F=ma

I was daydreaming idly the other day, as I tend to do, about force.

Namely, I wonder what force I am able to exert solely from my bicep? If I were arm-less, save for my bicep, with what force could I strike someone across the arse?

Probably, not a lot.

Consider then, if I now add my forearm. By allowing my forearm to go limp, and only moving my bicep, I am able to generate an order of magnitude greater force from my arm, using a swinging motion, to strike a willing someone. What is the amount of power added vs the ratio of arm being added I wonder.

Consider then, if I now add my wrist, hand, and fingers, all with more pivot points. What proportional power would be added then? By my entire arm to be relatively limp and using my bicep to throw my arm, I am already generating significant power and concentrating it into my fingertips, if I can efficiently hit my willing subject at the moment of highest energy.

The exact models for the physics of what's going on evade me for now, but note here that if I were to continue to add length to my arm via the use of instruments such as a whip, I can generate enough energy and power solely from my arm to break the sound barrier, hence why whips can 'crack'.

It was this insight that made me think I'll probably never invest in any canes, whips or other such pain instruments again. The hand is a much better method of pain stimulation because not only does it restrict the forces at work to a safe level, but it allows me direct sensory feedback into what the sub will have experienced.

My Rules of Engagement

First and foremost; kink must be !!FUN!!. There is no other ultimate goal, no higher purpose; only the simple trickle of endorphins in the company of people who are friends. Every action, every word that takes place during play, must be for this purpose and this purpose alone. Anything done in order to get the better of the other person, anything to hinder their ability to have !!FUN!!, anything that causes their flow of endorphins to stop, is against the entire spirit of the venture and that person will be excluded from play. At least from me.

With that in mind, There are three identifiable routes to take in kink in order to achieve a flow of endorphins:

Pleasure via Pain
Counter intuitive only to those who have never experienced it; the flood of endorphins after enduring brief periods of pain is overwhelming and potent. Guiding a bottom into subspace is the ultimate goal of any true top. Pleasure gained by the top in inflicting pain (something I personally don't enjoy that much except for the bottom'a happiness) is secondary to the bottom's needs.

Pleasure via Pleasure
More easy to understand to the average person; fucking each other's brains out and bringing each other to orgasm. Possibly multiple times. Both partners are equally responsible for the other's pleasure; the sum of the two parts must be greater than the sum of each partner alone. In the same way that my first point is so overlooked by those not in the lifestyle, I found it surprising sometimes how overlooked this avenue was compared to the first.

"Other"
Here is where the true spectrum of kink lies. Whether it's from cleaning someone's house, from licking their boots, to being verbally abused or degraded, this is the category for it. Everyone is different and has their own personal tastes, and while everyone should oblige those who have them to the best of their ability, no-one should force their particular tastes on those who don't share them. Also under this category however, is the simple and divine pleasure derived from cuddling on the couch after a play session watching Firefly, or the delightful feeling of two bodies sleeping next to one another who have drunk too much wine. Not all time spent together need be role played.

Announcing the Triumphant Return of My Libido

I realised, with some relief the other day, that I wasn't a eunuch.

It took some guidance and persuasion from a certain someone, but after almost a year and a half of higher-higher education sucking the life-blood out of me, it appears I emerged relatively unscathed psychologically and with my lust intact.

It feels, like I'm remembering how to eat. The fact I had to look in a text file to find not only the log-in for this blog but the address probably says as much as I ever could. However it appears all things are as I left them when I locked the door; all that was needed was the faint musk that lingers on the backs of the necks of women, just behind their ears and in the base of their hair.

If I was to hazard a guess I would say that I am currently heavily involved in relishing the 'virtue' side of things with her. As to whether I ever come back to the 'vice' like I used to is yet to be determined, sometimes I feel like I've inherited the memories of some impostor who wore my name and bore my face galavanting around London.

Gods, even typing here feels unfamiliar and awkward, and thoughts come slowly and unformed. If nothing else, take from this that I'm still alive and well.

A, B, or C

"Vice, what do you look for in a girlfriend?"

"A worthy opponent."

Valentines Box

I sat looking at the package she said would be arriving to my room at some point this week.

"Really? How big is the package?""
"Mmm, not big. Medium sized."
"Shoebox size?"
"About that, yeah. Hehe!"

It didn't feel very heavy, and the return address was discreet. Carefully, I opened it up.

...

WHAP.

WHAP.

WHAP.

I had gone into her bedroom unannounced, to find her indecent, and, telling her so, proceeded to tell her to suck my cock, which she did, and yet, somehow, never once gave the impression she's being obedient.

Now, fully in the throes of post-orgasmic chill, and her head lying my my chest, I suddenly move her head down, further, so that her waist is equal to mine and facing away, slowly pulling off her underwear and casting it aside. A beautiful, stunning view.

WHAP.

The first stroke of the back of my hand lands perfectly across her ass and her body tenses from the surprise. She's breathing heavily now.

WHAP.

Her fingers dig into the bedsheets, and she tries to turn around to look at me. I hold her legs fast in place.

WHAP.

Across the other cheek in a beautiful backhand, and she lets out a small yelp and tries to turn around again, but I hold her fast.

WHAP. WHAP. WHAP.

She moans this time and, shaking slightly, turns around and lays on my chest, clawing at me slightly.

…

Gods, where does this woman shop, I wondered. Toys with obvious and alarming purpose bulged in the package, and at least one with battery requirements. Several batteries, in fact. I make a mental note to add this to my shopping list.

...

She had decided not to join me when I finally told her the real extent of my nocturnal weekend exploits in London; in fact watching her face closely in the few moments that followed she showed almost no shock or surprise, and still has yet to.

Ah, the escalating games that we played, always trying to shock the other or get them to back down, opening each other's doors in the house without knocking in the hopes of catching them in an undressed or otherwise compromised state. The time I caught her knelt by her bedside with one hand down her jeans and breathing hard...

Though vanilla she had tastes that rivalled my other friends, and both a libido and imagination to equal them. If nothing, a proud girl, casually post-feminist and utterly feminine in her own right.

They are not won easily.

Punk Rock:

Original Gzowski Interview with a rather drug-fuelled Iggy Pop


"I'll tell you about punk rock: punk rock is a word used by dilettantes and ah... and ah... heartless manipulators about music that takes up the energies and the bodies and the hearts and the souls and the time and the minds of young men who give what they have to it and give everything they have to it and it's a... it's a term that's based on contempt, it's a term that's based on fashion, style, elitism, satanism and everything that's rotten about rock 'n' roll.

"...I don't know Johnny Rotten but I'm sure... I'm sure he puts as much blood and sweat into what he does as Sigmund Freud did. You see, what sounds to you like a big load of trashy old noise is in fact the brilliant music of a genius, myself . And that music is so powerful that it's quite beyond my control and ah... when I'm in the grips of it I don't feel pleasure and I don't feel pain, either physically or emotionally. Do you understand what I'm talking about? Have you ever felt like that? When you just couldn't feel anything and you didn't want to either. You know? Like that? Do you understand what I'm saying sir?"

"You're pretty popular; are you happy to be popular? Do you get a big kick out of that? Everyone knows all these bands, who, who do encores, try to be popular. Well, I don't get that much of a kick out of it, really. I, I've... I've worked very hard, for a very long time, to try to make something that's beautiful"

Goddamnit

I miss everyone in London.

I miss my nights of non-normalcy. In London, 'going out' to my nilla friends always meant getting trashed in some pithy pub somewhere, and while fun for a time, it was only bearable because I spaced it out with kink nights where the focus wasn't getting completely intoxicated and hitting on plastic women in clubs. Instead it was about intoxication of women wearing plastic by hitting them in clubs.

*ponders for a moment*

There's a difference in there somewhere. Damnit I know what I'm trying to say.

My sub/good friend/plaything/girlfriend/fuck toy, or whatever definition you care to conjure up, is coming up from London this coming weekend. What I can do in my small dorm room with what limited kit I have, I will be doing to her many times over. Talking to her on the phone gives me the impression she is barely able to keep it together in time to see me.

Should be interesting.