Wednesday, December 21, 2016

e[Lust] - #89


Photo courtesy of Sex is My New Hobby

Welcome to Elust 89-

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #90 Start with the rules, come back January 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

When the Tears Finally Came

The pure and simple truth

One Down


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Disabilities & Submission, Part 2: I Say No

UnRepentant Darkness


~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Hoar Frost…

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Hold me down
Keeping me chaste
Say My Name
The Little Things
Struggle...
Learning To Truss
A New Use
My Mania is My Drug
Life as a Laissez-Faire Domme

Erotic Fiction

Watching
Candy, Caned
Jax and Rickie’s First Kiss
New Collar

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Why You Should Make a Sex Tape
And the winner is...doggy style!
Pleasantville: The Promise of Trump's America
Bdsm reasons for not hitting children
An Open Letter to MrHankeysToys.com

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Fun Of Being Stripped Of Wet Running Kit!
I want to lick your pussy some more
KIDNAP - a story of fear, pain and sex
Sybian
Well, that's new...
Objectionable Hair - A Lady's Taboo

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

UnPartnered
The Cub
I still have hope
A Baker’s Dozen #fucketlist

Poetry

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Elust 88

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Thief in the Night: Part 3: Mischief



"Wonderful," Professor Raycraft said, continuing to scribble away at the papers on his desk. "We have reached a bargain." He blew the ink dry and folded the paper, slipping it into an envelope from this desk drawer. He plucked the signet ring from the pile in front of him and a stick of sealing wax from another drawer.

"Fetch me a candle, Miss Kraus." He sat back in his chair, watching her steadily to see if she would obey.

Diebin hesitated a moment, gauging the look in his eyes. There was amusement glittering in the lamplight, perhaps smug satisfaction at having caught the spider in her own web, but there was steel also. Hard, unyielding steel. She let out a shuddering breath, from what emotion she could not place, and rose from her seat to collect the candle with which he'd lighted the lamps. He continued to stare at her as she brought it back and set it lightly on the desk.

Raycraft held the wax over the flame for a moment or two before dripping it onto the envelope. He slipped the ring on and pressed his seal into the wax, leaving a perfect impression of the spires and scrolls in crimson relief. He took up the envelope and stood, looking down at her.

"You will stay here until I come to fetch you. Do endeavor to restrain your kleptomania. I will know if you take something else." He left the room and locked the door behind him.

Diebin continued to glare at the door after he left. What had she gotten herself into? It was perhaps too late to renege, but she might always find her escape another night. In the mean time, she might as well appreciate dwelling in a fine house. It was no lord's manor, but it was certainly finer than to that which she was accustomed.

She wandered around the room, taking in the contents now that it was illuminated by the lamps. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with numerous tomes and foreign curiosities. One shelf was dedicated entirely to tiny models of famous buildings from around Europe. The Parthenon, the Colosseum, St. Basil's Cathedral, the Arc de Triomphe, all sat in miniature splendor on the slightly dusty shelves. They were beautifully intricate. She smirked a bit and switched the places of a few of the figurines.

She moved down the line of books, dragging her finger along the spines. They appeared to be arranged in alphabetical order by author. She snickered and moved several of those as well, careful to match the height of each book with its replacement. Diebin wondered how long it would take him to notice, and how long it would take him to blame her. To her credit, she hadn't stolen anything.

Mischief managed, she returned to her seat, awaiting the return of her would-be jailer.

He soon strode back into the room, two articles in his hand. One appeared to be a thin linen shift, the other a thick leather hound's collar with a silver plate upon it. He held them out to her.

"Your livery, Miss Kraus."

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

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Elements of Control: What is Control?

Control: 
Noun
1. The power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events
2. The ability to manage a machine, vehicle, or other moving object:
3. The restriction of an activity, tendency, or phenomenon:
4. The ability to restrain one's own emotions or actions
 
Verb
1. Determine the behavior or supervise the running of
2. Maintain influence or authority over
3. Remain calm and reasonable despite provocation - Source

Recently I came across a supposition on Fetlife that asserted the equation Ritual + Protocol = Control. I instinctively disagreed with this idea, as neither of those things are high priorities within my relationship. It got me thinking about what control is and what comprises this concept of control we use within authority/power dynamics. Because, while the proposed equation is simple, control is certainly not. I thought perhaps I might explore the idea of control and subsequently the elements that can combine to form this idea.

But first, I think it's helpful to figure out what control is, at least within the context of authority dynamics before delving into its atomic structure, so to speak. After perusing a few different dictionaries, I settled on the OED, which provided those listed above, among other less relevant choices. Of these, the following seem most applicable to the concept we refer to when discussing power relationships.

Noun
1. The power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events
 
Verb
1. Determine the behavior or supervise the running of
2. Maintain influence or authority over

The key concepts in these definitions are directing behavior and influence. I would hazard to say that these represent the two major facets of control, active and passive. Determining or directing behavior involves active control, whereas influence is not always so overt.

For example, active control would involve things such as establishing rules, issuing commands, physical manipulation/restriction, restriction of access, etc. Influence is a more subtle beast, in which the burden falls more on the side of the controlled. Planting ideas rather than mandating them, expressions of preference, displays of pleasure or displeasure.

So, I would perhaps say that Directing Behavior + Influencing Behavior = Control. Everything else, including ritual and protocol would fall under those parameters. And perhaps I am wrong in my use of the term "elements" in referring to the aspects of control. As I would say that things like rituals and protocols are manifestations of control rather than components of it. Control can exist absent specific manifestations such as protocol, ritual, rules, physical restriction, etc.

Even so, I'd like to explore these ideas, and how they apply within my own relationship and I hope you'll join me in my rampant navel-gazing as I go through this series on control.

Monday, December 5, 2016

Thief in the Night: Part 2: An Offer




Diebin threw her elbow back into his gut and was sprinting toward the door before the grunt of pain hit her ears. She took the stairs two at a time, landing with an indelicate thump on each step. At the foot of the staircase, she caught the newel post at the cap and swung about, propelling herself towards the main door. Much heavier footfalls thundered behind her, echoing on the hollow floors. She flung her hand out toward the knob, only to have her fingers just brush against the idea of freedom as her pursuer snatched up her braid and yanked her backward. The entryway rug slipped from beneath her, spilling her onto her rump.

Air rushed from her lungs and pain ran up her spine at the impact. She shook her head, dazed. The man caught her by the scruff of her coat and shook her roughly, making her pockets jingle with the bits and bobs she'd already pilfered from the study.

"A busy little thief, I see," he grumbled, a hint of amusement in his tone. He lifted her bodily from the ground by her coat before switching his grip back to the thick base of her braid and guided her back into study in which she'd found the signet ring nestled over her left breast.

"Sit." he commanded, thrusting her toward a chaise lounge upholstered in forest green velvet which sat across from a great cherry wood desk.

She eyed him warily as she moved to obey, her heart racing as he took a key from the pocket of his trousers and locked the doors. He then took one of the withering candles from a sconce and lit a few of the lanterns about the room to illuminate them both. He turned to her finally, dropping the key into is left pocket. He was tall, as she had imagined from the expanse of the bed which he consumed. He was broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip, but with the slight protrusion of the belly common among men of comfortable means. The dark gold of his head also dusted his torso and arms, and bedecked his face in a neatly trimmed Van Dyke fashion. He was neither old nor young, but it is hard to tell the age of a man when freshly woken. He narrowed sky-colored eyes at her as he made his way leisurely to the other side of the desk, but the look was somewhat diminished by the disheveled state of his hair.

He took a seat in a leather-backed swivel chair and produced a sheaf of paper and a pen from a drawer to his right. The desk was otherwise clear of clutter, save for a capped inkwell, a tin of tobacco, and an oil lamp with a small flame flickering occasionally behind the glass. He uncapped the inkwell and dipped his pen a few times before casting her a brief glance.

"Your name, Miss?" He said.

A nervous laugh escaped her. "Why would I tell you that?"

He looked up at her and arched an imperious brow. "Miss, I will remind you that you are currently locked in a room with me. I've a good foot on you and easily a few stone. My questions will be answered. How I attain those answers is singularly up to you. Now, your name, if you would be so kind. First and last."

"Diebin Kraus," she bit out with a frustrated snort.

He gave her a hard stare. "That is not your name."

Diebin bristled, returning his gaze with an indignant glare. "It's my name. Who are you to say otherwise?"

"I do not believe for an instant that your parents named you 'thief'."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Perhaps they did. Perhaps they didn't. You're welcome to sod off across the country to the cemetery they happen to be buried in and ask 'em, but I very much doubt you'll get a satisfactory answer."

He lifted his brow again and jotted something down on his paper.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a note," he said absently. "All right then, Miss Kraus, please produce everything you have purloined from my house."

Diebin tightened her grip around herself and remained defiantly silent.

He huffed a short sigh and scribbled another note on his paper. "Miss Kraus, I might always forcibly strip you and search your clothing in any case. It would behoove you to comply."

Diebin huffed and started plucking the treasures from her pockets: a handful of gold coins, a silver pocket watch with pearl settings, a few pieces of silver cutlery, and, reluctantly, the gold signet ring. She laid them before him on the desk and watched as he recorded each item on a piece of paper separate from his "notes."

"Come now with the rest of it. That's not all that was in your pockets," he said, gesturing with his hand.

Diebin plopped back onto the couch, crossing her arms again. "You only requested the things which I had taken from your house. You're not my first stop tonight."

He lifted both brows at that. "No, but I am your last. My name is Coleman Raycraft. I am a professor of history at the Barryman Institute, the second son of a minor lord. I find myself desirous, if not so much of need, of a servant. Thus far, I have not been able to justify the expense of a staff given my relatively modest accommodations, but since there would be no need to pay you..." He trailed off, appraising her silently. "I shall offer you two options for how we might handle this incident. I can summon the authorities and give an account of the items you have both stolen and attempted to steal from me, and given that you have already admitted that you have additional evidence of your thievery on your person, I very much doubt that would go well for you."

He sat the pen down. "Your other choice is to bind yourself to this house and to the whims of myself. You will perform whatever duties I see fit to assign you, suffer whatever disciplines you might incur in the failure of such. Essentially, you will be the property of this estate and of myself."

Diebin narrowed her eyes. "For how long?"

Coleman Raycraft chuckled, a low, almost seductive sound. "My dear little bird, you aren't exactly in the position to be attempting negotiations."

"And what makes you a better choice than prison?"

He pondered her carefully, stroking his short beard between his thumb and forefinger. "My dear, I could regale you with the fates of women in prisons historically speaking, but I think you already know that pretty little birds like you do not fare well in such conditions. That is to say, if they do not decide to hang you, which, given your history and aptitude for your...craft, is a very likely outcome."

Diebin slumped in her seat. He was right. They would likely hang her. That might be the most merciful option of those available to her.  If she were honest with herself, she didn't want to die. She didn't want to go to prison either, but she also didn't know what she was agreeing to with this Professor Raycraft. But what choice did she have?

She sighed, resignation heavy in her chest. "All right."


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