Sunday, November 16, 2014

I AM FATTICUS! On Being a BBW In and Out of the Lifestyle

Weight is a rather complex and controversial issue. It is  rather close to me, as I have been on the plus side of the spectrum for most of my life. I grew up as one of the fat kids and while I didn't experience a great deal of bullying as a child, what I did get centered around my size. I would hazard that my reprieve came from the fact that for much of my childhood, at least from late elementary school to about the eighth grade, (when I lost 40 pounds) I presented myself as a tom boy. I wore my dad's old t-shirts because they fit. Most of my friends were boys. The only dresses I owned were because they were required for an academic competition I did from about 8 to 11 years old.

It was only when I started presenting myself in a more feminine way that I started getting more pointed insults. The school's constant need to run the bullshit BMI screenings and fitness tests didn't help. I remember in P.E. one year being made to jump rope and the coach kept bitching at me because I had to jump twice per swing. I always refused to participate in the BMI screenings. I wouldn't take the permission slip home to be signed. I didn't need them to tell me what I already knew, because the world had been telling it to me since the age of six when my pediatrician told my parents to stop giving me snacks. I certainly didn't want to be another of their fat kid statistics that measure weight and not fat percentages.

Source: Why BMI is not a measure of health


Coming into the kink and dating world, as they are one and the same for me, was a bit intimidating. I have always preferred a type that is pretty much the exact opposite of my body type. You know, tall, muscly, strong as an ox. I find a I have a taste for martial artists and fighters. Blame the historical romance novels full of burly Highlanders kicking ass. Society has trained me to be a bit surprised when someone like that is attracted to me. So, naturally, I feel lucky that both of the partners I've had have been more towards that end of the spectrum than mine.

Now, I shouldn't feel this way. I shouldn't feel like a man I find attractive choosing to be with me is doing me a favor by doing so, and it bothers me how many in the kink world seem to perpetuate this idea.

I can say that I have not experienced any fat shaming in my local community. Most of the women in my community qualify as BBWs, so you won't see any fat hate there. They are the only people I have performed in front of, as they are the only people who I feel won't judge me as a large belly dancer. They have always been super supportive of my dancing.

This is not me, but she is awesome.

Most of the flack I get is on the internet, whether that be imagined obligations of a submissive or slave (particularly female ones), fat-based hate mail from supposed doms, or fat shaming comments on my belly dance videos on YouTube. I mean, God forbid a big woman dance on YouTube, right? I can't tell you how many messages I got on Collarme back when I was on the site that were just random guys popping in to call me fat, or cow, or pig. I am baffled by the amount of people who waste their time verbally abusing large people on the internet, and the fact that doing so is essentially socially acceptable. I don't know if they think they can shame people into not being fat, or simply don't think fat people deserve to be treated as people because of all the bullshit stereotypes the media feeds to people.

Speaking of bullshit stereotypes, here are 9 Facts That Shatter Bullshit Stereotypes About Fat People. I found this lovely bit of awesome in my Facebook feed, and everybody should read it, because yes.

There also seems to be some misconception that s-types are obligated by virtue of being s-types to be fit and trim. I can't tell you how many doms complain about their local communities being full of fat subs. Or, people complaining that only fat people are in the lifestyle and why don't they want to take care of themselves? It comes from the s-types too. Granted, the most recent example of this that I noticed was an obvious troll (I hope).

She informed a group, named "Fat, Dumb Sluts" (odd place to go fat shaming in, right?), that she minored in health, so fat is bad. However, men can be whatever shape and size they want, but it's a woman's duty to stay slim and attractive for men. Now, I would hope that much stupid couldn't exist in one place, but who knows? If she's serious, I guess it didn't occur to her that some men like big women. I mean, it has its own genre of porn.

There was one man a while back who asked about the phrases "big and beautiful" or "big is beautiful" and called them "fucking ridiculous," trying to claim that these positive statements about size were somehow body shaming slim people. Seriously though, if big people feeling good about themselves makes slim people feel bad about themselves, they have way more issues than weight.



For a while now, the song All About That Bass by Meghan Trainor has been floating around as the latest body positivity song. Granted, it contains body shaming of thin people, so it falls short of the mark on being a truly body positive song. There was a discussion about the video in a submissive forum I participate in. One poster mentioned how her cousin was a model and that her cousin "deserved to be recognized as beautiful." I just couldn't really process that concept. Beauty is a standard of convention. Being conventionally pretty is not a skill. It's the luck of the genetic draw. Her claim was that her cousin's ability to maintain the balance of thin and curvy was a skill. I just don't understand the idea that pretty people deserve to be recognized when beauty is subjective. She also asserted that a woman's "ability to exhibit physical health is her most valuable trait in the dating world."

-sigh-

Weight, of course, is as part of the power exchange scene as anything else.

Weight Restrictions
Forced Exercise
Forced Dieting
Diet Control
Fat Fetishes
Weight-based Humiliation and Degradation play

I don't really have experience with any of these things. I can see the benefit of them if one desires to lose weight and needs or wants the extra motivation of the PE context. Or those who simply enjoy that kind of control. My former dom tried to do required exercise, but he never asked me about it or brought it up after the first week. With no motivation, positive or negative, I assumed he didn't care and lost interest in the idea. My owner is exclusively interested in large women and won't even allow me to refer to myself as fat or any other derogatory weight-related term.

Source


In fact, we were discussing dinner service habits and I mentioned that leaving the pots in the kitchen and not putting out serving dishes keeps you from being tempted to get more food. His response? "No, if I'm cooking something really good, I want you to sit there and eat until you feel like you're gonna die."

I'm thankful for him. Thankful for the fact that he is more comfortable with my weight than I am. For the way he grumbles every time I talk about weight loss or complain about having to go up a size in jeans. Thankful for the community I'm in where I can be embraced as beautiful no matter my size, where I can dance without shame.

So, all the fat haters and fat shamers who think my size is a case of overeating and being lazy?

Fuck you. I'm a belly dancer. I'm an archer. I have a full time job. I don't stuff my face. I am a person, and deserve to be treated like a human being. I have a wonderful owner who loves my size and wouldn't have me any other way. My weight is not a marker of my health. And I am not morally obligated to fit your standard of beauty.

I AM FATTICUS!


Sunday, November 9, 2014

Soul of the Gray (Part 2)

She did not struggle as he lifted her wrists to snap a metal band around each and attach them to the rings on the sides of the table. His touch was oddly comforting despite her fear, so warm and solid compared to the airy coolness of the servants. Once he had her in place, he drew his warmth away from her and tugged the pooled fabric of her ruined clothes away from her feet.

Source


The Master circled her like so much prey, passing into her line of vision at agonizingly slow intervals. Eilin examined him in the glow of the candlelight. He loomed over her, tall and broad with bulky shoulders with thick muscles trying to punch their way out of his chest. Ropey scars banded his belly, disappearing into the mat of dark silvery hair that covered a fair portion of his torso, ending at the soft leather trews he wore. His arms were thick and just a little too long for his body, culminating in the pale claws that graced the finger tips of his large hands. The thick beard he wore and the long hair that brushed his shoulders in a cascade of layers were both black, although the hair gradually faded into the silver of his body. Glittering around his neck was a silver chain bearing an delicately crafted pendant, a triskele of wolves. The sparkle of the metal emphasized the bright grey of his eyes.

He stepped closer to her, sweeping her deep auburn hair over her shoulder and out of the way. He drew his claws lightly over her back in a series of patterns. Eilin shivered and squirmed, unsure how to feel about the sensation. Something in her wanted to purr. The rest of her remembered that she was naked and chained to a table in a room with a man-beast. The tickle of his claws moved leisurely downward over the small of her back to tease the sensitive flesh of her backside. She found herself arching involuntarily as he dipped over the hollow to the rounder flesh. Her body erupted in a rash of goose pimples.

That growling laugh rumbled through the air again, giving sound to his pleasure in her response. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of a deep blush, and she pressed herself into the table, concentrating on staying still. The Master clucked his tongue and delivered a sharp smack to her rump. Eilin jumped with surprise, letting out a small squeak. It just hard enough to sting a bit, but nothing unbearable.

"Ah, ah, ah.  I am the bard. You are the dancer. I play the tune. You will dance. It is that simple." He gave her another slap, and she bounced with it.

He came into sight again, sitting in the chair before the fireplace, facing her. He held in his hands a case of dark cherrywood, carved with beautiful knotwork and inlaid with silver filigree. He lifted the lid and presented the velvet lined beauty toward her. A set of exquisite hairbrushes were carefully laid within. He sat the open case on his lap that she might look at them more easily.

Source


"A gift, pretty one. These are now yours." He caressed the auburn waves dangling over the edge of the table. "Choose one."

She looked over her choices. A wide silver one with stiff-looking bristles. A narrow golden one fitted with jewels. Another silver one of a middling width with soft bristles and vines curling around the handle.

"The one in the center," she said, indicating the ones with the vines.

His eyes glinted happily. "A good choice," he said, plucking it from the case and setting the others aside.

He walked back behind her, stroking her back with his claws as he went. "Tell me, how many steps do you think my staircase has?" he said, sliding a chain around the back of her left knee and hooking it into place.

What an odd question, she thought, as he slid another chain behind her right knee. "I...I do not know," she said quietly.

"Five and thirty," he snapped, his tone suddenly harsh.

Eilin cried out as the flat of the brush crashed into her backside a thousand times harder than the chiding slap of his hand. Her breath left her in a wave of pain. She stiffened, riding out the sting as it resonated through her. She jumped when he unexpectedly pressed the soft bristles to her skin.

"How many did you climb?" His voice was unyielding.

Eilin whimpered and hid her face in her hair. The brush popped her again, more quickly this time, but with less fervor.

"All of them," she managed to bite out. Another vicious swat with the brush had her sobbing, the chains at her knees not allowing for any sort of evasion.

He stroked her throbbing cheeks with the bristles. "What were you told upon entering my home?"

She spoke through little sobs, each word punctuated but a frantic breath. "All that is yours is at my fingertips, but do not ascend the black staircase."

"Aye," he said, administering another firm swat low on her rump, "and while I am overjoyed that you came to me, you still disobeyed my orders. So, we shall account for each and every step."

Eilin sniffed, trying to lift herself off the table with little success. "If you wanted me to climb the stairs, how is it fair to chastise me for it?"

He gave a quick little pop to each cheek. "Another thing you shall come to learn. I make the rules. I do not have to be fair. You, on the other hand, my lovely little jewel, are expected to be obedient from this point forward."




The next eternity was filled punishing wallops of the brush, peppered with excruciating pauses and unexpected strokes of the bristles or his hand. She had long since lost count, giving over to the useless writhing of her body and the steady sobs. This last pause seemed much longer than the others. She relaxed slightly, panting softly, as the air finally caused the light sweat he had worked her into to cool. He swept his hand over her body, gently rubbing each warm and throbbing cheek. Then, out of nowhere, one last blow, this time to the tender lips of her sex, keen and lingering.

The hard silver was replaced with the soft bristles. He pulled his hand away and simply moved the brush back and forth in small motions against her sex. Somewhere, in between her sobbing, Eilin let out a new sound, a foreign sound that she had never made before.

"There it is." He removed the brush from her, much to her disappointment she realized and resumed his seat in his chair.  The Master pulled the long ends of her hair into his lap and began to brush them with the mean little instrument he played so well.

"You did well. Although, I would advise you that this was a rather mild punishment because I did not expect you to obey the edict. However, if you desire to regain your previous privileges, it would behoove you to accept your new role."

When he was satisfied with her hair, he unhooked the chains from the bands around her wrists and carried her towards the bed.



Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Soul of the Gray (Part 1)

Eilin eyed the grand staircase leading into the restricted part of the castle with infinite curiosity. No matter what angle she found, she could not see into the shadowy depths of the corridor from anywhere in the foyer. She had tried from many places, to much chastising from the ghostly servants that flitted about the keep, but to no avail. Her curiosity burned with in her, heightened by the singular rule that she not ascend that staircase.

Source


The Master had been most generous since her father had sold her here for his freedom. She had access to all other areas of the castle and grounds. The kitchens were open to her whenever she pleased. He had not asked anything untoward of her as of yet. But, damn, she wanted to know what was up there. Her imagination ran wild with unnumbered horrors, only things such a scarred an bestial man might possess.

Almost unconsciously, she felt herself drifting towards the staircase. Just as her toe would have landed upon the first step, a slender figure materialized before her. Caolan, the chamberlain, hung in the air before her a collection of mist and smoke forming the visage of a lean man with a hawk nose and sharply angled jaw. He frowned at her, as best as such an apparition may manage and waved an ethereal finger at her disapprovingly.

"I understand your inquisitiveness, milady, but the Master would not approve of your explorations." His voice was wispy, though deep, almost as if he spoke from great distance.

"He has been kind to me thus far. I think he might forgive a little peek," she said, mounting the first step.

Caolan grew larger, the billowing smoke whirling furiously about him. A ghostly chain slithered out of the nothingness to clasp her about the ankle and thether itself to the bannister.

"Cease your blustering. I shall take what comes of this," Eilin said, yanking the length of the chain.

Caolan peered at her for a moment, reluctant, but the chain faded back into the mist from whence it came. Eilin picked up her skirts and, smiling victoriously at the unearthly servant and sped her way up the forbidden stairs into the hall beyond. The corridor itself was disappointingly plain. Candelabra jutted out from the walls. Only every other one was lit. There were pale places on the wall where paintings and tapestries that had obviously been there for years no longer hung. She walked past large heavy doors fitted with iron padlocks, windows with the hangings pulled back to let in the silvery moonlight, which sparkled on the metallic threads running through the wide carpet lining the center of the floor.

Source


At last she came to the largest set of doors. The only ones not locked up. She looked about quickly, as if she might find another servant hovering in the shadows to snag her with another of those uncomfortably airy chains. When none came forth, gingerly, she pushed open the door. It yielded easily to her touch, swinging open with neither resistance nor sound. She stepped through into the dim light.

It was a massive room, befitting a prince. A great bed rested against the far right wall, hung with luxurious draperies and piled with furs. Eilin looked about as her eyes adjusted to the lack of much light and noticed a number of intricately carved pieces of furniture about the place. A beautiful chair sat before a grand fire place. A couch graced another wall. Then she noticed the pieces that were not so familiar. An oddly high table, short and solid. It resembled a box more than a table. Silver rings were fitted to the sides at various intervals. A low bench fitted with cushions, a thick chain snaking around its feet. Then she noticed that chains hung from the wall as well, and suddenly she was afraid.

Even as his large, warm hand slipped into the back of her hair and took a tight grip on the roots, she found she could not move. She did not jump, or move away. Perhaps because something inside her knew it was futile, or perhaps because she had already resigned herself to the consequences of her curiosity.

"I had wondered when you would finally seek me out," he said, his voice rumbling against her as he pressed his chest to her back. "I must say, you succumbed to temptation more quickly than I had anticipated."

She said nothing, her chest heaving in her bodice. His other hand came around to brush her throat with sharp nails, making her shiver. The hand moved down, the nails, looking more like claws as they went, parting the laces of her kirtle as a knife through silk. Once fully severed, he pulled the fabric away from her middle, to run the claws over her belly, tugging at her chemise as he went. Her belly tightened, pulling away from the tickling sensation.

"I am afraid that now you have come here, you will not leave for some time."

Eilin let out a shuddering breath. "Why?"

The Master chuckled, making a small slice in her chemise. "You have yet to ask about this place, why I look the way I do, why I share an expansive manse with naught but spirits to serve me."

"I...I..." she stammered, eyes frantically following his hand as it began to part the slice low on her belly and slip beneath the fabric. "I assumed you were some sort of fae."

He laughed again, finally pressing is palm against her belly. Her stomach leapt at the sensation. "Then you are not as bright as I thought, to tempt the wrath of a fae. But I am no fae. I am simply a beast. Vicious but not cruel. The fae are infinitely cruel."

She gasped as he gently cupped her sex. "A fae is responsible for my existence. Liadain, the Grey Lady. She desired to own me, and I would not allow it." His hand moved back up slowly. "So, she took from me the touch of woman. The touch of anyone, as you have likely deduced from the state of the servants. Her curse was that should I acquire a woman, I could only touch her if she came to my chamber willingly. If I touched her before that time, she would become as insubstantial as Caolan and the others." He tugged her head to the side and buried his whiskered face into her neck, breathing in her scent. "And then she scarred me and gave me beastly features that no woman would wish to come near me and veiled my castle that those beyond its grounds would forget about my line and let the old kings fade into legend."

This is a photo manip I did for a failed fiction blog for the same
concept. The cloaked woman is Eilin, and the woman in the
water is Liadain. The base photo is an America's Next Top
Model Shoot. 


He guided her more fully into the room, toward the high table with the rings. "Fortunately, fae are much burdened by their literal natures. One must be very delicate in making requests of them, or they find ways to twist your words and exploit any and every loophole. Alas, it is a double-edged sword. She said you had to come willingly to my chamber. She said nothing about after you were already within."

Eilin made a small sound and tried to twist out of his grip. His laughter filled the room. "Do not panic, little beauty. We shall spend much time getting to know one another. In time, I imagine, you shall never wish to leave this room. But first..." he finally ripped away the rest of the chemise,"we will need to address that curiosity of yours."

He pressed her legs into the table and bent her over the edge.



Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Toy With Me Tuesday: Mistress Uli vs. Big Boy

My latest ridiculously-sized acquisition going head to paw with the fiercest pussy on the block.

The Staredown.

Attack!


Toy with me Tuesday

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Kink of the Week: Baubles, Bangles, and Beads (I Mean Bells)

I have always been afraid of needles, dating back to my bratling days when shots were evil incarnate. I can't watch needle play. I can't watch anything to do with needles in a horror movie. Gaw, that syringe scene in Saw II kind of made me wanna die a little.

Nope. Nope. All of my Nope. Plus some of your nope, too.
Source: YouTube

So, naturally, I didn't even get my ears pierced until I was 19. I had it done at one of those stupid girl jewelry stores. Claire's, I think. It wasn't even the one geared toward older girls. And, of course, it was done with one of those gun things. It took over 6 months for those bitches to heal. Pretty much completely turned me off of piercings altogether. Not that I was turned on by them to begin with.

Ever since I got into kink, piercings have been on my unslavely hard limit list. I see my other M/s friends off getting piercings in all the places no one sees. Even as an order, I don't think I could submit to that. I'd probably panic, blackout, and go into an anxiety psychosis and wake up in the woods somewhere covered in blood. I am not remotely good at forcing myself to do things I'm afraid of, but boy can I talk myself out of anything. Fortunately, Daddy has no interest in nether piercings, because I think we might come to violence over those. I'd lose, but, God, I'd tear some shit up in the process.

Unfortunately, (can you see my wildly enthused face here?) he does have a thing for nipple piercings. I think only one of his previous girls got out of that requirement, and that was because she had diabetes. Now, I'm not remotely interested in the idea. It's even on my limit list that he allows. Which I have pointed out. He still teases me relentlessly about it like he can convince me to give it up.

Of course, I'm not wholly unreasonable. I did present a condition under which I would submit to someone jabbing a needle in my nipples. Whether he'll take me up on that remains to be seen. I would hope he does, because it's kind of a relationship requirement for me in the long term.

If it does happen, I've already decided what I want. I've never been a fan of the barbells, but I've always liked the rings I've seen on slaves in movies. Daddy informed me that they were called captive rings. I'd say that's appropriate.

Although, none of that bead bullshit. I want these babies.

Captive Segment Rings
Source


Seamless loops that speak to my archaic soul. And not the least because I'm a belly dancer and I have a fetish for slave bells.

All of the bells ever. @.@
Source


Despite my fear of needles and piercings and sharp shit that is not knife-related, that bitch is gorgeous....and ridiculously expensive, so I will likely never have it, but still. It does speak to my Odalisquian interests, although I have been summarily informed by some rando on the Odalisque forum on Fetlife that odalisques and harem slaves were never pierced. Also, according to him, this should be obvious. I guess he's post cognitively omniscient.

So, piercings are not a fetish of mine, but I suppose I can make the best of an undesirable situation. Although, I'm not remotely excited about months with no nipple play, because, with my luck, they'd take an eternity to heal.

But, omg, all the bells!