Powerful women - Walter Molino, 1959

odsandeds

It’s surprising for a County with a very small population, that Cornwall Kink has 864 members. Mind you, a rural area can be ideal for kinky goings on. Mickey Walsh took photos of his wife Devina recently, in one of his ploughed fields and posted them online at FetLife.

She’s naked in some of the pics, partially clothed in others. One shows her after a roll in cow shite (not my thing at all). Another shows her with a cock in her arse. That day Mickey had arranged for five blokes to meet at his field. He let ‘em all loose on his little woman and she loved (allegedly) every gangbang minute of it. A couple of them fisted her, apparently. They all fucked her multiple times. And in the pouring rain, too! And farmer Mickey stood with a hard-on photographing it all for posterity.

Well, did you ever…?

Ron’s sister, Debbie Field, the school teacher, recently said to me: ‘Silence is golden, duct tape silver….’

That was at a local munch. She was drinking Asti and orange juice. ‘My men scream,’ she told me shrilly. ‘But silently behind the silver tape. I really love CBT…Cock & ball torture. I love the power of holding a guy’s tackle in the palm of my hand. Then making a tight fist of that hand and watching his face. It is ecstasy…’

She is, boys and girls, a well built and very strong woman. Amazonian, I think, is the term.

Another woman at that same munch said to me, ‘Every man is just a work in progress. From their early teens they’re just walking hard-ons. Except they all have this built in off-switch. Once they cum it kicks in, and they lose interest in you – their attention wanders elsewhere, football and what-have-you. So you’ve got to be an artist, a sculptor. Men are the raw lumps of marble waiting for your chisel – you have to create a masterwork. And you do that by learning to prolong and preserve their raging erections…and you do that by teasing and torturing them. Continuously edging them. Keep ‘em on the edge of orgasm; on the edge of desperation.’

Her name was April and she lived over on the coast. She was drinking vodka and lemonade. She was looking, she said, for a new “slaveboy” to join her existing “body slave”, Thomas. She would prefer a totally hetro male, because forcing him into fellatio with Thomas would be more “fun”, she thought.

She became a little tipsy during the course of the evening and talked a lot about cock rings and tying testicles. ‘I keep Simon rock hard,’ she said. ‘I love queening him on the sitting room carpet. Having a man lick and nurse your womanhood is MAGICAL! Truly it is. And once a month, without fail, I let Simon cum. Drain him completely.’

A guy named Desmond mentioned his shopping trips to a well known local store. He said, ‘They have some good stainless steel items. I love the feel of cold steel during a bondage session…’

Personally, I’m not so sure about this.

Chris Grant, a middleaged Dom, rambled on about politics. Talking about the labour party, he asked, ‘Where’s the effin’ fire, eh? Where’s the belief…In anything? The whole bloody lot are just career politicians now…’

I couldn’t disagree.

I went off to get a couple more hot veggie rolls and a pint. The evening was sort of strange, but the people wonderful. I don’t really do them justice here.

Erica, a plump pansexual, described herself as ‘a little bit of a sadist,’ (Ummm, not too sure about that ‘little bit’). She’s heavily into humiliating males of all ages. She said she was married (to John), but had three lovers and was about to engage with a fourth. ‘I’m selfish,’ she said. ‘Bratty and narcissistic. I enjoy exploring kink…’

She’s also a horsey woman, and goes horse riding whenever the opportunity arises (she owns a horse which is stabled not far from my home). Her other interests (so she said) were manga and comic books, churchyards (?) and Goth fashion. Erica had a beautiful tattoo of a dragon climbing her left arm. She told me its twin was on her lower back, scrambling out of her arse.

Ummm, now that would be a sight for sore eyes…

Yesterday afternoon in the supermarket carpark I heard a man and woman having a bit of a barny. The man had a very thick Cornish accent. ‘Well,’ he almost yelled. ‘You sit on your arse in the car then, I’m off to do shoppin’.’ The woman made some reply, her voice softer, inaudible to me. ‘Keep it shut,’ the man ordered. ‘Or you’ll get the belt again when I get you home…’

Were they part of the scene? I wondered. Or was this yet another example of local domestic abuse?

It’s often so difficult to tell, isn’t it?