In Paris and New York, I would, from time to time, wander around S&M and swingers clubs with a hidden camera, in pursuit of a dream of dissolution, harmony, and collective ecstasy. As a creator of illusion, I’m concerned with truth. And for me these are places of truth, like mental hospitals and battlefields.

In such places, reality is heightened – is sometimes violent – but human interactions are mostly tender and sincere. Strictly speaking, there is little in the way of purely sexual pleasure. As if, strangely, pleasure wasn’t to be found where we most expect it.

Jean-Christian Bourcart
Forbidden City

Kinky Sex Orgy

February 14, 2016

Lindsey_intimate embrace

Last Valentine’s day, me and mine, visited a certain large house on the outskirts of Antwerp to take part in sado-masochistic sex games. Outside the house was parked a veritable fleet of Porsches, Mercs, BMWs and Aston Martins. Inside thirty or so people in elaborate costumes with long flowing capes and face masks…in attendance, ultimately, for this group fuckfest, in celebration of the Saint most associated with love.

In the main ‘party’ room non-stop porn streamed onto huge wallmounted screens, music playing in the background; many of the guests were fingering their iPhones nervously – perhaps to invite more bodies to this blizzard of sucking and fucking, whipping and bondage? Or perhaps, more simply, searching for escape?

There were party drugs on offer, “G” and “Tina” but we did not partake (never do). Also dishes of Viagra for those who felt the need.

We joined this fleshly bacchanal with our usual enthusiasm, engaged in (safe) sex that doesn’t conform to traditional or conservative norms – with each other and with strangers. It was Valentine’s day, but there was little sign of love in the more traditional, cutesy way of Hallmark cards and amateur sonnets…No, what took place was rougher, more basic, more animal. We witnessed, for example, some hardcore S & M, saw a plump young woman, nude but for her silver mask, birched until she cried out her safe word after twelve cutting strokes on the buttocks.

Another woman, all dimples and pointy tits, four foot nothing tall, sucked dick on a small, floodlit stage. She took on all comers, or so it seemed…

Someone’s granny, in black fishnets and wearing a white and gold full face mask, practiced her cock and ball torture skills on a six foot tall, blond, muscular hunk…

At one point I found myself in the arms of a woman wearing a gold & black checked eye Mask who ground her teeth as she came and called me a bastard over and over in guttural German…

But, eventually, as with all good things the party ended – not with a bang, but with an exhausted whimper! At half-past four in the morning we wished a fond adieu to our hosts, and stepped into a wet, misty morning. Our heads were still filled with images from the orgy, a sort of fleshy afterburn, as we made our tired way back to the hotel. Our flights home were later that same day…


February 14, 2016


Saturday toys


The woman who first introduced me to BDSM was a genuine misandrist who, for the purpose of this blog, we’ll call Zenobia. Her condition, I now recognise, was pathological: her denigration of men, her violence towards them, was ingrained – urges inside herself that were totally beyond her ability to control or suppress. She believed, ultimately, in the coming of the “Übermensch Womon” and felt herself one of the first of this “new species”.

Zenobia married young, eighteen, and produced a daughter the following year. She worshiped her child but marginalised her hubby. He existed to provide a roof over their head and to be humiliated in a thousand-and-one different ways. In the fifth year of marriage he ran a hose from the exhaust of his car and sat inside listening to the night with the engine running. His suicide came as a shock to all those who knew him, but not necessarily a surprise.

Had Zenobia’s behaviour caused her husband to top himself?

I have no idea. But it certainly must have played its part. Her hostile sexism towards men and towards him in particular was very apparent throughout their short sad marriage.

I knew very little of this when I first met Zenobia. To me, then, she was an attractive woman touching thirty, who thought men to be “hateful little boys”. We met at her birthday party and danced together all through the night. I have to say she “prick-teased” me mercilessly. Dancing cheek-to-cheek, she must have felt my hard-on…and that acted like a red-rag to a bull; she took every opportunity from then onwards to grind her hip against it, press it, catch it glancing blows, until I was almost ejaculating in my pants.

About three in the morning she kissed me good night. She said I could stay, sleep in the spare room. Her guests had all departed.

She asked, ‘Have you ever masturbated in front of a woman?’

‘I have, yes.’

‘Would you do it now. For me?’

‘I’d like to make love with you.’

‘No way. But you can wank off. That stiff little thing of yours has been prodding me all night long.’ She laughed. ‘Go on. Get it out. Let’s see what it can do…’

And I did exactly as requested. Moments later, sitting on the arm of her sofa and staring hard into her eyes, I ejaculated over the parquet flooring.

‘Not a bad effort,’ she said, smiling. ‘If you want me, why don’t you lick that up?’ She pointed at the long creamy spray of cum. ‘Lick that up, and I might let you have me in the morning…’

And so began a relationship that consisted of verbal and physical abuse, interspersed with erotic moments of intense love and tenderness. That first morning, she said to me, in her best bitch voice, ‘You want me? You really want to fuck me? You think in that little testosterone-riddled brain of yours that licking up your muck off the floor’s going to give you the right to stick it in me? Think again, boy. Fuck you. If you want me, you need to make sacrifices. Meaningful sacrifices…’

We sat at the table in her kitchen. Her little girl was round with her grandparents for the weekend. I said to her, ‘I want you, truly, as a friend…As a lover.’


‘Because you’re beautiful.’

‘Because I’m beautiful I have to submit to your limp ego? Because you’re attracted to me, I should be passive? Vaginas don’t have the right to say no, eh? Is that what you think?’

‘God, no…!’

‘So what would you give to fuck me this morning?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Would you drink my pee? Are you that big a perv?’

The idea repulsed me, but I so wanted this woman. Hungover, still a little tipsy probably, I acquiesced, said I’d do anything…After all, I was sure she didn’t mean it; that this was just a test of my commitment.

She stood up walked to the cupboard beside the sink and took out a large crystal jug. She was wearing a white nightdress that came down just below the knees. She crouched, put the jug between her slightly spread thighs and pissed in it. She was looking straight into my eyes all the time she was pissing. ‘Nothing good in my life,’ she said, ‘has ever come from a man. I’ll be honest with you, Peedeel, you won’t cope with my fuckedupness. It’ll be like riding a car down a one-way street at eighty miles-an-hour – but going the wrong way.’

She put the jug on the table.

‘Drink all that before it gets cold, darling. Drink it and I’ll let you take me into the bedroom…’

I was young, stupid, couldn’t see anything beyond the physical. It’s hard to explain but it was as if my brain was split into two halves. One half was saying, ‘What the feckin’ hell…’ While the other kept repeating, ‘Go ahead…get it down you. It’s nothing.’

So I drank. Tasted the warm, salty liquid. Her “wine” she called it. Drank all of it.

‘What a despicable little pervert you are,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Go on through to my bedroom. Strip off. I’ll give you a little reward. Wag your tail a bit…’

I did as instructed. She came in and told me to stand with my hands clasped behind me back. I did. She used the belt from a dressing gown to bind my wrists together. She pushed me forward onto the bed, two pillows beneath my penis and hips, my arse raised. Unexpectedly, she pulled a pillowcase over my head. Then my ordeal began…

I had always had a submissive streak. Even as a child. I fantasised about restraint, and being sexually used. In part Zenobia took control of my fantasy life; she provided the spark. Took me to the edge of infinity by inflicting the most incredible pain on me. Clothes pegs were attached to testicles and penis. She took a cane used to support a potted plant in the bedroom window, and lashed my backside into a throbbing numbness. It went on and on. Her eyes took the aim, and the cane striped my bum and the backs of my legs. And when she grew tired, she got a candle and matches.

Candle wax burns like feckin’ hell. I screamed inside my pillowcase. I begged. I cried with the pain of what she was doing to me. The torture continued and my mind drifted into this kind of fugue state. I was there but not there. I felt as if I were approaching ecstasy. As if I could reach out and touch the hand of God…

Zenobia burned me with the candle and with a lighted cigarette, but I hardly felt it. I had gone beyond pain, beyond desire. It was like an out of body experience.

The next thing I became truly aware of, was lying on my back. The pillowcase had been taken off, and Zenobia was stroking my head. ‘Poor thing,’ she said. ‘Poor poor thing.’ Her free hand went to my stiff cock. ‘Let’s wag his tail for him…’

I drifted. In the whole wide world there was only the sound of her voice, and the gentle ministrations of her slender fingers on the head of my penis. When I came it was suddenly, unexpectedly, the first spray of cum arching over my head.

Later she said to me, ‘I did warn you I was a fuckup – told you, didn’t I? You’ll never survive me. I’ll break you down into a sniveling shit-eater before I’ve finished.’

And then she went to get some gel to put on my burns and bruises.

Zenobia was lethal for sure. Whatever was between us, be it mistress and slave or predator and victim, continued for some months. I promised myself after that session, I’d not go back to her – but I did. I went back and continued to go back. She was like a Gestapo interrogator, a dark haired torturer, and I was like a moth attracted to the flame of hatred inside of her.

In some terrible way we complemented each other. I was yin to her yang. She was Nero fiddling while I burned. And each of the hours spent in her company left a fresh scar on my flesh; on my soul.

Eventually, like all things, our “special relationship” came to an end. Zenobia nearly put me in hospital one winter’s night, and I realised that I need to escape her influence if only for my own preservation.

And that’s what I finally did.


Marina didn’t feel the desire for S & M until she was an adult and had outgrown her eating disorder. “One night I asked my partner to put his hands around my neck and choke me. I was so surprised when those words came out of my mouth,” she says. If she gave her partner total control over her body, she felt, she could allow herself to feel like a completely sexual being, with none of the hesitation and disconnection she sometimes felt during sex. “He wasn’t into it, but now I’m with someone who is,” Marina says. “S & M makes our vanilla sex better, too, because we trust each other more sexually, and we can communicate what we want.”

Marianne Apostolides
The Pleasure of Pain


A month or so ago we went to visit friends in the midlands. It was a kind of “lost weekend” for us. Too much food, too much booze; and because our friends (for the sake of the blog we’ll call ‘em Victor and Maxine) are heavily into the local BDSM scene, we had far too much of that, also!

First, let me clarify something, because we role-played a number of bondage scenarios, it doesn’t mean we were rolling around bonking each other everywhere. We weren’t. That said, on the Sunday morning, Dee’s “rape” obsession took centre stage, and first Victor then Maxine, “raped” the disheveled and restrained Dee on their sitting room floor while I looked on.

The thing with Dee is she doesn’t give a shit for flowers or romantic gestures, niceties like that. She just wants teeth raking her tits, and her cunt stretched by Victor’s cock or Maxine’s frightening strap-on. When that went up Dee’s arsehole, her eyes rolled-up in her head – like a feckin demon that’s day-dreaming.

Watching felt strange. The woman I love half-undressed and having rough sex on the floor with those two. It’s like inside me there’s an unfinished, only partly formed emotion that I need to vomit up. A terrible sadness that tastes of acid.

Victor kept having to pull out of Dee because he was so near to coming. Maxine didn’t have that problem. Dee’s face contorted violently when she came – and she came three or four times. Finally Victor shot his load into her writhing, struggling body. Afterwards Maxine, comfortably seated on the sofa, forced Dee to kneel between her spread legs and lick her out.

The previous evening Maxine and Victor took us to their local BDSM club bi-annual party. There were a lot of people in leather gear or semi-nude. Just inside the double doors of the hall an elderly, pot-bellied man had been tied over a bench seat with his hairy arse in the air. A notice in black felt tip encouraged all entrants to “make use of him”. There were five neatly tied but well used condoms beside him. Also a black riding crop.

Dee, smiling, picked up the crop. She used it on his arse and made him cry out. I could see by the faint red marking on his buttocks that Dee wasn’t the first to administer punishment.

Maxine took the crop from Dee and lashed the poor unfortunate. ‘It’s too teach him a lesson,’ she said. ‘His mistress is very upset with him. She told us all last week, he’s to be used today like a little tart.’ She fingered a tray of unused condoms on the bench beside her victim’s head. ‘He’s going to be on stage later. Take a full body whipping for our gratification…’

It was all rather mundane. People in chains, in cuffs, in skimpy undies or uniform (there was a magnificent police woman walking round with a semi-nude girl and man on twin leads like a pair of giant poodles). Exotic, yes, bizarre even. But mundane for all that. A lot of the club’s members were male, and many of them were red-faced and overweight.

But Dee’s philosophy was never say “No” to an adventure. Adventures were necessities. As essential to her life as air.

We witnessed the “whipping” of our friend from the entrance. Two women, one his owner and mistress, the other a friend, worked methodically with floggers and crops. The club rules insist no cuts or serious bruising, no flowing blood, no genital play, no unsafe sex. So the whipping was quite mild, but entertaining for all that – the old guy’s shrill yells of pain turned Dee on. The two women seemed to be aiming most of their blows now at his stiff stub of a cock. Eventually this attention became too much and he ejaculated on the wooden floor.

A woman came over and spoke to Dee and Maxine. She was a very large lady in a black leather corset with bright green hair and a gold nose stud. Late fifties, at a guess. Apparently she wanted to know if I was “available” for playtime. Dee, thankfully, gave my apologies, sparing my poor body from whatever decadent delights this lady had in mind.

I have to say that I am partial to beginning a bondage scene with a little neck nibbling, nipple pinching, kissing, ear biting – just gentle nips with the teeth. A light flogging while restrained is a terrible turn-on for many people. Many’s the time I’ve managed to deep breath myself into an altered state of consciousness while being lightly “spanked”.

On such occasions you can easily become undone, whispering, moaning; the unimaginable pleasure racing through your nervous system like fire, as the sweet and torturous tension builds with each fresh touch of burning skin. You experience pure energy in its primal form, so very animal, so very wild. You let it free…

Which is what happened to me last night. But that’s another story –

S & M aftercare…

June 22, 2015


Aftercare is the last act of the SM drama. It is the culmination, the pulling together of all loose ends, the finishing touches, the final communion between sharers of the SM ritual, the phase where the participants formally give the fantasy scene a context in everyday reality. Its technical purpose is to transition both players from the elevated states created in a scene [i.e., an S&M encounter] back into normalcy, returning to the motor control and awareness they will need to drive home once the scene is over. But as any good SM practitioner will tell you, it’s much more than that. It is the time after the action when the participants come together in mutual affirmation that something special was created and shared. It is when affection and closeness is offered and sought. It is, at very least, the proper time to express thanks to the person who has shared this tiny segment of your life with you. It can be, and often is, the most beautiful part of a scene, and it is part of the scene. To skip it altogether is as rude as having dinner at a friend’s house and then bolting once you’ve eaten your fill.

Chris M

Ethical kink…

June 19, 2015


“What is BDSM?”

We don’t know, either.

We do believe that consensual, ethical kink has a valid place on the continuum of human sexual behaviour – that it’s not an expression of pathology. We also do not see S/M players as a distinct sexual minority, somehow different from other folk; we think S/M may be further along one road of sexual exploration, but that many if not most people play with some forms of S/M energy.

S/M is sex that involves all of our faculties: minds and bodies, imagination and intellect, hearts and souls. To those who call what we do “unnatural, ” we like to point out that we do what comes naturally: nature gave us opposable thumbs, so we use tools.

S/M is play, theatre, communication, intimacy, sexuality. It combines the child’s urge for make-believe with the adult’s ability to take responsibility and the adult’s privilege of sexual reward. S/M at its best represents a remarkable convergence of civilized agreements and primitive urges. We believe it to be a very high achievement of the human body, mind and spirit.”

Dossie Easton and Janet W Hardy
The New Topping Book

S & Ms….?

June 13, 2015