I was looking at some old comments. And found this inventive story someone posted about three years ago.

We started doing the motion sensor thing about 8 years ago. We don’t do it a whole lot these days but it still is in our repertoire of activities.

When I first got the idea, it was a simple case of picking out one that I thought would do the job. I looked at the features and went with my best guess. I got one that had a sensitivity control, which I always run at maximum. It has a switch that lets you decide how long the motion light should be on. This, of course, is going to determine the length of time you receive each correction. Options on my particular unit are: 4 seconds, 4 minutes or 12 minutes. I’ve gone with the 4 second option because it seemed about right.

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About four years ago I outlined what struck me then, as a genuinely brutal whipping that was an archetypal masochistic fantasy of mine. The particulars are irrelevant.

Recently someone left a comment to rather forcibly let me know that he didn’t think the scenario was brutal. My correspondent evidently endures hours of scream worthy corporal punishment.

Hooray for him.

Our bodies and minds aren’t identically constructed. The physiological ability to handle physical pain and the masochistic gift to process it erotically are individual to each of us.

Sure I know many sadists really like masochists who can really take it rough. But the best sadists understand the subjectivity of S&M and that it isn’t an Olympic sport. They can appreciate that for some people thirty minutes with a flogger is the most they can take.

Treating masochism as a competitive event is risky since it can motivate a bottom to try to endure more than he or she should. It can be another form of rape.

‘Manly’ masochists should relish their own capacity but otherwise just shut up.

(From February 2007.)

Stop sex! Stop it now!

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(From November 2006. A bit odd to read now.)

People love these ten best sorts of lists. I don’t know why, suggesting that you fit in ten anything is confessing that you are generic. But as someone who did market research for many years I know that unconscious involuntary conformity is even truer than I thought as an angry teen.

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What Catches Your Eye?

Looking at an erotic photograph is hardly an objective experience. Your response brings forth a fairly broad range of your sexuality: the realities of your past, things hoped for and foolish fevered dreams.

Looking at this cover of The Bitch Goddess, what catches your eye?

The woman’s legs? For me they are just a framing device, her presence provides context.

It is the man. Because I’d like to be him. On my knees. The joy of restraints, the bit gag (much sexier than the traditional ball gag). Looking up at someone who has me helpless, my mind torn between anticipation and dread at where I’m about to be taken. My body her plaything. Lashes that will cut into my mind as well as my flesh.

What do you see?