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1. Bill Ward : Male / male BDSM Art
2. Gay Male BDSM Imagery
3. Masked Master & Sissy Slave

Male / male BDSM Art by Waldo
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

Related posts:

1. Varieties of Corporal Punishment

Blonde Boy’s Spanking
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

I got this unexpected email:

I’ve been fascinated with this concept since finishing Elise
Sutton’s Female Domination. . .. have to
wonder, how do you get a submissive to get on it if he isn’t
“willing” or he has the inner strength to submit to such.
Seems I would really have to have a good reason.

Beyond getting a non-submissive boyfriend to play bedroom games she’d fail. He’d eventually get tired of it and leave. There’s always the chance of latent submissiveness but there’s no winning in striving for the unlikely.

People need to understand that BDSM – D/s, S&M, Bondage, Humiliation – these erotic needs, desires, inclinations are issue of sexual orientation. Just as much as gender orientation.

The sadist or masochist can’t stop being who they are anymore than a gay man can be converted by Marcus Bachmann into a heterosexual.

Being dominant or submissive is an issue of inner nature. Qualities settled in us when we were innocent children. Fighting against your sexuality only leads to unhappiness.

And people are kinky in their own individual way. And there desires and pleasures often modify in the presence of a top or bottom they really enjoy being with.

If you are a sadist, dominant or masochist, submissive person and your lover or spouse doesn’t share your needs then you need to either leave the relationship or arrange for your partner to your exploring BDSM with others.

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1. BDSM & Masturbation
2. About My Profiles
3. Ten BDSM Crimes

BDSM Is Sexual Orientation
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

Like adult bookshops. I never became a habitué. But it was a good place to begin the study of homosex.

Back then there were these really trashy, sleazy sex tabloids. I bought one. It was filled of things not dreamed of in my philosophy. Like butt plugs. Who knew such things existed. Why did they exist? (Something I’ve yet to understand.)

There were things that grab my imagination and would color my BDSM fantasies forever.

There was a crude drawing of a man in bondage. His neck collar as connected to a testicle collar. Movement would pull at his balls or squeeze his neck.

I’d just discovered predicament bondage. Maybe the drawing is why my testicles are so deeply connected with submissive emotions (otherwise they are just there unless I – ouch! – bump into something).

The response of my internal plethysmograph testify to how testicle bondage excites me.

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1. Leather Bondage Techniques
2. Workplace Bondage
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Predicament Bondage: Testicle Leash
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

I just added some future posts on FLR.Net so I felt I should try to post something here as well. But first some vintage M/m spanking photographs.

You know, when I see a slim guy like that I want to be the one providing the punishment. But I also feel a little annoyed with my switchiness wanting to stay within my submissiveness. Odd, eh?

As a man who enjoys vintage erotica I like the photographs (produced by the venerable Athletic Model Guild).

But hand spankings don’t stir me.

For me corporal punishment is the supreme kinky act, the fantasy primeval. I was eight the last time I was punished physically. By then my masochism was fully alive or I eroticized that whipping. Sometimes I imagine the insanse rage my father would’ve experienced had I ever been foolish enough to share that with him.

Daddy whipped me with a belt that day. He had me drop my pants and bend over the bed. Belts and switches were the exclusive instruments for my few childhood punishments.

So belts and switches were what I imagined being whipped with when my masochistic fantasies started around age eleven.

When – as is the way with masochists, it explains why so many of us become nutty when frustrated – those objects stopped satisfying my dreams of pain I started working in household objects.

Electrical cords – especially knotted cords and car antennas for example. Wet towels. I can’t help but think I would’ve seen men being lashed with whips in old pirate movies. But no recollection remains. From movies I got hot coals (a fantasy I eventually outgrew) and the rack (who the heck can afford one?).

I fantasized about being beaten on very piece of furniture in my parent’s house. And in various positions my body contorted in manners often impossible.

But never being spanked by hand.

Many years ago on AOL a man was interested in meeting me whose idea of corporal punishment were limited to spanking me by hand. So I never met him.

A strong person’s hand can surely cause pain. But the foolish fetishist – even nice ones – are prisoners of their passsions.

No related posts.

Varieties of Corporal Punishment
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

In the episode “Staples, Guns and Roses” Kestie Morassi is shown using staple gun on her submissive playmate’s feet.

That I’ve had that fantasy isn’t the point. When her vanilla lover comes on the scene there are moments when her face is contored by the exalted state she is in from satisfying her dominant and sadistic needs.

That she seems overwhelmed by her sexuality makes this a very moving scene. There are plenty of clips of women hurting men. But they are only earning money. No shame in that. Nor any thrill.

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1. Who Says Sadism Can’t Be Cute?
2. Dominant vs Dominate
3. Verbal Sadism

Dominant Woman’s Pleasure in Her Sadism
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

Rare – if existing – is the couple that will have perfectly matching fetishes, symmetrical kinks.

For somebody who hates generalizations I make so many.

Of the straight couples I’ve known over the years it has in every single instance been the woman who ended the relationship, left the man.

Some of the women wanted more excitement, particularly more sexual pleasure. Some I think wanted a spouse who was less of a boy, who didn’t leave it to his wife to perform managerial and practical tasks.

And there were the women who after years of a seemingly happy marriage exploded with rage. These I felt after their children left no lost much of the direction of their lives. Felt they’d been deprived of fulfillment than motherhood. Perhaps had long felt that. But kept it suppressed. Then it boiled over with violence. Even a desire for revenge.

The guys were all kind, humane, intelligent men. They were ignorant or had been unwilling to see their spouse’s growing dissatisfaction. (They were all unambitious men: perhaps a coincidence.)

This was on my mind recently and prompted me to write about dissatisfactions in power exchange relationship. But I got sidetracked into emotional masochism. Leaving me with a poorly written note on the latter.

My friends’ failed love affairs put to mind how disparate expectations complicate and eventually put an end to kinky relationship.

All those male tops bitching about how “subs and slaves” aren’t real. That is they hookup with women (and men) who don’t really want to be treated like robots or human garbage 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. This is nothing more than the inability – perhaps on both sides – to accept that masturbatory fantasy can’t actually be lived in the real world.

Mostly it was submissive guys who are dissatisfied that the woman who tops or (ahem) owns him isn’t sufficiently dominant and sadistic.

You see it frequently with submissive men who have persuaded their wives and girlfriends to dominate them just a little bit. He is often pushing her to do more. And topping from the bottom: and knows it and wish he didn’t feel it necessary.

Really these men need to be honest and accept that the relationship is never going to match their desires. Separate, get a divorce: the longer it drags out the worse it will be in the end.

There are also couples in D/s relationships with unequal inclinations of some sort. He wants Mistress to be more demanding. Lots more demanding: mean and cruel. She’s content to control and spank him. When she’s in the mood. And does her best to oblige him when she can.

But it isn’t really enough. And his is submissive, possibly passive aggressive mind resentment is building up. Until the day he lashes out shocking her with his anger.

And aside from the crazy tops I mentioned above there are dominant men and women who grow frustrated because some desire, fetish isn’t fulfilled. The bottom pushes away but promises to try it soon. Soon never comes. Or as on arrival the safeword follows. One day the top berates the submissive lover or playmate for not meeting the agreement to satisfy the tops seemingly risk aware expectations.

The moral as always: is speak your mind. Communicate. Or one of you will be blaming the other.

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1. About My Profiles

Disparity of Desires in D/s
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

We all have our own idiolect: idiosyncratic ways we use certain words.

In my own mind I often distinguish between humiliation and degradation. Not clearly or consistently.

For me degradation is most often the physical side of being treated as inferior. Scrubbing floors would be an instance. Forced to eat unpleasant food another.

Humiliation I most often association with consensual emotional sadomasochism.

There’s also humbling: gentle inferiority. Eating food, ordinary food, from a bowl. Being a pet. Being humble can be sweet and gentle. An occasional swat doesn’t conflict with a pat on the head.

My internal jargon important. I’m seeking distinctions for which there is no really ready terminology.

(Train of thought interruption. I stuck a Grace Jones CD in my player only to discover that some component seems to have died.)

Man Looks into Masochist’s Mind

When I suggested the term contempt play I meant emotional violence, particularly verbal sadism.

SSC, RACK verbal S&M to be sure. There are lines that should never be crossed.

I’m very difficult, perhaps impossible to really humiliate. I know about my limitations, flaws and failures. But there as aspects of my life I wouldn’t want used in spoken humiliation. They are behaviors that I wish I didn’t possess, could eliminate.

I’m happy with my gender, race and sexuality. But given the right tone mocking me for those things would plunge me deep down. I’ve often wished to me scored – in a scene – for my masochism and submissiveness. I’m ashamed of neither.

Mostly I crave the tone. The condemnation, contemptuous laughter, sheer scorn. For me this would be cathartic. I’d cringe, perhaps even cower waiting for you to stop. The days following I’d feel uplifted and view the world with vivid delight.

Humiliation and degradation can be funny activities. Once Alexandra rolled a raw egg along my butt crack. I was so baffled that I fell out of submissive emotional space. Later when I asked her why she said it was to humiliate me. I’ve never understood that. And will go to my grave puzzled.

Just Plain Swell Female Top

(The next day: this entry didn’t turn out that well.)

Related posts:

1. Contempt Play
2. Spoken Humiliation

Emotional S&M
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

One of the interesting – and for me initially surprising – differences among tops is their feelings about degrading and humiliation a submissive partner ro playmate.

Almost all male tops seem to enjoy humiliation. Women seem more divided: yes, no, maybe, ewwww! A whole lot of submissive men are also emotional masochists.

Submissive men desire to be dehumanized, degraded who are in relationships with dominant women who don’t enjoy that kind of dominance often seem frustrated. Even becoming angry with her. Or at least sullen and withdrawn.

( – Yes, yes a submissive person is supposed to only do what she desires, etc., etc. Really submissive men and women are individuals and not round objects to be shoved into square holes. – )

How serious is this divide. Is it as wide as the gulf between masochistic men and their vanilla girlfriends and wives? I hope not. Those folks should just be realistic and split up, get a divorce. Why kid yourself into years of pain that isn’t a pleasure?

My own sexuality has evolved and changed in response to so many things I’ve lost count. Would it help a top feel comfortable to humiliate us if we used different words?

Contempt play. With the emphasis on play. Perhaps it can help the dominant partner understand that we know that we aren’t really worthless. That we don’t deserved to be treated like trash.

Contempt play is a form of role play. It can range from being treated as an unimportant object to a person who should be emotionall assaulted merely for being alive.

Why do some of us crave to be treated like garbage? I do have some ideas about the source and origin of my own emotional masochism. But we’d have to be mighty close for me to share the secret with you.

Talk to me about consensual erotic humiliation and degradation.

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Contempt Play
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

Slave Conditioning

(In this I a share small slice of some of the images that have haunted my fantasy life of late. Vanity, vanity: there are no new kinks under the sun. Nor am I a writer of erotica. Caveat lector.)

We’d spent some time in emails, instant messages and over coffee learning how compatible we might be as owner and slave.

I’d had some experience with sadists but felt I had needs that had never been met. Extreme needs. You were skeptical. Finally I convinced you of my sincerity.

You agreed to give me a taste of what I said I wanted. But only if I accepted your stipulations. My vacation was coming up. If I agreed that for three days I would – with my limits honored – become your unconditional slave then you’d offer me a chance to explore my dreams. At the beginning of the fourth day you’d give me the choice of freedom or continuing until I’d spent a full week within your power.

My need aroused you but you’d heard the same story before from men who could never live up to their pledges.

Hungrily I leapt at the chance.

Friday night after work instead of driving home I went to your house. You let me in and – in accordance with the script you sent me – I dropped to my knees and bent my head down. Then you handed me a trash bag, ordered me to strip and put my clothes within it.

You walked into anther room. I crawled behind you. Stopping you turned and sat. I remained on all fours waiting. Probably you sat silently in front of me for only a few minutes, though it seemed as if my arms would fail me before you spoke.

At last you told me to surrender or leave.

Then I recited the ceremony of surrender memorized from an email you sent me. Almost legalistically I promised my obedience and begged to give my mind and body to you.

You made a sound I couldn’t quite make out but I thought you were laughing quietly to yourself.

You ordered me to close my eyes and lift my head. I felt you pull a hood over me. When you told me I could open my eyes there was nothing but blackness. The hood had no slits for the eyes.

Rising at your command I followed as you led me by the hand. I almost fell as we walked down stair. Again I wondered if I heard a laugh.

Pushing me down you ordered me to kneel. I heard the metallic clanking of chain and felt a collar wrapped around my neck. A lock snapped in place.

Telling me to feel free to do whatever I wished you bid me goodnight.

Goodnight? It was still very early in the evening.

It had been early evening when I’d been chained by a collar. Being bid goodnight and left alone took me aback. Surely you – my new owner – would be back shortly.

As I sat there the world invisible on the other side of the hood I registered that the floor was covered with a thick carpet of straw. Feeling about I seemed to be in a small room but the walls were only a few feet high.

Wondering about my place of confinement kept me from becoming bored. Then, true to my hopes I heard footsteps. What if it were some stranger? Then I heard you reminding me that I’d promised to never speak without being invited.

Off came the hood and I found myself in what appeared to be a stall like you might keep a horse in. I started to look up but you lightly backhanded me and bent my head back down.

This you told me would be both my bedroom and toilet and that I would be expected to clean it every day. Then telling me you’d see me in the morning you left.

A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling shed harsh light all around. The room was so stark and unfinished that couldn’t tell if I was in a basement, garage or barn. The collar’s chain was attached to the back wall, just long enough to let me reach the opening of my stall.

Hurt, confused, strongly aroused I didn’t know what to do. For a time I made an attempt to curl up on the straw but it made me itch and didn’t really soften the floor.

Needing to piss I realized I had no choice and crawled to a rear corner. Relieved I leaned against a wall as far away as possible.

The light and discomfort made deep sleep impossible. I’d nod off only to wake up startled by hallucinations of punishment.

Trying to make peace with getting what I asked for there was nothing to do but wait for the night to pass.

Sustained sleep finally found me that first night, I awoke to the pressure of your boots on my crotch.

When you asked me if I were hungry my stomach began to growl and I admitted that I was. My food would have to be earned you said.

From a box you handed me an ankle cuff. Then cuffs for my other leg and my arms. Chains and locks followed linking my wrists and legs to each other and together. Unlocking the chain from my collar you bid me follow. I stood up. A swift kick sent me back to my knees.

On the other side of the door was a large, completely enclosed backyard. My prison was a garage.

Taking me to a corner you showed me a pile of rocks. My morning task was to pick each carrying them one at a time to another corner. You stretched out in a lawn chair in the shade of a tree. My labor was your entertainment.

As I began to tote the rocks pity for myself was my main emotion. Last night was boring. This was worse than boring. But I’d agreed to it. My natural passivity and not a little fear kept me from rebelling. Quietly I carried rocks.

After a time, weary and hungry, I started to stumble. Coming to where I was you told me to drop down and follow. We went back in the garage. Back in my stall you relocked my collar to the chain.

From a cabinet you took out a bag. Putting your hand in you scooped out something then told me to open my mouth and eat. It was soft cat food. After a moment’s shock I realized I was too hungry to care. I was grateful.

After several handfuls you closed the bag. I heard the sound of running water. You brought me a small bowl and told me to lap it up. It was the most delicious water I’d ever drunk.

Telling me to rest for my afternoon chores you left.

Thankful to have been fed and watered,weary I curled up on the floor and nodded off.

I awoke before your return. When you removed the chain from my collar I didn’t need to be told to crawl after you.

You had me returne to the rocks. Now was to tote to their original location. Tired from the morning this took longer.

Finished I crawled over to you and bowed my head. You ordered me back to my stall.

Back in the barn you gave me a shovel and bag to clean up the space I soiled.

Then handfed and watered me again. Deep hunger made me thankful to eat. And I was thankful for your attention.

Bring out a short chain you put it on my wrist cuffs running it behind my back. Then you locked my collar chain back in place.

Since it was even earlier than the prior day I was disheartened when you said you were finished with me for the day and left. Without you left all I’d have was myself.

With my arms behind my back I couldn’t find a comfortable position on the floor. Leaning against a wall I felt sorrier than ever for myself, wondering what madness had led me to agree to be treated this way.

If nothing else I could pass the time by masturbating. Then I realized I couldn’t touch my own penis. Now I knew why you’d locked my hands behind me. My inability to stroke myself aroused me leaving me even more avid to. Momentarily I thrilled to my loss of fredom. And was able to relax.

Tired from slave labor, from a bad night’s rest I nodded off. Sleep was fitful but each time I awoke I forced myself to fall back asleep.

The second day was identical to the first. Except my muscles were sore. Being fed and watered were the high points of my day.

Locked in place I rehearsed telling you on the fourth day to return my freedom. I must’ve been crazy. Some would be surprised that I didn’t beg or demand release. You’d made it very clear that I’d be held to the letter of our contract. And made to regret any plea to cancel it. And my natural passivity took hold of me.

On the third morning I woke very early. Uncomfortable and restless I waited for you. Even carrying rocks for no reason was better than sitting doing nothing. Your presence was all I had to look forward to.

On the third morning you gave me food and water immediately. Eating from young fingers had become to feel natural. You left for a bit.

Returning I saw a cane and a stool in your hand. Sitting on the stool you told me to get up on my knees and look in your eyes.

As you told me that I had adapted well to being worked. You stroked my head. Acknowledgement and contact made me even more grateful than the food.

Carrying rocks you told me was a lesson. That as a slave my goal in life was fulfilling your desires even if they served no purpose.

You told me that you could tell how appreciative I was to eat from your hands. I was learning, you said, that if I wished to serve you then I must accept total dependence.

Leaving me alone was to teach me that the greatest punishment I might know was to be forgotten and ignored.

This was all so true that my Goosebumps slalomed up and down every part of my body.

Holding the whip in front of me you told me that today I would learn about pain. Pain you would inflict only for the joy of watching me suffer. It would be a long day and I would come to know many devices and toys.

If when I awoke tomorrow with welts, bruises and cuts I still wished to remain then there might be a permanent place for me in your life.

Afterword

When my inner movie house shows this feature it has many variations. A small cage instead of a stall or one of those chain link pet confinement areas and I’m kept outside.

Naturally it is all embellished with hesitations and failures that require correction.

But I didn’t want to tax my circumscribed powers anymore than I already did. And wanted to keep the sequence away from typical male slave written S&M porn (nothing wrong with that, but there’s a host of it out there).

(It was split into sections because I was chatting with Alexandra while typing it up and the divisions made it easier for me.)

To focus on the training was my goal.

Learning to accept orders that have no point other than to be obeyed.

Coming to feel grateful for even the food and water allowed.

Using loneliness to make the owner’s mere presence fulfilling in itself.

A spare scenario of emotional conditioning.

One trusting reader asked me how long ago all of the above had happened.

No related posts.

Attitude Adjustment
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy