Clarisse Thorn On BDSM Roles

Clarisse Thorn has a long post up about BDSM roles and role policing. I’ve never had much time for people who seem unduly concerned about who is doing BDSM correctly (by their lights) and who is not:

There are two common BDSM community phrases that are often deployed in tones of disgust and irritation. One of those phrases is “topping from the bottom”. The other phrase is “service top”.

“Topping from the bottom” indicates a person who exercises power in the relationship, despite being in the “bottom” position. There’s nothing wrong with doing that, as long as both partners consent. But some people talk about “topping from the bottom” like it’s bad — as if power ought to belong to one side or the other; as if the bottom should never express preferences or make decisions about what’s going on. Which is ridiculous.

I’ll grant that it can be annoying if I’m trying to be a top, and my partner isn’t listening or isn’t doing what I want. But in those cases, it’s important to pay attention to what is actually going on. Is my partner resisting because he actually doesn’t want to do what we’re doing? In that case, I should respect his preferences. Or maybe my partner is resisting because he wants me to punish him. Or maybe we just have bad chemistry! Whatever. The point is, “topping from the bottom” isn’t inherently a bad thing. “Topping from the bottom” doesn’t make the bottom into a “bad submissive” or whatever. It just means that either the person is trying to communicate, or the person is looking for a certain kind of push-pull dynamic.

(I am hardly the first person to notice that “topping from the bottom” is a badly-used phrase; here’s a rant from another BDSMer on the topic.)

Simultaneously, there’s the phrase “service top”. It’s basically the same thing in reverse. A “service top” is a top who enjoys topping in line with his partner’s desires. And once again, some people act like this is a bad thing — as if service tops “aren’t dominant enough”. But it’s not inherently a bad thing! If a service top is doing things just because her partner likes them … then good for her!

A Taste Of Rope, Photographed

Check out Violet Blue’s gallery of photos from A Taste Of Rope. Looks like a fun good time!

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Friday Bondage Links Cornucopia #54

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Slavegirls Hurting Each Other

It’s often fun to set the slave girls against each other. If they’re good slaves, they’ll enjoy it too:

slave girl hurts another, likes it

From The Upper Floor.

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On The Rack

This would be more convincing if they weren’t letting her hold the loops of rope to prevent them from tightening:

girl on the rack

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Ropes And Ball Gags In Heaven?

So this guilt-plagued writer for GQ is disgusted by his own pornography preferences, and feels guilty about watching it, and all that. Really, I’d forgotten that people could be so conflicted about their porn. But this guy is so worried about it, he decides to go and interview Max Hardcore, who is still in federal prison on an obscenity beef, and then write an article about how to hate yourself for watching porn. It’s an interesting read, even if it is basically an extended loop of authorial self-loathing. Here’s the writer’s description of the first time he saw a bondage movie (or maybe it was a gang-bang movie, he coyly hints but doesn’t say for sure):

God, my rabbis told me, could only grant me forgiveness for the sins I had committed against Him; sins I had committed against my fellow humans could only be forgiven by them personally. If they didn’t forgive me, my rabbis said, when I died and went to heaven, God would cause me to suffer in the exact way I had caused them to suffer.

At the time, though only 14 years of age, I had already tired of the porn magazines I found in my house and decided it was time for full-motion video. I went to Times Square, where a group of women stood outside a porn shop, protesting and carrying placards. On one placard was a picture of a naked woman tied to a bed. She had a ball gag in her mouth and clamps on her nipples. I ducked into the store, spent every dollar I’d stolen from my father’s wallet, hurried home, and hoped the videos wouldn’t work.

They worked.

Fuck.

I wondered what was wrong with me. I wondered how many gang bangs I would have to suffer in heaven. Was it like an eye for an eye—a gang bang for a gang bang—or was it some sort of eternal gang bang that never ended? Would I be anally violated? Would I be spanked? Did they have ropes and ball gags and Ron Jeremy in heaven?

Forced Bondage Pussy Eating

I can’t resist! Here’s another excerpt from The Green Door. There are worse things than an unwelcome lesbian kiss, when you’re all tied up:

Tara took Betsy’s face gently in both hands and kissed her on her full pink lips. This time Betsy didn’t try to consider what her reaction should be. She pulled back and turned her head away.

“No please, don’t!”

Tara turned Betsy’s face to her. “Now Betsy, now you’ve really pissed me off. Kneel!”

Betsy lowered herself quickly to the floor and stared a a spot in the thick carpet just in front of Tara’s feet. Tara stood very still for a moment, then spoke to Robert.

“I’m going to need a pole, Robert.”

Robert rose and opened yet another of the many cabinets. Betsy ventured a look as Robert removed a three foot chrome plated pole. It had threads on one end. He walked near to the wall with the eyebolts and screwed it into a plate counter-sunk into the floor. Meanwhile Tara had made a trip to the supply side of the room herself. Stood behind Betsy now and went about her task. The first implement was as the others, leather. A four inch wide collar was buckled around Betsy’s neck. It was designed to keep the head erect, and the slightly wider parts on the left and right sides made turning her head nearly impossible. With great relief Betsy felt Tara remove the strap holding her arms in their now painful position.

“Go over to the pole.” Betsy began to rise in obedience but Tara’s hand on her head prevented her. “On your knees!”

Robert guided her to the desired position. Her back was placed firmly against the pole. A second pair of handcuffs were placed around her ankles. A padlock secured the pair on her wrists to the pair on her ankles. Tara stood before Betsy now with a second padlock. Gently now Tara reached behind Betsy’s head to secure a grip on the ‘D’ ring at the back of the collar. She smiled brightly in to Betsy’s face as she forced her head back and down to meet with the eye bolt welded to the top of the pole. The padlock clicked into place.

Tara stood back and inspected the girl. “I love that position. Take a look, dear.”

With some effort, Betsy inched her head around to see herself in the mirrored wall. She could see why Tara liked her this way: her arms were taut by virtue of being attached by the wrist to her ankle cuffs. She was forced to bow her back considerably to afford her neck being attached to the pole with no leeway. Her firm breasts jutted up toward the ceiling and her beautifully proportioned pelvis was now the forward most part of her body. She looked back at Tara now with a little trepidation. “She’s goin to beat me! My God, I can’t take that! This has to stop…”

Tara stands before her now, freezing her thoughts. She clinches her eyes shut waiting for the first blow. Nothing. She ventures a breath, two, three, four. Nothing. Silence. Now a scent. Now a bit stronger. Her eyes open to a wall of leather one inch from her nose. Tara’s skirt. Tara’s grin looks A lot like Robert’s from Betsy’s perspective. Now Betsy realizes what Tara plans! Without a word Tara unzips first the right zipper then the left. Another step places her over Betsy’s upturned face. “Now my dear, you’re going to make me cum.”

Betsy knew that struggling was useless, but she struggled anyway. The scent of leather was replaced now by the faintly musky odor of Tara’s womanhood. Betsy opened her eyes and was confronted with a perfectly trimmed pubic mount of jet black hair. Tara’s thighs, firm and strong closed on each side of Betsy’s head preventing even the
modicum of movement allowed by the collar…

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