some company I told myself. He came over for dinner and very quickly decided that I really needed comforting – physically and emotionally.

We kissed a few times, but for me things really got out of hand when he took my chin in his hand, looked me in the eye and firmly stated that if this was ever going to work I would have to open up to him and accept his love; as if this was something he could force me to do or had a right to demand. Needless to say the evening ended shortly after that.

My point is that this ‘enlightened’ man had no more respect for my wishes or boundaries than the prospective slave. Both operate from a position of entitlement and power. However, while one is quite clear on who has the power and that he loves it, the other is deluding himself while remaining unable to hear and respect women’s boundaries.

Chastity and consensual non-consent

I’m a curious sort of person. At one stage I was interested in finding out how long people usually remained in chastity. I posted a question to this effect in a chastity forum and received an overwhelming number of responses. One of them stood out. An older slave described in detail his experiences of chastity and torture with his young beautiful Mistress. His description of the milking process especially fascinated me.

This is a very long post, but it is well worth persevering. Here the slave’s story.

I once served a lifestyle Mistress. For about a year and a half she kept me constantly locked in chastity and unfulfilled.

Katherine was in her early 20s, less than half my age, and was beautiful. A petite blonde, probably about 5’3″, tanned and with a hard body. She had the most beautiful feet I have ever seen. Size 5 1/2 – 6 with arches so high she had to wear arch supports when she wore heels. She had a slave her age who serviced her sexually. I never had that privilege. Kissing her hands, feet and ankles was all I was ever allowed.

Katherine required me to stay completely shaved of body hair: crotch, legs, even armpits. I served her by running errands, taking her shopping, to lunch and dinner, and to her monthly manicure and pedicure. While there, she’d have me get a pedicure as well. She’d have them paint my toenails vivid red or pink and also put little designs on them. In warm weather months she made me wear sandals and shorts when we went out to lunch, etc. It was humiliating of course, but I lo619LSBfMu4L._SL1000_ved it.

Katherine had a dungeon in the basement of one of her friends’ homes, who was also a lifestyle Domme. We often played in that dungeon. Like me, Katherine loved elaborate, heavy bondage and S&M, which always involved lots of leather, chains, locks, arm-binder, sensory deprivation hood, etc., as well as my well-worn 8 point leather harness.

Katherine was fond of putting me in various, painful, stressful bondages and then just leaving me there for hours while she went back upstairs and hung out with her friend: hogtied, strappado, spread eagle standing and laying, strung up hands above me, bound to a pole, etc. When she returned it was often not to release me, but rather to torture me and then leave me again.

She frightened me badly a number of times by leaving me alone heavily bound and very effectively gagged.

She would often put me in the sensory deprivation hood I’d had for years and which was custom fitted to me. It was heavily padded with straps across the eyes, under the chin, over the head, and around the collar. All the buckles were lockable. It had only one opening, a small grommet hole over the mouth. She had me get a hard plastic ball gag with a leather covering that also had a hole in it. We cut the strap off of it so it could be used inside the hood. The hole in it lined up with the hood’s grommet hole so I was very effectively gagged. The ball was fairly large but I could breathe easily through it. Before she put the hood on me she would plug my ears with wax ear plugs. Once I was laced, strapped, and locked into that thing it was true sensory dep; I couldn’t speak, see, or hear.

Then she would put me in the bondage of her choice and leave me. With my ears plugged and unable to see she could check on me periodically without my ever knowing. I knew she was doing that, or at least I hoped she was but how could I know? It was very scary. The strap that ran under my chin made it impossible to flex my jaw, but because the gag did not go far into my mouth I could still swallow the inevitable drool. Many of those times I had to fight with all my will to suppress the panic that would rise up in me when the drool started to accumulate. Like I said, scary stuff, but I loved it.

My chastity device was a cb-3000. She made me wear two of the base rings. At the time it came with 4 different rings running from an 1 to 1 ¾ inches. The outer one was the 1 ¼ inches, the inner one 1 inch. I had to use lube or soap and be totally soft to get myself into it. It was a challenge with her looking so good and watching, but mind over matter you know. In front of the inner of those two rings she’d have me place one of the points of intrigue – the one with the longest and sharpest spikes. Then the cage was put on. She used the longest of the pins. With over an inch of plastic encircling me it required the smallest of the little spacer rings to be completely secured. When it was on, there was absolutely no movement between the plastic pieces.  The soft the end of my cock was right at the tip of the opening of the cage which was there for urination. The captive bead PA piercing I had stuck through the end, and she placed a small padlock on that as well.

It was totally, horribly effective.

The points of intrigue were the hardest thing to endure, and would sometimes cause a burning sensation around the bottom part of the base of my cock from the movement of the rings. Over time though my skin toughened a bit and the pain relented.

The final touch in the whole contraption was the hole we bored out the hole in the pin just a bit up towards its end. This allowed the cock cage to accommodate the 4 digit combination lock she used to secure it. Not only were there 10,000 possible combinations, but she was able to change the combo any time she wanted.

We were never able to find a metal pin for the cage, which is what she really wanted, and I was unable to make one. I suppose I could have used a box cutter to cut the pin at it’s thinnest portion around the hole, but I never tried. The fear of using a razor edged blade around that part of me was an effective enough deterrent. Believe me though, I thought about it a few times.

The worst part of the ordeal was when we played and I became aroused. That’s when the points of intrigue were brutal. When we’d go out to dinner she’d tease me by dangling her heel from one of her exquisite little feet knowing full well the effect it had, and delighting at how the points made me squirm in my chair. She was a very wicked young woman.

In the early mornings when I awoke with a morning woody I’d have to get out of bed and walk around to distract myself. In cold weather months I’d walk out on my deck barefoot. That always did the trick. In warm weather I’d take quick cold shower.

Katherine was determined that I be completely chaste during the time I served her. It was an insidious lonely torture. I saw her often during that period, usually 2-3 times a week. At least once a week she would let me out and allow me to thoroughly clean and shave myself; always with her watching me. It was terribly humiliating.

And now to the milking which occurred once every 4 to 5 weeks. She always had me self-administer an enema before this procedure. She’d lube and insert a large electric butt plug into me. The plug was a large black, hard plastic one with shiny metal strips down two of its sides. It was 8″ long, probably 1 1/2″ in diameter, and was totally rigid. It was tapered at the bottom so I would close over it and the crotch strap to my leather harness would hold it in place. She would turn the plug so that one of the metal strips was against my prostate.

If you never done anal play, the only way I would describe it is stuffed.

Katherine had a number of ways of binding me, but her favorite was standing me with my back to one of the metal poles in the basement. She’d pull my arms behind it and lock my elbow and wrist cuffs together. She’d lock my ankle cuffs together with the lock behind the pole. I could still stand, but it definitely made it more difficult. Then she’d wrap a chain around above and below my knees, and lock it behind the pole. She’d use another chain around my chest and my hips. It was rigid, but reasonably comfortable bondage which I could be left in. She had a small music stand with a single leg and a four pronged base to stabilize it. It was adjustable. She would lower the top part of it to be horizontal like a small, flat table, and adjust the stand until my caged cock and balls rested on it. Then she would go to the kitchen and retrieve a zip lock baggie which was filled with small ice cubes and crushed ice. She would take that baggie and place it between the top of the stand and my cock and balls forcing them into it. Then she would tie a cord around it so that the ice surrounded the cage, and my balls. In a matter of just a few moments my cock and balls would become numb from the freezing cold. I absolutely hated that ice, and the pain it created.

She had a small, simple, medical use tens unit which she’d attach to the plug. Of course one of my jobs was to ensure the unit always had a new 9 volt battery in it. The device had two jacks, each with their own power control. There were also two other controls. One varied the frequency of the current, the other the strength of it. One of its limitations was that those controlled both jacks. In this case though she was using only one. It had 3 modes: normal, frequency, and burst. In normal mode both controls worked. In frequency mode one could adjust the frequency, and the power, in burst mode the power could be controlled, but not the frequency. She preferred burst mode. Set like that the plug emitted 5 distinct power bursts, each stronger than the previous, and then repeated. The burst knob controlled the power of the thrust. She’d switch on the unit with the burst control at its lowest setting and then gradually increase the overall power. Once that was clearly having an effect she’d begin to turn up the power of the 5 bursts. Slowly, over 10 minutes or so she would crank both of the controls all the way up to full power.

Turned all the way up like that my hips would visually quake harder each time with each of the 5 bursts. It was very much like being fucked in the ass with 5 successive thrust over and over and over. Such is the nature of electrical play. Relentless. What was key about the burst mode was the varying of the thrust. If it’s set to one continuous power setting the body adapts over time. With it constantly varying and repeating shocks it could not. The main point of the whole ordeal was that the current was constantly massaging my prostate over and over.

Even with my cock caged, and it and my balls wrapped with ice, pre-cum would inevitably start to leak out of me.

Sometimes her friend would come down to look at what she was doing to me. The first few times she did it I truly and sincerely begged her to stop. She never did. Her final touch was to lace and strap me into the sensory dep hood gagged. She would lock the back of the collar to another short chain wrapped around the pole so that I was forced to maintain a straight posture throughout it all. The collar would be loose enough not to choke me, but tight enough I could feel the pressure on my neck. It all made a very nice visual image for her to enjoy. My body bound to the black painted pole in locking leather cuffs and chains, my head covered in thick leather, my hips bucking constantly from the power and burst of the plug, my caged cock and balls surrounded by the small bag of ice with the tens control unit sitting next to them it’s light blinking on and off.

Then she’d leave me that way for a couple of hours. By the time she decided to end the whole predicament the ice would be completely melted, and a large pool of clear semen would be on the platform. When I was released I was forced to clean it with my tongue. This was how she milked it out of me, and I obviously never felt any pleasure from it. I couldn’t feel anything except the constant, relentless powerful pulses in my ass, and the rigid restraints binding me to the pole.

The only word that comes to mind to describe the whole ordeal is evil.I understand and believe in the concept of safe, sane and consensual , but I’ve long gone a more risk aware philosophy and the concept of consensual non-consent. I had agreed to let her do this to me, and she was going to do it. In fact she took great pleasure in it usually laughing at and ridiculing me. She was fond of fetish wear but often she was just in jeans or shorts and barefoot. Somehow that just made it more real. This wasn’t a game we were playing with time limits or a safe word. I was her chastised slave to do with as she pleased.

Katherine released me when she got her master’s degree in mathematics and moved out of state to take a job. I hated seeing her leave, but I sure masturbated a lot to the memories of all those ordeals in the months after.

I still wonder if someday Katherine will move back to the area and contact me again. She’d be 29 now. It would be interesting to see how she’s matured seeing as she was so cruel and sadistic in her early 20s. It’s hard to imagine how much more sadistic she would have become as she grew older. I feel for, but also envy, whoever it is she has enslaved now.