The Form / Without Form / Deform (Die Form)

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Die Form – Little Boy

Please tell me this doesn’t scare the freaking shit out of you. David Lynch just got thrown into a psychotic BDSM universe where people laugh like maniacs and devour your body parts while playing yoga synthesizers. Fuck.

Will you be ready little boy?

Get ready for exposure, because this post will be massive. French Die Form formed in the late 70’s as a duo, playing cold, dark and dekadent electro-industrial music, sometimes called “darkwave”. Simply mesmerizing. The name of the project plays on the german “die Form” (the form), the english deform, and the french “difforme” (without form). Especially their early stuff sounds so insane and good, so I will keep it at that. Two more tracks from 1987 album Poupée Mécanique (of which the theme seems to be murder):

Die Form – Metaphase

Die Form – Bypass

So how does Die Form usually sound like? The music constantly surprises. They throw all kinds of sounds into the jam: the usual industrial fascination with metal and tools, or even a groovy slap-bass (dwarfing contemporary french electro acts like Justice), or the weird intermezzo of a girl laughing with insanity, or instrumental re-runs of previous tracks (like the main leitmotif of a musical coming back to haunt you). Ever wondered how the soundtrack to a BDSM sex scene would sound like? I guess something like this:

Die Form – Strange[r]

How about Kraftwerk with a hip hop beat:

Die Form – Re-search

The project seems like a labyrinth of strangeness and obscurity when first entering, and you listen through their huge discography with a feeling that every song or album contain so many hidden things, that you cannot (better not?) understand it all. For example, a reviewer said this about their album ExHuman: “Die Form send back out hybrid corpse mechanism era respiration-byte with the abolition world code-maniacs brain universe of a drug fetus”. What the fuck does he mean??? Even their fans seems to have some secret society where everybody speaks in impenetrable code.

Adding to the complexity of this project, they decided to record a whole album of …Bach. Yes, Johann Sebastian Bach, the 18th century German baroque composer. And of course in a cold, industrialized and synthetic interpretation of Bach’s classic works. Like this one.

Die Form – BWV 244-39

Die Form practice “multimedia intervention” by the way, combining sounds with performances, clubbing atmosphere, photography, visual art and cinema/video. I guess you by now realize the erotic theme going through the music. So here’s Die Form when they perform.

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Die Form myspace

Gallery of Die Form visual art

[Via http://entanglements.wordpress.com]

BDSM and Mental Health

BDSM and Bipolar for me is a wonderful combination!

While they might not be a great combination for my submissive, it works for me. LOL. I love the feel of release as I inflict pain on my submissive. The weight of the world leaving my mind for that short time as I force the submissive to do things they normally would not do in their true mindset.

Maybe it’s time to find that submissive again. After all it has been a few years since I have had one that wasn’t online. LOL

I’ve come to the realization that my Dominant side is a hiding technique. A way for me to inflict on another the pain I am feeling inside my head and heart. Thats where the Bipolar plays in. Because I am just that confused, I feel I need to give someone else the pain I’m feeling but in a different way. They get the pain through whippings, floggings, humiliation, CBT, and Mind Control (as well as many other ways), I have the pain in my head.

Hum: New thought! Maybe it’s not my Bipolar that instigates this, but my Borderline Personality Disorder since it supposedly is what triggers my emotions where relationships are concerned.

For me, BDSM is not about SEX as it is for most. I don’t personally use it as a sexual release. But here is the clincher; I’m submissive to my partner.

For me being submissive means going into another world, a world where someone else takes over and dominates my existence. So what is my true calling then? That of a Dominant or that of a submissive? I hate the term “switch” as I don’t feel that is me at all. Your either Dominant or submissive, there really is no in between.

I’m confused! LOL

[Via http://wanderingmind7.wordpress.com]

Coffee, Tea or ..............

After more electrifyingly charged exchanges with J, in which he has somehow managed to get me to open up and admit my growing feelings for him, not only as a Dom, but as a man, we are to meet at ten this morning. I really don’t know how I’m managing to function as my head is swimming with anxiety and excitement, all of the things we’ve discussed, from dancing and horse riding to some of the darker things we have in common, are swirling around in my head like a spiraling vortex of emotion.

If indeed J actually does turn up (I have yet no reason to doubt him, but my head will not let me believe until I see), there is no guarantee of course that the chemistry that has been so evident over the ether, will exist in person. And even then, if it does, will that same chemistry mean we are to be friends, lovers, Master and slave or simply two people who share a common interest?

So many questions, so many self doubts, so many nerve endings jangling around my body.

To borrow a line from the movie ‘Working Girl’, I wonder if it will be “Coffee, tea or……..me”.

[Via http://paradisegained.wordpress.com]

Buchkritik: Sklavin in Gefahr (SM-Roman)

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Misunderstandings & Miscommunications

When my mobile gave that familiar beep this morning, I knew the message was from J and despite my doubts after last night I smiled at his “Morning sexy”. My delayed response prompted a further two texts before I could make reply, he was obviously concerned that he may have upset me with the aforementioned night’s text exchanged. What ensued was an hour of further exchanges, with both of us acknowledging that to some extent, there had been a misunderstanding of the situation and messages. Text messages, much like emails are so difficult to understand when they pertain to matters of emotions – I could not see the sincerity of his offer to visit and he could not see my frustration of not being able to receive him. “A steep learning curve” he told me this morning; and though there was misunderstanding on both parts, I am to be “punished”. This thought has made me shake with both trepidation and arousal.

[Via http://paradisegained.wordpress.com]

A Test

J and I have spent several days exchanging messages that have become more and more intense and charged with a chemistry that is electric. Yesterday he affirmed that he wants to “train and mold” me and asked me to consider how, even at this early stage, my inclination to submitting to him is growing. Whilst he was correct in his assumption, I reminded him that life experience has taught me to be cautious when at the start of any relationship, but especially one that involves such high emotions. The first tentative steps where one reaches out to the other can so easily lead to much distress if one or the other suddenly withdraws, leaving the other to stumble or fall flat on their face. Similarly, if one or both try to run before they can walk, more potential disaster looms.

After a very heavy work day and then teaching a three hour dance class, I returned home, showered and prepared for bed. After a brief text exchange with J, he explained he was actually on the road approx. 40 mins away and wanted to come to see me. As I was extremely tired both physically and mentally, and as we’ve planned to meet for the first time at a coffee bar this Saturday, I said that I didn’t think it was a good idea. After 30 mins of texts, which made me feel vulnerable and even more emotional, I gave in and sent him my address, which is something this morning I regret. I told him I felt that he put me under pressure and took advantage of me – he said it had been a test. In the cold light of day, I now have doubts about how much I can or want to trust this man.

[Via http://paradisegained.wordpress.com]

Stocks torture

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Ellen V strikes again

I am beginning to feel like a day without Ellen Von Unwerth’s photography is like a day without sunshine.

And by “sunshine,” I mean, “scantily clad pretty people playing with and possibly hurting each other.”

In this case, you got Rosie Huntington-Whitely and Melissa Rose Haro, photographed by EVU in 2005 for the book “Plumes et Dentelles” by beautiful lingerie designer Chantal Thomass. If you wanted to swing by her completely awesome, sexy, incredibly fun, cramazing official site and get me something from there, that’d be a-okay!

[Via http://thethoughtexperiment.wordpress.com]

Writting femdom

I remember when my queen first told me to write a sentense 50 times. It was because I disobeyed her and she needed to remind me.

I wrote it and got my hand tired.

Then it happened again. When I lost my facebook account she thought I left and that made her angery. So when I came back she was glad but still mad at me so my punshment was to write 1-100 in a piece of paper in letters and she will check the spelling. Honestly it was exhausting Finally I got a new writing task which I liked it even it hurts my fingers. To write (I love you Cathy ) 50 times. It was a great mix between getting tired and loving what to do.

She rewarded me so well By something made me forget all the pain and keep all the pleasure. She actually took a snapshoot with my paper. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I first saw her royal fingers holding up my paper. Thank you my queen you are the best.

Advice: Ellen Von Unwerth extremely NSFW edition

I am off to once again attempt to set off soosh bombasticos with the Gentleman, but soon I will have the time to go in-depth on one of my favorite photographers and a former lovely and talented model herself, the awesome Ellen Von Unwerth. Here are pictures from her book Revenge, along with quotes from an interview with author David Bowman.

Ellen Von Unwerth: “It’s good to shock. It’s not good to always be careful. It’s good to disturb a little.”

David Bowman: Have you yourself ever been handcuffed naked to a radiator?
EVU: [Laughs.] No. In every picture there is something personal. Even in the casting — there’s something about a girl. There is always something personal. Do you mean, “Do I get tied up every day?” No. [Laughs.] That’s not the case. When I was a child we would be playing, you know, “You are the slave.” “You are the queen.” “You are mean.” You know, it’s like fairytale.

David Bowman: How did “Revenge” come about?
EVU: I wanted to tell a story almost like a movie. I wanted to do something erotic with girls I knew would have fun doing it. So I wrote this little story and then I photographed it. I booked the girls like a movie cast. Everyone had a character. The guy also. I showed them a script, little drawings. And had them play out little scenes.
David Bowman: Was it fun being so wicked?
EVU: It was very much fun, for the girls and for me.

bondage, pain and freaky shit

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go back home

Good girls don't shave their vaginas!

About a year ago, I went to the store with my mother. My mom is a very conservative woman, while she made sure I knew about sex and love at a younger age than most kids, (out of fear that I’d hear wrong details from kids at school) the discussion of specific sexual acts was pretty much forbidden however. It wasn’t until was in my mid twenties that I was even able to say the word blowjob around my mom without her trying to slap me in the mouth. On this particular trip to the store, I grabbed a disposable razor and tossed it into my cart, without thinking I looked at my mom and said “Gyno appointment tomorrow, need to clean up.” She said one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard in response, “Oh Carmen, don’t shave your vagina to go to the doctor, he is going to think you’re a hooker, good girls don’t shave their vaginas!” She took the razor out of my cart and put it back, then spent about fifteen minutes giving me a discourse in feminine hygiene that sounded like something she picked up in the 1950s.

I always think about that moment when I do anything my mom wouldn’t approve of now, especially related to sex. “Oh no Carmen, don’t you dare let your husband tie you to the bed post, what would the neighbors think if they saw that through a window?” “Oh Carmen, don’t walk around in that leather teddy and thong, what if an airplane crashes into your house and the rescue team finds your body laying there dressed in that?” Mom always thought quite a bit about what other people were going to think. Midwesterners tend to be very quiet about sex, yet so vocal with violence. I hear the hunters here in Indiana talking about driving out, waiting for hours in a stand high up in a tree. They rub piss on their shoes to mask their human scents, sip their cheap Folgers from a thermos, and await the prized buck to make an entrance so they can track him, murder him, hang him upside down from a tree and slice him throat to tail. In the same breath, they turn around and talk about risque that latest condom commercial is, and how it’s disgusting to talk about sex on television. They fume over programs promoting safer sex while rinsing blood from their hands.

Often people poke fun, asking me why I haven’t moved to another city to be around more open-minded people. My answer is of course, that my husband and I enjoy living here in Indianapolis. It also brings an exciting element into our relationship, knowing that we share this dark secret and nobody has any idea who we really are. We can lay all our dirty habits right out on the table for each other, and then we truly are naked. At the end of the day, when I come home, slide away that mask I put on every day for the “sane” members of society, and slip into my corset and bonds I feel somehow less restricted.

I always wonder how many people we pass on the street each day who have to hide their secret perversions not only from society but from their partners or even themselves. It excites me to an extent, thinking that Mr. Webber the postmaster might be wearing a leather harness under his uniform, or Mrs. Miller the local church mouse may be securely locked away in her little pink chastity belt. I’m sure there are other people out there like me, hiding away their sexual deviance behind masks of normalcy. I think deep down we all have secrets, we all have little perversions we’d rather hide away, and I truly hope that some day each person gets to experience the total joy of being completely open with their partner.

D/s and sex

Someone asked me, do I have sex with my subs. I gave him my short answer which was, It depends on the dynamic, the energy exchange between us.

I know there are at least a couple forms of D/s relationships. You have the ones that include sex. Ones that don’t. I can easily understand and see both. For me personally, I don’t have in general a hard and fast rule on it. I play this by ear. I’ve been in situations where some elements were good and fun. (Examples: service, impact play) But no desire for anything sexual, be it giving or receiving. Then there are the times after a good session, the sexual energy is flowing with both of us. We are feeding off each other. Oh yes, bring it on!  I’m fine though, either way. If I’m not feeling it with my sub, no problem. It’s not like I’m lacking for sex. I’m rather happy in that department. I do get plenty at home.

One thing I can say for certain, when it comes to new or potential subs, I do have rules. If we have just started chatting and I’m asked about sex, especially early in conversations, I will not give you a definite answer or if I do, I’ll tell you not to expect it. (and I do mean that.) That kind of talking early on will have me thinking the knowledge you have of any kind of BDSM or D/s is through kinky porn you’ve been watching and not actually doing in real life. While strap on sex is or can be a component of D/s or BDSM as a whole, it is not a huge one and one of many other components. And the others take priority.  And while oral sex is great, it is not the general definition of being in “service”.

On our first meeting, there will be no sex of any kind. No matter how appealing and desirable you may try to make the offer or plea. It will also be unlikely on the second meeting. Don’t get wrong. I love sex as much as the next person, maybe sometimes more so. But as I’ve stated above, This is not (all) about sex for me. If a sexual element developes in the relationship, fine. That option is there. If not, I don’t want someone who will get bent out of shape over it.

What I’m saying is, I’m open to the possibility of having another sub, (note: I said adding NOT replacing the one I have now.) If you are sub looking for a Domme for only the sexually related aspects, don’t waste yours or my time. I’m not the Domme you are looking for.

The beginning; My first taste of pain.

I grew up in a very conservative religious family in the Midwestern state of Indiana.  I attended a small Baptist church in a tiny town nobody had ever heard of let alone visited. My minister Rev. J was a strange man with weird ideas where sin and sexuality were concerned. I remember him telling the youth group that AIDS was punishment for sexual sin, I couldn’t have been but eight years old at the time. Spewing such filth from his mouth with all the vehemence of a fire and brimstone sermon the Baptists are so famous for, well it was enough to convince me I was going to hell for even thinking about sex. I should have known better then, Rev. J also told my mother and I that space aliens were really demons. When I was about twelve, we left the church suddenly, I got no explination from my mother and was hurt that I couldn’t go to church anymore. I found out in later years, that Mister Holier-than-thou was a con-artist from Scotland. He and his wife were convincing elderly church members to sign over their money. I began to question everything I had learned in the church about honesty and trust, if you couldn’t trust the man who was supposed to help you walk the straight an narrow, who could you trust? The straight and narrow didn’t seem so straight and narrow to me anymore.

Fast forward to one of my first sexual encounters in my teen years, I wasn’t a popular girl at all and my sexual experience was minimal. I’d been seeing a guy, we’ll call him Mike. Mike and I weren’t ready for sex yet, but were fond of practicing. During one of our awkward teen makeout sessions, (with my mom sitting in the next room I might add) he grabbed my arms and held them down, he grabbed my throat and choked me as he kissed my mouth. In cheesy romance novels they say things like “She was lost in the throes of passion.” That’s exactly what it was, I was lost in the sensation of being held down, dominated, controlled. I was his, I gave myself over to him completely and allowed myself to be controlled. He rolled me over on the bed and held me down, my arms behind my back. He began to smack me on the ass, harder with each stroke until I cried out. I liked this new sensation, and quickly began research online. I found a small group of people in their late teens/early 20s who were experimenting together in Indy. I discovered other groups on IRC, in #bondage, #BDSM, and #piercing. I met some people who did piercing play as a live show, and became very interested in it. This did of course lead to me being busted looking at porn and losing Internet privileges until I turned eighteen. I think once my mom got into the history files and found what I’d been looking at she got a little scared.

I’ve always liked being dominated, tied up, slapped around a bit. Forget the missionary position, I prefer being taken from behind with rope around my neck. I crave the crack of the whip, and the sensation of leather strands hitting my bare thighs. I don’t require D&S to achieve orgasm, but it enhances my sex life in ways I never could have imagined. Every major relationship in my life has eventually moved into dominance play of some sort, and if it didn’t, I got bored with it and moved on.

I’m married now, and I’m the first D&S partner my husband has had, though he was curious about it before we got married. I’ve had to coach him a little on things from time to time, but most of it comes naturally. Our bondage play is very organic, we have a perfect trust in our sessions, which makes it all the more enjoyable. I’ve never had experiences as rich and fulfilling as the ones I share with him, he finds ways to push my boundaries and I his. I think it’s helped us grow as a couple, our trust has grown and the amazing sex life we share has strengthened us.

Yin & Yang

“What are you up to, sweetheart?”

Pretty ordinary words, yet so exceptional in the situation we are in. He is on his knees, legs spread a bit for improved poise, wrists shifting gracefully in ropes behind his back. I am sitting on a chair in front of him, all bare except for my thoughts, silently sitting from such a long time, reflecting over issues bothering me of late. They are all coming at me from all the sides at once.

On his face, there’s that little knowing smile, obviously he senses that I am staring at him yet vacantly. He can’t in fact see that through that make-shift blindfold I have created using my wide hair band. I really gaze at him then, realizing how beautiful he looks in bondage, in MY bondage. How much seeing him, right there, calms me down, gets me into that happy, peaceful place.

And he asks again. Subtly Smilingly. Almost Provoking.
I see no need to reply. I’m just stroking his tresses which ever so softly falls over his forehead. This is the kind of touch I know that maddens him with desire… To touch me back; to be touched by me further more. Even deeper.

I take a hold of his hairs, pull him close, stealing soft kisses. The kind of kiss where he wants to respond yet I move before he can actually do so.

I kiss him tenderly on his forehead, on his chin, on his left shoulder, moving a bit closer, pulling his head back, exposing his throat, gently biting him there and then turning that into a soft kiss as well.

His lips parts slightly, heavy with want. Even though he is excited by now, he looks so relaxed, content where he is. Bondage is not a burden to him. He knows that I want him there – just like that. He also knows that further I would lead him where I fancy him to be, doing what I wish him to do.

Right here in this moment, this world of mine is perfect, unlike the other one outside. And its because of him, it’s because of us.

Guiding him by the grip on his hairs, I position his head down, between my spread legs. His warm breath tickling me slightly, turning me on even more.

Tonight, I am going to let him worship me, truly. For what I am to him. And he is going to bring me serenity in my otherwise flawed world.

Me and Him. Ying and yang. Perfect harmony. Bound so intimately as one. In love and lust. In pain and pleasure.

Senile Sex?

There are more people over the age of fifty having sex right this second in your community than there are people fucking between the ages of 16 and 40+

And what’s more, they are probably doing things together (and maybe even singly for the viewing pleasure of their partners) that they would never have dared to do when still young and not quite sure about the logistics involved.

For instance, there are certain qualities and conditions of the whole sexual universe that take a bit of sophistication and persistence to acquire.  Certain smells, like the aroma of a freshly stroked and glistening cunt, are acquired tastes.  Just as is the flavour of that first droplet of pre cum fluid shining on the head of an erect and straining cock.

As a girl fresh out of my gym knickers I can tell you that the idea of a cock in my mouth was well, a tall order to swallow!  I had to work at g-ing myself up for the big moment when my lips and tongue would tentatively taste and lick, sternly admonishing myself not to engage the gag reflex merely in theory of the act itself.

The smell of a man’s skin in my youth was foreign and not entirely pleasing.  I often found myself insisting upon a thorough wash to clean away imagined germs. As you can imagine, introducing soap and water to the proceedings doused the flames entirely.

Well, that was youth.

Today?  The very idea of a man’s body, those well known planes and angles, the fur and the ridges and musky depths beneath his balls makes my mouth water.  Yes, very Pavlovian of me, I know.  If He tells me to bark like a bitch, I guarantee I’ll be howling at the moon in short order.

His scent is so tantalising I can almost smell it in my dreams.  In youth I’d have shuddered and demurred had he stopped at a lay by on the way home from the rugby match where he’d just kicked a scoring try, growling, “Suck my cock!”  In youth I’d have missed that unparalleled delight of his own special elixir of hormones and pheromones and juices and sweat drying on his well used and masculine body.  I’d have forgone that exotic pleasure, repulsed by the very fragrance of manhood which now alerts my entire female chemistry that it’s time to fuck!  Now, I’d be ripping his clothes from his damp body like an animal and ravaging him just as He ravages me.

The joy of youth is in discovery.  In thinking this thing, this illicit, dirty wonderful thing called sex is something invented by the young for the young and perfected by the young as well.  I must admit that the learning curve for me was often embarrassing and uncomfortable, though I made up in enthusiasm what I lacked in expertise.

If asked would I like a string of pearls, I now know not to grab my jewelry box.  Similarly, if my partner enquires after a bit of rimming, I won’t be salting the rim of his margarita glass.  In youth, the idea of my tongue being in the same room as someone’s naked anus was enough to send me packing.  Today, I might be considering the trajectory of my body arcing through the air as I tackle my mate to worship His ass.

But, hey, that’s me.

One of the many joys of maturity is sexual confidence, the knowledge that not only do I know how to do this, I LOVE doing this!  A degree of body unselfconsciousness helps.  Knowing that we speak in snippets of sight and sound and sensation, not experiencing the whole as much as savouring the parts.  Discovering the beauty of the bits and pieces.  Indulging in the languor of simply holding a recently flaccid and spent cock in one’s mouth while the scents of sex, the funk and spunk and cunt juice and sweat all mingle like a heady cocktail of sensual delight, and knowing, KNOWING, this is bliss.

We forage amongst the treasures our bodies have to offer one another, eyes open, lights bright, minds focused on the multitude of pleasures we are to share.  This has become an art form, a religion, an avocation of elevated awareness and deep muscle massage.  We devour one another daily, never finding that aha moment, the epiphany that says this is enough.  No.  We are forever perfecting, disassembling, recreating our sexual universe.

I am on the scent, intrigued, teased, seduced.

And I want more of HIM.

ONLY HIM