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~

What’s your favourite kind of m/m pairing? Do you like guys who are of an age, and physically similar, or are you more a fan of diversity? Do Dom/sub stories speak to you? Or would you rather a gentle helping of vanilla? I consulted the regulars at His and His to get a better sense of who writes what. If you don’t see a pairing that appeals to you, post a comment, you might inspire someone to write it!

Max Griffin: Most of the relationships I write are pretty vanilla. Often, the main character is a bit submissive, someone who gets pleasure from giving it to others. The conflict in the story often involves some kind of movement to a more balanced relationship in which the two guys give to each other, regardless of the sexual role they assume. I’ve been tempted to dabble in the S/M, D/s world in my fiction, but probably don’t know enough about it to be realistic.

Jane Bled: Well, I admit that I LOVE writing men in their twenties/thirties (maybe because I’m only 26 and don’t feel I have enough life experience to write about older men–and writing younger characters doesn’t really interest me).  Also, at least one of my characters usually has Alpha Male tendencies.  Other than that, I mix it up!

Jaime Samms: Old friends seems to be a big thing with me. People coming to the realization that they are more than just friends. Part of this is because I do think strong relationships grow from knowing a person well, not from infatuation and the heady rush of first meetings. That isn’t to say there’s no infatuation in my stories, just that it stems from a much deeper place than how a person looks. I do believe you can find yourself completely taken with a person you’ve known for a very long time, if you suddenly see them in the right light. I have a few stories with some very light D/s relationships, too, but nothing very explicit or heavy into that lifestyle.

Alex Morgan:  I enjoy writing D/s and BDSM very much. So I think I will always write about those aspects. I will write vanilla, of course, but will forever come back to D/s and BDSM.

Nix Winter: I like D/s, very loving relationships, true love, soul mates.

Bryn Colvin: I realise the majority of my m/m stories feature younger guys, more of an age than not. Tight Dark Places has an age gap, Denial has some bondage. I’ve not done much serious kink with my m/m fiction and I should perhaps remedy that! I love combat as foreplay, and having two male characters sparring is perfect, but I haven’t written it yet!

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.

Chapter Three (Gone Silent)
* * * *

Jase steered his bike up to the galvanized, steel door at the rear of the club and reached out with his black-gloved left hand to punch in the security code given to him by the Velvet, the private club’s owner. He thought he punched the wrong numbers until the door began to rise up along the metal tracks, sucking back into the building a foot above his head in silent precision. A dim, purplish haze framed the large opening. The scene reminded him of the black-lights he burned in his room as a teenager a few years ago. A smile flickered across his lips as he recalled the memories of his younger years. His life took a major change in the years following those carefree days, locked away in the basement of his parent’s home rocking out to Metallica, usually butt-naked. At thirteen, emerging maturity and inexorable drive conjoined to build a powerhouse of skill, attracting the attention of college and professional baseball league scouts as early as his high school freshman year.

Revving the throttle to the engine of the customized BMW Megamoto, he popped the clutch and shot the bike into the garage like a bolt of lightening, fearing someone might spot him entering. Jase owed this evening’s freedom away from the protection of the tank hired to flank his every move out in the real world to a friendly, off-duty policeman. The cop moonlighted nights in a security guard uniform in order to carve out a life for his wife and five kids. Three crisp one hundred dollar bills assured his anonymity as he emerged from the garage of the exclusive forty-second floor tower in Buckhead ten minutes earlier. An hour before, Jase had duped the muscle-head bodyguard into thinking he retired early for the night for much needed rest after the week’s away-game series where he watched his .395 batting average slip for the first time since spring training in Florida.

The garage door began to draw shut the moment the rear tire of the bike cleared the path of the crimson laser beam that sliced his path into darkness. Inside he felt safe, trusting in the words of the svelte owner of the elite brothel. Upon membership, Velvet insisted he make appointments with an assistant, but he’d refused to speak to anyone but her. Jase needed assurances a mere staff member wouldn’t comprehend, the utmost discretion required before he committed to venturing inside the club. His identify had to remain anonymous to avoid leaks to the press that he visited such a place, even worse, the public learning of his special interests. Discovery meant breaching a fourteen million dollar a year contract playing baseball for one of the hottest teams in the National League, five years running. He feared threats against his life, touching his family and of extortion attempts. The condemnation that perversion ran though his veins beset him and forced the extreme measures he took, his defensive actions. He felt fans would never accept the truth of his sexuality, nor would they understand. Banishment from the game he loved while still in his prime beleaguered him most.

He recalled the conversation with the team’s manager following a 6-5 loss to Pittsburg the night before as he steered toward a spot near the elevator.

“You fucked up, Timmons, pure and simple. The loss is on you, son, not the team.”

Jase remembered how he stood there, staring hard and cold at his boss. “Christ, Cox, what did you expect? I was up against the best lefty in the nation!”

“What did I expect? What the fuck did I expect?” He recalled how the veins had bulged in the old man’s neck. “I expected you to man-up, Jase! We had a man on third and first, two outs and sitting at full count. All you needed to do was tap the fucking ball into right field to force the play at home plate.”

Jase saw in his mind how he stared at the soles of his feet taking the barrage of words spilling from the old man, realizing his mistake in judgment meant angry words from his coaches and his teammates for days to come. “I took a chance for the team, all right?”

“You’re not paid to take changes for the team, you ass-hole. That’s my job!” Cox shouted until he had forced all air from his lungs and turned beat red, his tirade preceding a splash of spittle. “You do what the fuck we tell you, son, and nothing more. You hear what I’m saying? I’m tired of your smart-ass, cocky attitude, Timmons.”

An hour later, Jase huddled alone in the back of the chartered Delta jet on the way home. The mood in the cabin was bitter. He first tried to blame his sluggish swing on the anxiety that riddled his body, but he avoided telling his coaches and teammates the real reason behind his angst of late. Though he lifted weights and swam at least six times a week, practiced on the days when not in the starting line-up, none of it proved enough to expunge the anguish that all but consumed him. He stood six-foot, four inches tall, an amazing two hundred and ten pounds of powerful bulk, with long, muscular arms, wide shoulders and bulging calves, centered by an eight-pack belly. Taking exceptional care of his body meant the difference between getting the largest payout ever contracted for a free-agent in major league baseball, or a lifetime of remorse and self blame.

When not playing the game or working out, he hit balls at the driving range, a mindless exercise far less dangerous than those he preferred most. Plagued with injuries for the past two seasons, he couldn’t afford to push his body further. The he boasted the highest batting average in the National League, his contract expired at the end of the season and avoiding further injury became his goal. The decision to visit Club Divine proved an easy one upon returning home.

He parked near a wide door painted a dark plum which, according to the proprietor, led to a private elevator accessed by private code. Cutting the engine, he heeled the kickstand and straddled the motorcycle while looking around the area. Velvet assured total privacy, the utmost discretion, no one privy to his arrival or departure, not even the staff. He tried to relax even as his gloved hands gripped the handlebars with enough torque to turn a turbine, anxiety, dread, anticipation, coursing through his body. His anguish amplified his misery as he sat, paralyzed by the exhilaration building in the base of his balls.

Three years since ago he ventured out, strayed to the other side, a club two hours outside of town recommended to him by an online, faceless acquaintance. That encounter proved disastrous and almost exposed him to the world, but a boatload of cash and crafty lawyer sealed the leak forever. If the guy ever came forward with his slanderous accusations, albeit the truth, enough background to prove he was a liar, unreliable and disreputable awaited him, released by his attorney, Brody, a long-time friend and confidant. The scandal would die the moment the jerk came forward. Jase met Brody when they played on the same little league baseball team and they became fast friends, long before they stumbled into the spotlight at an early age for their skill at playing the game and copped scholarships to the same university. He and Brody Brown, BB to his friends, had dreams of playing for the same pro team until a drunken stunt riding on the back of a ‘67 convertible Firebird one night during Rush Week dashed their dreams of playing for the same pro team and almost cost his friend’s life.

Jase released the handlebar and sat up straight, pressing his wide palms against his thighs, rubbing the fabric of his jeans through his gloves as though wiping away the sweat building beneath the leather. His heart pumped like a jackhammer as he sat, building up the nerve to walk to the door and punch in the required code to enter the elevator. A private room reserved for the uppermost VIP ever to enter Club Divine awaited.

He’d worn a dark skull-cap to shield his identify when he removed the helmet. Lady Velvet assured the room she planned for him would be dark, but with enough glow to enjoy his partner who would ever know his identify. In fact, she had sent him the facemask tucked inside his leather jacket to wear during the session, a request made of the man she lined up for him. He was uncomfortable with the idea of a male prostitute, but Velvet surprised him with the pair of a client requesting similar discretion. The thought back to her description of a man meeting all of the qualities he requested; at least six foot, thickly muscled, in perfect form and with a dominant nature, race or nationality unimportant. Velvet said she found the perfect partner for him, a S.W.A.T officer who demanded just as much discretion as he.

Jase listened for footsteps of anyone that might be walking up behind him. His nerve fading, he needed to move fast or he might reach over and turn the ignition and race out of there. Sucking in his gut, he lifted off his helmet like he was on the surface of the surface of Mars and unsure if oxygen flowed. He sat the helmet on the gas tank in front of his crotch and began to remove his riding gloves. Anxiety made him dizzy with trepidation. I can’t do this!

He stuffed the gloves in his pockets and sat straight up, contemplating his next move. He could just leave now, before committing any further, explain later to Velvet that pressing matters came up and he had to go. She could keep his money for the inconvenience and to make it up to the cop he’d ditched. Split decision made, he reached to turn the engine as a huge hand came from behind and gripped his left and in one fell swoop, the body of a large man joined him on the bike. His heart lurched and his mouth went dry.

Oh God! Someone must have followed him and now, he was about to be kidnapped and held for ransom. He froze, scared shitless, unsure what to do. The guy pressed close to him and wrapped the other arm around his waist on the right in a forceful, yet pleasing grip. The man leaned in next to his ear, hot breathe nipped his lobe and caused the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The faint smell of tobacco and liquor drifted up his nostrils.

“Thinking about leaving?”

Jase couldn’t find his words. His tongue lodged somewhere in the back of his throat as he fought for the courage to speak. The man pressed his firm chest into his back. Jase sensed he was large and muscular, with enough strength to keep him there if he chose. No chance fleeing at this point. He managed to say something.

“I-I need to go. There’s someone waiting for me.”

The man tightened his grip. “Yeah? You planning on stiffing me, bud?”

Jase swallowed hard. Jesus Christ! He waited for the guy to bust him good and get it over with. He thought he might have coronary. “I…look, I’m sorry, man. Just forget it, all right? I made a mistake.” He flinched at the tightening around his chest. “I need to go now.”

The guy leaned in close to his ear, breathing against his neck. “Are you sure you? I’m horny as hell tonight and you’re precisely what I need. Velvet has never disappointed me before. Anonymity is as important to me as it is to you.”

His answer didn’t come from his lips, instead in the thickening of crotch. Spiraling tendrils of lusciousness sprang forth from the base of his balls and surged upward and out through abdomen and thighs. He glanced down at the hand covering his left, thick fingers clamped over his own. Velvet said the man was a cop, S.W.A.T. officer. Fighting off fear, he found his voice.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea…” Jase lost his words again as the man’s right hand moved up to caress his chest, fingers tweaking his hard tits. He held his breath, about to drop his load right there.
“My friends call me Cap.” The tip of a moist tongue slid up the base of his neck as the man’s hand left his, settled on his crotched and squeezed hard. “I hear you’ve been a dick lately and need some attitude adjustment.”

Those final words sealed the deal. Concern and fear evaporated within the hot air burning between them. He wanted nothing more than to loose himself in the arms of this beast, captain of a S.W.A.T team.
“Let’s see what Velvet has prepared for us.” Jase said.

* * * *
Written by:
Jon Michaelsen
http://www.jmichaelsen.com
Michaelsen.jon@gmail.com

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’.