In some circles, the term ‘BDSM’ is synonymous with the term ‘Kink.’ At loveyoudivine Alterotica, these two concepts amount to apples and oranges. Sure, the trees upon which they grow might both bear fruit, but one is to maintain a way of life; the other is just for fun.

BDSM is a Lifestyle, a relationship paradigm. Kink is an activity.

As a retired Pro and current Lifestyle Dominatrix, I maintain a household of slaves and submissives. How we interact is not a lot different from you and your lover, perhaps, except I have the final say in all things. That also places me a position of utmost responsibility for all of them. I gratify their needs, their desires, that unholy yearning for Dominance, and for that they offer their most devout submission.

What does submission look like? To me, simply exquisite. How could I deny any one of them when they approach me with such devotion? When they crawl into a room and swirl into a quivering puddle around my feet? When they clutch my ankle to convey such longing as if that close connection is still universes distant? When that broken sob sears through my flesh like a firestorm? What do they need?

They would deceive themselves into believing that they need nothing more than Mistress. But Mistress knows better. What they need is communion with Mistress. A creature they perceive as all-knowing and all-powerful. Someone who opens them physically, mentally and spiritually to be free of the material world, and to join with me in a place only the two of us, and no one else, can create. A place we inhabit together for relatively short spans of time. Like a drug, the energy exchanged sustains us.

How do we create that place? I lead; they follow.

Of course, we begin with that which is easiest to conquer – the flesh. When he feels the rope laid across the back of his neck, my reward is that first gasp of the evening. As I twist the rope around the torso, weaving in steel rings as attachment points, I feel him contract inside, even as his skin swells and colors with sexual arousal. Drawing that rope between the legs elicits a shudder and a moan. I might lay him on the massage table and finish that harness with the ends woven tightly around the genitalia. The sound of the chain clipped to the rings closes the eyes. The feel of the chain yanked hard under the tabletop to attach to the opposite ring at the hips, at the chest, across the throat causes the lungs to empty in complete relaxation.

Mistress has him by the balls – exactly what he needs. Should he thrash beyond the limits of my bonds, he will be reminded…vividly.

Still, we’ve only just begun.

He knows what’s next; he’s experienced it hundreds of times through the years, yet he’s never quite prepared. The black satin gloves covering my hands caress the surface so I can watch the muscles ripple under the skin like the concentric circles of waves created by a pebble tossed into a pond. The hips jerk, the shoulders shudder. And then comes the whip.

 I use a variety of tools to create the sensations he needs to rend his mind null. When he ceases to think, he becomes. Transformed into my slave, my slut, my choir of angels, by my own design, by my own desperate need.

Hours later, he’s exhausted, yet energized. Boiling with my determination, alive, renewed, reborn. The sexual arousal with which he began was merely the fuel to launch him beyond the material world, beyond orgasm or any gross sensation, to commune with me in a place of our own creation.

Sound kinky to you?

What we do is normal for us – it’s how we convey to each other our emotions, our individual requirements, and our collective goals. When I lash him with a whip, that intensity conveys something, most usually enduring love. When he writhes, when he cries, when he reaches out merely to connect, though he may be unconscious of it, he conveys to me the same.

He responds to me…and only me within our little universe.

BDSM is a Lifestyle paradigm. Most certainly, this paradigm can’t be compared to relationships within Vanillaville, otherwise known as ‘normal’ romantic relationships. For us, there’s nothing ‘kinky’ in what we do or how we interact. It’s not naughty on any level, not deviant nor disgusting. It’s who we are; it’s what we do and how we communicate with each other.

Kink is a concept that relates only to Vanillaville. If you’ve spent 10 years in the missionary position, getting flipped over and spanked could be kinky, naughty, or even downright sinful. It might reach a little deeper for a total turn-on. The sash of your satin robe restraining your hands behind your back may offer a sense of helplessness, danger or even submissiveness. A little wax dripped over your body might cause it to shudder, as might the flat of his hand on your derriere. Playful, sensual, and exciting, kink is foreplay. A Master/slave relationship, and the means we use to communicate with each other, are not.

 At loveyoudivine Alterotica, we offer both. Lifestyle literature written by those who live within a BDSM paradigm, both Dominant and submissive, can be found at the Erotic Power Xchange. A little kink can be found on any page of our catalogue.

We’re thrilled to announce yet another category at lyd – Focus on Fetish. While much of our work might contain scenes of fetishes, Focus on Fetish will relate to that particular turn-on. Secondary to the turn-on, there may be a relationship involved, maybe not. We’re blessed with some of the most talented authors in the industry, authors who understand the human psyche and what drives us to do what we humans will do. Authors who will lead you through a fantasy world (fiction), or invite you to glimpse fictionalized accounts of their own lives (Scene Lit).

Whatever we publish, we’re focused on You.

 ~Lady Midnight~

Just a little teaser on the next short story I’m working on:

Leash of Faith

Brian is the new, energetic and popular pastor of a church in southern Louisiana.  His elderly parishioners dote on him as if he were one of their grandchildren.  What’s the problem?  He’s gay and so far into the closet that the skeletons are complaining of over-crowding.  And he has a slave boy whom he has to keep secret.  That’s not so easy in a small town where everyone knows everybody else.  And the parishioners are used to their pastors having an open door policy!    How can the Master Pastor maintain his lifestyle in a such a close-knit community and not get run out of town?

Alex Morgan

Hey, everyone!

“Breathless”, the novella version of “Safe Word” is now available from Amazon.com!  Follow the link below and get your copy today!

http://www.amazon.com/Breathless-Alex-Morgan/dp/160054391X/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

Alex Morgan

Fear, pain, danger, injury, agony… for most of us mere mortals, there’s only so far BDSM games can go before they get too dangerous. In real life, most of us have no desire to end up in hospital, missing limbs, bleeding to death or otherwise suffering in extremis. There are safewords for a reason.

Fiction however can be very much about escape and fantasy. While I can appreciate a true to life tale, it’s also wonderful to be totally beyond the realms of personal experience. I like play fighting. I find it a turn on. Mistress Nimue’s ‘Trial by Combat’ explores this very theme, with people hitting each other about as foreplay. But if the people can really beat each other to a pulp, that’s all the more exciting. Real people can’t go that far – not and still want to shag each other, but super-humans can. Vampires, werewolves and other unnatural beasties heal quickly, in more myths than not. It means they can play rough. Really rough. Then heal up, and carry on.

Mistress Nimue’s ‘Heaven and Hell’ includes a serious bitch fight between a psychic vampire and a werewolf, as well as some distinctly nasty lesbian werewolf BDSM. It’s fantasy. The usual rules of what it is ok for people to do to each other simply don’t apply any more. Isn’t that liberating? I love it.

Which is probably why I particularly love Jane Bled’s ‘Master – Crimson’ story. Here we have cute gay vampire lads, who can’t admit they fancy each other, so frequently resort to beating each other up. Broken fingers. Dislocated joints. Punches. Biting. All the sexual tension they find themselves unable to explore comes out instead in the violence. It is seriously hot stuff. And there’s no guilt. The boys are vampires. They can do each other an obscene amount of damage, and long term it means nothing. Both can and will heal.

There is darkness in my psyche, I freely admit it. I know I am not alone. Many of us have darker streaks and tastes, turned on by things it might not be easy to admit to in our regular lives. There’s a reason we have a pornography of violence in the modern film industry. Pain is sexy. Suffering, agony, torment can all be arousing and devastatingly seductive. In the realms of dark fantasy, I can play. I can pretend. It isn’t real. No one actually gets hurt, and we create the kinds of characters who can suffer beautifully for all time, and never get old, or die, or phone the police or otherwise break the spell.

Club Divine

Chapter Two

by Nix Winter

Chapter Two

The back rooms to the club were a warren. Dark velvet, flickering electric lights that thought they were gas lamps. Sweet rose and cinnamon oil scent whispered in the air, the signature oil of Club Divine. Richard Parker, CPA, stood in the all, his invitation held in one hand, his good sense in the other. An attractive man, he had little difficulty attracting either women or men. Neat brown hair, green eyes, and a suit still neatly done up from the office, and he wanted. It wasn’t so easy to say if he wanted sex or love, or power, or to hear his lover beg, or to hear his lover orgasm, or if he just wanted out of his suit, wanted to be far, far from his fiftieth floor office and his perfect, completely imperturbable admin boy.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up from staring at the invitation he’d paid ten thousand dollars to receive, to find the most beautiful woman staring at him. Grace slid over her curves like the black velvet that draped kisses over the crescent moon of her cleavage. Dark curls brush the sides of her face, but it was her eyes, dark as midnight and knowing, seeing through him that made his stomach turn.

“Ms. Velvet?”

“Of course,” she said, moving towards him, an onyx cobra already reaching for him. “And you must be Master Parker. We have arranged the date you desired.”

“A pirate scene, right? Did you get,” he paused, rubbing the hand with his good sense against his side, wiping away sweat and reserve. “Did you get someone who looked like, like I specified?”

“Of course we did,” she said, smiling, lips soft as dark red wine in the night. “Exactly. You will want to dress. From when you open the door on the far side, entering the scene, you will have twenty-four hours to complete your date.”

“And the safe word,” Richard asked, eyes already drawn to the lush options for costuming. He was going to be the most magnificent pirate! “What safe word does my,” he paused to smile, finally letting her pull the invitation that had gotten him into back of the club from his tight fingers, “What safe word does my captive have?”

She was in the doorway, one hand on the handle as she tucked the small gold edged invitation neatly down between her perfect breasts. “Oh, I thought you’d like that. The safe word is David.”

Richard’s face went white. It was not possible for her to know either that he desired his admin or what his admin’s name was. He’d been very careful in hiding his normal life from this little holiday of his. She bowed her tilted her head a little to the side, smiling and watching as she closed the door. The closing door had seemed like such slow motion, so, somehow, permanent.

He turned, his stomach a pit of nerves. In his life everything had to make sense, had to add up, everything. In his experience, negotiating romance before actually engaging in it turned out badly. Romance never added up properly.

Today was not the day for math though. He stripped out of his suit, popping off a button from his shirt in his haste, leaving the Dior tie on the floor like a finished coffee cup. In it’s place he found velvet pants of red and green velvet, a thick black leather belt, a white linen shirt that showed off his chest and soft brown curls there. He put his hands on his hips, feet wide a part, and he was the power, the man, a terror. Only his word mattered. He grabbed a had, tricorn and flouncy to set on his head. It was his holiday! He rubbed his hand over his crotch.

The man on the other side of the door was going to be expecting him, but was going to act surprised. He was going to have that long brown hair loose, uncontrolled, laying around him so that he would know everything was out of his control. Those blue eyes would only be acting, but they would plead for mercy, which Richard would show none of.

Somewhere, David, the real David, was having a latte, perhaps complaining about his boss. This David, who he must remember not to call by name, was going to have his legs strapped apart, his tender virgin ass spanked until he cried. Then Richard was going to take an oiled up butt plug, big, though it would be narrow at the start, and spread wide. He was going to slowly slid, twist, push, pull a little, push it deeper as his virgin David begged for mercy, Richard was going to push that big butt plug deep into the virgin ass that was his to do with as he pleased.

Then he would move around to the front, to where his little love’s tear stained face was, and he would open his pants. His shy little love would lick, timid at first, but those small little licks would grow more eager until he had his cock between those perfect lips. He’d push deep, holding his bound precious tight, no matter how he squirmed. He’d fill his mouth, even as the huge plug stayed strapped into his tight ass.

Hand shaking, cock hard, Richard laid his hand on the door handle, ready to enter his holiday now. He was a vicious pirate! He would plunder all that he’d ever wanted from this actor. He had twenty-four hours to have the love he dreamed of and he wouldn’t waste not a second.

“Oh, my hardies!” He shouted as he opened the door with a flourish, being as far from an accountant as he could.

There on the settee, wrists bound in front of him, sat a beautiful man, long brown hair laying wantonly around his shoulders. The eyes though were full of passion, and oh so very familiar green. The man wore period dress, a torn white shirt, his breeches opened already and a hard cock standing straight up, proud with the dark blue ribbon tied lightly around it.

They stared at each other. Richard almost said his name and ruined the scene.

“You bastard,” David purred, his lips wet, “I really am a virgin and you better not fuck this up. You god damn pirate! Taking me off my ship like that! You shall never have me!”

Richard smiled, really smiled, the warmth of it settling deep into his soul, making him think he’d never really smiled before at all. “Oh yes, I will have you! I will never let you go.”

The door closed, and Velvet smiled, full of plans for the club’s next ‘date’.

”You are too independent.”  He said.

Come on, really?  At the time I took it as a madly in love criticism.  Maybe I was.  I thought I let people in but maybe that was my overly optimistic nature.  It did not occur to me in the moment that maybe that came from an insecure, bi-polar, obsessive need to control partner.  That guy didn’t show up until many moons later and it came as a complete shock to that same overly optimistic nature.

Who I am is complicated.  I am at a disadvantage because what I have written for LYD thus far is not yet out, so you don’t really have a way yet to peer slightly into the 180 year old soul that resides in this 39 year old body.  I will do what I can here to help with that.  I am an Army brat and former Army spouse.  I have been married more than once and always to a soldier.  I don’t know what that says about me really, whether it is comfortable or power seeks power or a bit of both.  I have had conversations with some of you about how there seem to be so many women in positions to participate on some level with similar backgrounds.  Did the Army find us or did we seek that end?  It also seems to be something submissives seek out.  Certainly, given current conditions, there will be more of us, some probably more independent than those in their vanilla lives would prefer.  I have been a writer since about fourth grade, when I first learn poetry didn’t have to rhyme.  It was as if a light went on in my head and I kept writing and writing.  I survived a dysfunctional family that really didn’t get anything I wrote to progress to dysfunctional relationships with people who were plain threatened by anything I wrote or squirreled away in journals until I just completely stopped about 9 years ago.  Much of what you will see coming from me in the following weeks and months is a reemergence of sorts and a reconciliation of the vanilla me and the well, not really vanilla me.  In my vanilla life, I do improv for fun and serve as class clown at my day job.  I write children’s stories and talk about life on a blog.  From about 2005 on, I have also written and posted on approximately five left of center political blogs. I work on campaigns, served a precinct chair, attended conventions as county, state and national delegates for the Democratic Party, worked on campaigns and have run them.  In my non-vanilla life, I work as Mistress Cassandra, primarily online, in what has become a HUGE social experiment.  I write about different fetishes and try to represent them in a way that reveals what people that have that fetish find erotic about it.  It doesn’t have mass appeal.  I write about foot worship, humiliation, orgasm denial, domination, the occasional vampire and many more.  The mind is the largest sex organ and it is an interesting thing. I have been dominate and not always in a position to exercise that, mostly out of fear of running people off in relationships.  Similarly, in my vanilla life, I have few female friends because women tend to be very intimidated by someone so self-possessed.  I make people uncomfortable.  I admit I rather enjoy that. 

So that is my question for you today…why do we like the things we do?  While it is true, some people find a fetish of some sort through trauma, not everyone can explain it away.  I have conversations every week with hundreds of people online who, given anonymity, will tell you anything.  Not everyone has something to work out or some trauma to relate to…most indeed say it has been part of their nature as long as they can remember.  Is it more common that everyone has SOMETHING that they want or need that they fear asking for?  Is it just our unaccepting and oppressive society that put labels on things and calls them weird?  What if everyone we know is “weird” but we are all too concerned about what people think to open up and share?  How do we change that?

Here is hoping today you take the opportunity to celebrate your independence.  We don’t have to be bound by conventional labels and as writers we are in the unique position to push those limits.  Recognize that this is the work that may someday change many of those archaic thoughts and labels.  In fact we are in many ways, the founding fathers and mothers of modern thought.

Now where did I put my paddle?  Hehehe

I’m up first. I get to christen the blog or mess up the first page, pop the cherry, or whatever the heck this winds up as. Cross your fingers for me, please.

Jeeze!

Okay, who am I and where have I been for the last few months? Well, heck! Jude Mason is the name and I’m an author, so I’ve been busy authoring. New ventures, new books and learning the craft has become a full time job for me. I’m in heaven and wouldn’t change a moment of it. Okay, maybe I’d add an extra hour or two to each day. Yeah, that’d be good.

Power Xchange is one of my more comfortable genres so I’m really glad it’s what I get to chat about first. Oh, and did I tell you? I do ramble something awful, so poor Claudia is going to be pulling her hair out. *G*

 When I first started seriously trying to be published this is the genre I fell into, and stayed in for quite awhile. I adore strong women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to ‘encourage’ their men to agree with them.  Of course, it’s always fun if the men want to debate the issue. They do come around though, usually, sometimes with a little extra persuasion, sometimes a word or two is enough.

The meaning of Power Xchange: To me it’s when one party, desires to control another party. It can be simple and purely sexual control after 8 PM when the kids go to bed, hubby and wife behind closed doors; him tied to the bed, spread-eagle, with silk tassels and her wielding a ping-pong paddle at his well displayed butt. It can also be as elaborate as a full dungeon, safe words, BDSM gear and/or hospital paraphernalia and the 24/7 slave begging for his or her abuse…Yum!

Power Xchange is all about control, the giving and receiving of it and the trust of those two people, or four people, or however many are involved in your particular brood. For this discussion, let’s keep it simple, we’ll stick with two. Enormous that—the trust I mean—without it, you really don’t have anything but a recipe for trouble. With it, you can sink into nirvana, or help your mate get there. The language can be anything from strict ‘only if I give you permission’ to having your submissive call you Ma’am while serving you in some naughty, sexy way. Getting to know what you each want is really most of the fun. Pushing soft boundaries and asking a question when you’re supposed to be adhering to absolute silence… and knowing some form of punishment will happen, that too is part of learning to trust. Knowing your Dom/me won’t cross a hard line, I mean KNOWING you can trust them, is enormous and incredibly freeing. Also, knowing you can get your submissive to do those little things you adore, having that control over him, well that’s pretty damned amazing too.

Let’s see if I can get some dialogue going here. I’ve given just a little bit of what I think Power Xchange is. What does it mean to you? Have I gone far enough? Do you think it means more? Less? Where do hardcore ponyboys fit into this mix? What about the women of The House of Gord? Is the woman who stays at home and keeps house for her husband a vestige of some historical Power Xchange? Wedding rings, are they really the sign of ownership? What about high heels?
 

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*Jude Mason – Come, explore with me…if you dare*

Website: http://www.my-haven2001.com
Newsletter: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jude_Masons_Newsletter/
To join my mailing list, email me: jude.mason AT yahoo.ca

Welcome to the Erotic Power Xchange genre. This is where you will come to hear from loveyoudivine’s Erotic Power Xchange Authors.