November 1st, 2012
The cover is finished. The edits are in. The PDF is uploaded. The index is posted. Are you ready for the best Modern Dungeon Quarterly issue yet?
Featuring AIS Kink Labs and the AIS Mobile Dungeon. We have an article from Victor Pringle on his very best Bondage Chair. Perverted Imp, Mechanica and Daydreamweaver all return with articles to help make your dungeon the best place to play in town.
May 27th, 2012
What am I curious about? Am I scared, intrigued, confused, aroused?
Needle Play – scared. Needles make me hyperventilate and pass out. But I want to know what it feels like. I want to do it without panicing so badly. I’m not sure I can.
Breath Play – intrigued. I’ve only done little bits of it. Partly because of my throat. And partially because of my dislike of gags. But I’m curious what it would actually be like to play with.
Whips – scared/aroused. I’ve always had a length limit on my hard limits. Terrified of the long, loud whips. I’ve only played with an old short signal whip and dragontails. I’m scared of longer ones, or better ones, but I really want to get him one.
Waterboarding – scared/intrigued. I don’t like water up my nose. I don’t swim properly without a nose plug. So not interested in the inverted pouring water over the face so it goes into the nasal cavity. But I’m Really curious about the pillow case/sheet over the head while sitting upright and water being poured down over the head, type.
Hot Wax – intrigued. Have only done it once, on the bottoms of my feet while suspended. Quite curious what it would feel like in other places.
Boot licking – intrigued/scared. I’ve still not done it. After the class at COPE, I got curious, but I’m still kinda embarrassed by wanting to. And when I do his boots, I’d rather do it before I grease them, but usually it doesn’t seem appropriate to stop halfway through to lick them after I just cleaned them.
Water box – intrigued. Every time he mentions it, I want to try it. Then his mind wanders into other uses for such a box and I want to hide. Terrible, wonderful imagination, that one.
Anal play – scared/confused/aroused. This one’s an odd area for me. No good experiences with anal sex. So not really interested in that so much. But mild stimulation Sounds interesting, but I’ve not really had that confirmed in any way but the power exchange. I like my ass being played with externally. But I have so many digestive issues that I worry about sticking things up there. And my inexperienced confusion has led me to red once already.
Fisting(vaginal) – aroused. Being that aroused and open. I’ve never actually done fisting and I think it would be fun.
December 23rd, 2010
We are putting together a series of rope classes. I am very excited to be ordering another set of hemp ropes very soon. Just trying to find the right vendor. For the first class, the question all the presenters are answering is: Why even use rope? And here is my answer:
I’ve been a rope slut for two years now, thanks to him. Before him, I liked bondage, but I didn’t really care how it was done. Sure, leather smelled good, and rope seemed quite useful, but cheap canvas cuffs could get the work done, and a straitjacket was quick and secure. I still like all those things, but Rope became the bigger fetish – the preferred method. Why?
Rope, for me, is about the senses. The sense of touch, the feel of the rope on my skin, the bite of hemp or the softness of cotton. The feel of his hands putting it on me, the tug as he tightens, the burn as he pulls, the wraps biting into the skin, the vibrations traveling through every inch. The sense of smell when it comes to natural fibers. The deep, sweat earthly smell of hemp and jute. The sense of hearing – rope being tossed out on the ground, the creak of the suspension rig. The sense of sight. The look of smooth straight lines, cleanly outlining the body. Knots lined up, wraps decorating body and rigging.
I also like it for the methodicalness. A lot of people watch ties being done and state that they don’t have the patience for that kind of thing. That is what I like about rope. It takes time, it can be the entire scene. Cuffs or a jacket are put on before the scene and taken off after. Rope is laid carefully and precisely. It takes time, and during that time, you are becoming increasingly bound. You are becoming increasingly helpless. It is a buildup, bit by bit. It is the slowing giving and taking of control. It is a methodical exchange of power.
I also like it’s versatility. Cuffs and jackets are designed for one thing. Chains are hard, heavy, and not as pliable. Rope can be used in so many different ways. Tied to so many different things, in so many different formations. Different lengths, different thicknesses, different fibers. It can be used to blind, to gag, to choke, to beat, to whip, to burn, to suspend, to bind or to set free. And that was just off the top of my head.
April 15th, 2010
I often think of this question in terms of the physical. What can he DO to turn me on? This is often the easy answer, the safe answer. It involves the surface of my being. Often it involves involuntary physical reactions. Kissing, licking, sucking, touching, groping – these things are meant to turn us on. Spanking, pinching, biting, paddling, caning, whipping, squeezing, grabbing, holding, restraining – these things turn on a masochist, it is no secret.
But what about mentally,what about my fantasies, what do I think about to get turned on? This is more risky territory. These are things that aren’t straight forward, are more vulnerable and personal. Not that I think my fantasies are unique to me, if you can imagine it, you can find it on the internet, after all. But to offer my thoughts and my mind has always been riskier than offering my body. The hurt when my thoughts are rejected is far higher than when my physical desires are rejected.
So, what are my fantasies? What are my daydreams? What do I think about to get turned on?
School girl. Kidnap victim. Slave girl. Are my top three.
1)School girl. Typical short skirt, white panties, button up top. It always involves getting in trouble and being made to bend over a desk for a spanking or paddling. It then generally devolves into sex on the desk. Sometimes it begins by being caught having sex on school grounds. Sometimes it involves bad grades or incomplete assignments, and trying to trade favors for good grades.
2)Kidnap victim. Blindfold, duct tape, handcuffs, rope, being driven off in the back of a van. Stripped naked, threat of violence for noncompliance. Photos or video taken as blackmail. Forced to pose or perform sexual acts seemingly willingly for the camera.
3)Slave girl. Collar, shackles, little else. Taught to please and serve. Often involves being raised specifically for this purpose and and may start with meeting the one I was raised to serve, or being shown and tested to find a buyer. Occasionally, involves being taken prisoner and forced into slavery for a more rebellious and discipline oriented fantasy.
So, what turns you on?
March 25th, 2010
I had face slapping as a hard limit and he stripped it away with logic and I let it go the rest of the way in a burst of confusion, but given the chance, I did not take it back. When I am in that space, I call him Sir, except when I fail to, which is more often than either of us would like, but that is another topic entirely. He convinced me to agree that I deserved to be slapped for forgetting to say Sir because I was disrespecting him by doing so. I agreed to this, feeling he was right, I deserved to be punished for these infractions. Not long after this, he asked if he could now slap me whenever he wanted, and I said Yes, Sir, thinking he meant as punishment as we had agreed. As he laughed at my quick agreement, I realized he meant for any reason, or for none. I fluttered and stammered, but did not take it back. We talked about one reason behind the limit being facial bruising. He even asked me, if I wished to take back my agreement and I said no. I trust him, I love him and I want to give up control to him. Face slapping does not turn me on, but it is one example of stripping away my limits to give him full control.
Giving up my limits, thus far, has been smoother than I thought. Though I still cling tightly to a few, knowing full well I will give them up, but still allowing fear to hold tight so far. He has been steadily working me up to longer whips, and harder floggers since we met, pushing me and my limits. As noted above, I gave up face slapping. Just a few weeks ago, I inadvertently gave up breaking the skin and blood when he used a grill brush on my thigh that did more damage than we planned. He called my limits a checklist, and he is not wrong.
I want to give up everything to him, I want to let go of all control and all choice when I am with him in that space. Limits have no place there. To truly submit to his will, I must be willing to do anything for him, without hesitation. This scares me, but I must not let fear take the control I want to give to him. I must be willing to let him slap me, poke me with needles, whip me, yes, even wrap a snake around me, if that is what will please him. Not just let him, but ask him, ask him to use me in whatever way serves his will. Fear and limits will only hold me back, I must let go.
November 13th, 2009
I am a girl. (Shocking, I know.) What I mean is, I was raised in a world where body image is highly valued and hard to come by. Very few girls grow up loving their bodies. Very few women don’t have something they’d like to change about their appearance. So, for someone who struggles with body image, marks are a particularly interesting challenge.
For me, it has been a journey.
I’m a clumsy person, accident prone. I bruise easily and they don’t go away quickly. Thus I’ve always had a bruise or two, usually on my legs from tables, counters and chairs. But those are small and explainable, and generally hidden by pants.
In college, I discovered biting, and occasionally came home with Very large marks on my neck. I’d wear a scarf when “adults” were around (Parent’s Weekend, twice), but mostly I just giggled because it had been really fun getting the “hickey.”
Then I joined the local community.
There were rope suspensions that left tiger stripe bruises. The discovery of suspension was so wonderful to me that I treasured these marks, the represented the incredible experience I was having.
As I moved into heavier play, there came more bruising, bigger bruising, whip kisses. If I was going out in public where these bruises would be visible, I would ask my partners to not bruise me. I was ashamed of the marks. They seemed to me to show how “bad” I was. Show the world that I do “inappropriate” things.
But the longer I stayed active in the community, the more I came to truly understand there was nothing wrong with what I was doing. That it was part of me. That it was part of my being. That what I was doing was coming out of love and trust and joy. The bruises, like the rope marks, came to symbolize the relationships, the happiness, the fun and the pleasure.
There were also pictures and a photographer that teased that the bruises were marring his shots. This was the hardest part for me. He is a good friend and his words struck old chords in me. That I was doing something “bad” and “wrong” and I should be ashamed. With the help of my partners, I dragged myself back out of this hole. Now when he asks if he’ll ever get pictures of me without bruises, I just grin and tell him Nope. They are a part of me, part of who I am and what I do. Some girls get diamonds, I think my bruises are prettier.
July 9th, 2009
Electric feels like tiny prickles running all over the skin. It feels like a deep massage. It feels like sharp zaps. It feels like energy shared between two people.
Fire feels like a flash of fear. It feels like a warm caress. It feels like adrenaline coursing through my body.
Flogging and whips feel like drumbeats. It feels like a heavy solid connection. It feels like sharp stinging strikes. It feels like endorphins driving me higher and higher.
Knives feel like cold steel. Like a stillness inside the fear and pain. A sharp point of concentrated connection.
Rope feels like restraint, security, protection, warmth. It feels like strength and control. It feels like a challenge. It feels like love.
June 3rd, 2009
She knelt on the floor, hands folded, head down, unmoving. The room was coming apart around her. The ropes fell to the ground, released from their hooks. The floggers and whips packed away in crates. The lights unstrung, lying lifeless. The mats rolled up, tables and chairs folded and stacked. The dream had failed and come crashing down around her.
Bodies move, brushing past her – carrying, cleaning, tearing it all down. Loud noises and raised voices bounced around her, but she could not hear them. Her hair hung down in her face, a curtain closed to the world.
The swirling masses dissipated, taking everything with them. The room was empty, cavernous and silent. She rose to her feet in a languid motion. Raising her chin, she pulled back her hair and looked around. Turning in a full circle, she took in the bare walls and empty floor.
Lifting her arms above her head, she let her head fall back, eyes closed as she drew in the last remnants of energy from the place that had been her home. Slowly, she pulled her arms back in, crossing them over her chest and then letting them fall. She took one last breath, strode out the door and shut it firmly on that chapter of her life.