One of These Days

These boots are going to walk all over you sang Nancy Sinatra fifty years ago and there’s a clip of her performing this on YouTube which is a boot fetishist’s delight. I have been a boot fetishist since childhood and love the outset of autumn for the riot of boots that will hit the streets, including, of course, my own. And, like my most of my fetishes, I have carried this over into my BDSM play. Most of the submissives I have played with have enjoyed boot worship and my slave regards it as a great privilege to be ordered to clean my boots. I have recently extended foot and boot play to foot massage and foot worship. Until recently, however, I had never considered trampling.

I was aware of it as a kink activity and have a scene friend who specialises in it. I have, on a number of occasions, watched her trample her sub at public play events and wondered if it was for me. The difficulty I could see was that, being transgender, I had a different build to the lady dommes I knew and was significantly heavier, this despite a year of successful dieting and 10k runs and half marathons. I am a bit squeamish too (really!) and had visions of major organs being crushed under my feet.

So it was a little trepidation that I accompanied my slave to a recent Underfoot play event. My trampling friend was there as was a lady I had met the week before at a femdom event who had come to demonstrate. And I had a go. You can trample from a sitting position, trample supporting yourself on frames and bars, trample to your heart’s content without ever putting more than a fraction of the bodyweight on your human doormat. You can make it sensual, you can mess with the head and, best of all, you can make it hurt. I quickly found out how enjoyable it can be to use my heels to play with my victim’s nipples.

You can combine it too with related forms of play such as objectification and human furniture. Well, a lady does need to rest her feet after a spot of trampling and a human footstool is just the thing. As for my slave, he is still getting used to it and, yes, it does hurt.  We will be doing this again.

We Are Like Ships in The Night

Sometimes friends mention things in conversation that give you a jolt because they express things that have been gnawing away at the back of your mind and make you think about them in a more focussed way. This happened a while ago as I enjoyed a pub lunch with fellow blogger Eye. She commented that many, if not most, friendships on the kink scene are essentially ephemeral. And this got me thinking.

I had been thinking anyway about how kink friendships differ from vanilla ones, in particular how there is often a weird kind of dislocation. This is particularly true of friends who have been play partners. I can think now of say half a dozen people I am no longer in contact with, who have been naked before me, who I have flogged and caned, spat on, humiliated in other ways, people, in short with whom I have enjoyed moments of great intensity and intimacy. And yet there are so many things I don’t know about them that even casual acquaintances in vanilla life know. I have explored the darkest recesses of their souls, they have bared themselves before me in more than physical ways, and yet, I know nothing about them.

Maybe it is because I know nothing that they are able to have these moments of intimacy. They know too, as I know, that we can disappear out of each other’s lives and they may never be able to find us. I suppose I am fortunate in never having had a major falling out with anyone on the scene although I have been close to others who have, and know just how traumatic these things can be. Mostly I have lost contact with people because, as in vanilla life, we move on, we change, or maybe stop going to the same events. Then there are the people who decide that the kink scene is no longer for them, who press the button on Fetlife and just disappear, knowing that we will not be able to find them. A couple of my former play partners have done this. I respect their choice and will not try to look for them.

A few months ago, at a private party, I met a dominant lady who shared my passion for vintage clothes, and specifically, Vivien of Holloway. She accepted my invitation to join in my play with my slave and we became friends on FetLife . We agreed to meet up again at the BBB and wear our Vivs. The other day I decided to message her about the next BBB and noticed that her profile too had disappeared. She was never really a friend as such but someone I felt I would like to have got to know better but this is not to be.

Falling out is not pleasant but I can handle it, drifting away from people you no longer feel much in common with I can handle too. But the sudden disappearance from the scene of people you liked and respected is different. It always leaves me with a feeling of wistful longing. Even in matters as ephemeral as kink it is sometimes nice to say goodbye.

It’s Painful but Is It Art?

Playing in public at clubs means that you are going to be watched. There are those who find this a distraction.  I realised early on that I didn’t and remember an occasion, early on in my domming career when I was so absorbed in the scene that I didn’t notice that a dozen people had gathered round, in silence, to watch. It was only when I turned round to select another toy to hit my sub with that I saw them, totally absorbed in what I was doing. But I was more absorbed still and pleased that only my play partner existed fort me in that hour. That is as it should be. We play for each other and not to put on a show. Or do we?

I find that at the big public events, such as the Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar or Cirque de Chaos play primarily is about putting on a show. The noise and general business make it difficult to get into the required headspace, on the one hand, and I also found it difficult to read the verbal and non-verbal signals from my sub that I need in order to pace the scene properly. I think I tend to err on the side of caution in these circumstances although my slave would probably beg to disagree. I also worry about losing equipment as has happened a couple of times over the years.

I think that, in a sense, all play is performance, even private play without an audience.   I once had a conversation with a highly experienced pro domme who told me that domination was all in the head and that she could dominate any one of her regular clients in sweatshirt, jeans and Uggs. Allowing for the possibility that there are people out there with an Ugg fetish, I don’t entirely agree. When we play we are taking ourselves out of the drab real world for an hour or two, we are creating our own theatre and the costumes we wear are part of the fantasy we create.  The aesthetics of BDSM  have become increasingly important to me over the last year or so. I have a range of traditional fetish out fits in PVC and latex and so on, but have also played in a schoolmatronly skirt suit, in my lovely Vivien of Holloway repro vintage. The latter can be quite disconcerting. Latex, PVC and boots are the sartorial language of sadism and dominance. Feminine 1950s repro vintage isn’t. It can be hard to come to terms with a girly girl in a cerise rose circle dress and pink petticoat who smiles as he wields the cane and the whip, who hurts and humiliates with genuine relish. It is, as they say, a mindfuck.

The dressing up, the make up, the attention to detail are as important as the planning of the session, the skill in using the toys. It is an act of self giving to turn myself into the Goddess that my slave needs me to be, to help him into the headspace, to lure him into the theatre where he can be his true self, where he and I indulge our fantasies and where the pain and the marks I inflict are balm for the stresses  of daily life. Let the curtain rise!

Bristol Again

What sticks in the memory about Eroticon is often not the sessions, interesting and stimulating though they are. It is, for me at least, conversations, impressions, and the thoughts inspired by these that I treasure, and the feeling that is has been an enormous privilege to spend an intensive weekend in the company of seriously bright people who are totally into sex, sexuality, kink and all things related.

Here are some memories of 2016 (in no particular order).

Discussing needle play over breakfast with Remittance Girl, who was able to capture from a theoretical perspective why it could be seen as deeply transgressive, this as I ate a sausage and egg sandwich.

The wonderful Off Centre cafe, superb breakfasts, great coffee and a really friendly atmosphere.

A spanking lesson from Pandora Blake with huge thanks to Simon Spanked for agreeing to be spanked by me so that I could practice.

Overcoming my nerves to read in the final session and trying probably unsuccessfully, to hide my embarrassment as DJ Fet  straightened my dress., a part of which had become tucked into my panties.

Ashley Lister’s anal poem, a riot of glorious bad taste.

Making a flogger, a cute little pink one. I think I know whose cock that is going to be used on.

Talking about the awfulness of radical feminism with Girl on The Net over a cigarette. I’ve been a target too and they didn’t even know I was trans!

The unceasing loveliness of F Leonora Solomon, including dinner with her on the first evening where we joined by the equally lovely @ouizzi and @exposing 40 and feeling bad because I hadn’t submitted anything for Leonora’s anthologies. I will, I promise.

An impromptu rope lesson from Charlie J Forrest in the bar with thanks to the Other Livvy for being my bunny (well as much as anyone can be for me with my non-existent skills!)

Discovering in the bar on the last evening that Anna Sky is a fellow Vivette (that’s a lady who wears Vivien of Holloway dresses by the way).  That’s now at least five of us in the kinky Vivette sisterhood. I’d love to hear from anyone else.

And, prior to that, persuading Exhibit A that  he really needs to buy a Viv men’s shirt or two.

And Eye for being Eye, generous, funny and clever.

Outing myself to Kay Jaybee  who has known me for two years on social media under a different name.

Shutting my eyes to hear Jonathan aka Earotica  read the good version of the story extract he had written to illustrate his talk and realising what a lovely voice he has. I could listen to him for hours…….

Space doesn’t allow me to mention everyone and apologies if I missed you. I just want to say that every conversation I had enriched my experience. Thanks to everyone I engaged with. I was actually quite  taken by Michael Knight’s idea of buying an island and us all going there. I think I would burn the boats though!

There is one person I haven’t mentioned yet and that is Ruby. As you know, Ruby, you have indirectly changed my life.  We have never really had much time to talk and I hope we do one day get the opportunity. I am totally in awe of your dedication and hard work in making this event happen, again and again. I know, too, that it is not only my life that has changed through Eroticon. You can be so, so proud of what you have done. Thank you!

Ruby is bowing out and has gone out at the top as the great sportswomen do.  I don’t know what is happening behind the scenes to get somebody else to take it on, but I do know this: Eroticon is too wonderful, too beautiful an event to be allowed to die.  I know too that we WILL all meet again.












Eroticon Again

Wow! It’s hard to believe that Eroticonlive is only ten days away. So here is a brief intro about for me for those of you who are going.

What is Your Name? I am Lady Celine @TVMadameCeline on Twitter.

If you had the opportunity to rename yourself (or your blog) what would you pick?

Tempting Eve

What are you most looking forward to at Eroticon Live and/or is there anything you are nervous about?

This will be my third Eroticon and I look forward to this as a weekend with friends. I’m not nervous about anything although I might be if I’d volunteered to bottom for Pandora 🙂

Have you planned which sessions you will be attending or are you more of a spur of the moment kind of person?

I incline towards anything to do with kink or with the campaign against censorship so DJ Fet’s session on Humiliation and Degradation is a must.If it’s only half as good as her rope demo last year it will be awesome. I also look forward to hearing Pandora Blake as well.

What essential items to your life will be bringing with you to Eroticon Live? (you can have a maximum of 5)

Phone, cigarettes and a latex dress for the party. Maybe a flogger or two because you never know……

A new cocktail has been made in your honour, what would be the key ingredient and what would it be called?

Strawberries, cranberry juice to make it look red and menacing, and enough vodka to bring any man to his knees and keep him there. I would call it the Humbler

And finally… Complete the sentence; I have yet to…..

I have yet to leave Eroticon feeling other than inspired.

As I blogged last year Eroticon has played a big and, at the time, unexpected part in my life. A chance conversation at the bar in 2014 proved to have far reaching implications. And last year, my Eroticon debut en femme as it were, was simply beautiful. This is a gathering of awesome people and I look on Eroticon as a kind of family. I really can’t wait!.


Not Losing My Religion

Philip Larkin once wrote that, if called on to construct a religion, he would make use of water. When I construct a religion I will make use of kink. For the two have much in common and not just because the word itself comes from the Latin for tying or binding. I mean, if we are talking domination and submission it doesn’t really get more domly than being an omnipotent being does it?

Religions do things like imposing chastity on their adherents, setting tasks, prescribing bodily positions, respectful language, and if, like me, you were brought up a Catholic, there are few things that evoke BDSM rituals more vividly than the humiliating ordeal of confession. Add in the attractive aesthetic elements of Catholicism and you have something that just cries out to be twisted into a kinky parody in the way that much BDSM practice consists of high ritual parodying power relations, reproducing them for pleasure.

Reproducing religious ritual in a BDSM context is something that I find a massive turn on. And here is a fantasy I want to share with you. .

In the dungeon I become a Goddess. I walk among submissives of all genders, who at My approach, bow their heads and genuflect. I take My seat on the throne and they kneel, take out their rosaries and pray to Me

“Hail Mistress” they intone in a rhythmic monotone as clouds of incense rise up, partially obscuring Me from their adoring gaze. Then, one by one, I summon My worshippers to the darkness of the confessional where they bare their souls and tearfully lost their faults and the myriad ways they have failed to please Me.

Crushed and fearful they listen as I impose the penance of lashes with the whip. The others, yet to confess are forced to kneel and watch as I secure the sinners to the cross and write absolution in a criss cross pattern of agonising stripes on their back. I experience a deep joy that explodes into ecstasy as they beg for mercy (there can be none) and scream with pain.

By the time I have punished and forgiven each one the dungeon is silent except for occasional muffled sobs of pain and shame. My arm aches from the effort of cracking the whip time and time again. I am spent. But one ritual remains.

I call out one of the faithful, make him kneel before the altar, hand clasped in prayer. I lie on the altar throbbing with lust and desire. When ordered he will climb up, will pleasure Me, swallow My juices in the sweetest kinky Eucharist and then come down and take Me, his Goddess, all his for the next few minutes of Paradise.

A Short Sharp Shock?

There is a large group on Fetlife for those kinksters with an interest in imprisonment role play. Within this a number of kinks are catered for….some like confinement and constraint, others the interaction with the guards and the humiliation play that this involves, the shouts, the insults, the demeaning rituals. I can do the first but really enjoy the second, which gives full reign to my sadistic imagination. I have run two prison events now and had a great time on both occasions. I have tormented my charges with forced exercise, humiliating prison work details (well what is a toothbrush for after all?), interrogation, punishment with the strap and, most recently, made them eat prison cabbage soup. Given the numbers of Fet who profess an interest in this kind of play I expected a little more interest than  I actually had. But it seems that for most people this is a fantasy they are reluctant to turn into reality.

I suppose part of the reason must be that events run on the basis of consensual non-consent (as prison play has to be) seem to many to be for hardened masochists only. Yet they don’t have to be. Of course, you obey orders and take whatever comes your way. You don’t have a safe word and this can generate feelings of helplessness and vulnerability that may not be experienced in ordinary play. That doesn’t mean that I can do anything I want. This is, after all, CONSENSUAL non-consent. Discussion and negotiation of boundaries before the day are critically important. If you have too many limits this may not be the event for you and that has to be an element of being prepared to go with the flow but I have to respect limits and, equally importantly, read the reactions of my prisoners during scenes to gauge when they have had enough. In this sense it is not that different from more conventional play and yet………on the day it IS non-consent. I guess that makes people nervous. But get into the right head space and you can be taken to places far beyond the grim prison walls.

As I have written elsewhere I am still learning as a domme. I find prison days an incredibly rewarding learning experience. Humiliation and degradation are not things I can always do in other contexts and whilst I enjoy more gentle sensual play my sadistic side needs the outlet of being seriously mean to helpless victims. This includes getting inside their heads. It is not always about what you do but what you can get them to think you might do, in other words, preying on their fear of the unknown, the mindfuck

Best of all though, is the moment at the end when I pronounce the words “You are dismissed”, we move out of role and the nervous, scared prisoner breaks into a big smile that tells me he’s just had the time of his life. This is what makes it all worthwhile.

Going to Cirque

I guess most of us are on our own at the start of our journey, knowing that we are somehow different and maybe burdened with feelings of shame about our feelings and fantasies.  Some never really get beyond that phase and kink for them will always mean, for example, sessioning  with a pro domme when time and money allow. After each session they will go back into vanilla life and bury their kink selves as deeply as they can, that is, until the urge again becomes irresistible and they pick up the phone.

If you had asked me a year ago I would have had no hesitation in saying that this was bad for them, that they needed to get out into the scene, go to a much, go to a play party or tow and see what is out there. I am now a little older and wiser, a lot more experienced in the ways of kink, and can see that for many people this is the only viable option. This is certainly true of some of the deeply submissive men who meet me for play. Deep down they are content with that. Having a rich kinky fantasy life, with occasional forays into the world of real life kink for the relief they crave, works for them. I will not judge them. And, let us be frank, the BDSM scene isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. There are predatory and abusive individuals out there, unskilled would be doms whose play is downright dangerous, there is politics too , as everywhere else in human life. I have known deeply kinky people who have turned their backs on the scene, bitterly disillusioned.

But staying in the closet wouldn’t have worked for me. All the more so as, knowing I was really transgender as well as kinky, I was in two closets. And while there have been disappointments along the way, there have been many more positives than negatives. I have met some wonderful people and formed lasting friendships. Through interacting with others, playing in some cases, I have learned deep truths about myself. I know I am not the only one who feels this.

One moment will always remain with me. This was the first time I went to Cirque de Chaos. This, for those that don’t know, is a popular fetish event held in the West Midlands, one that involves live performances, play and plenty of socialising, a place where you dress to impress. People come from all over the country to attend.  As I walked in, nervously and looked around, took in the sheer numbers, the age range of  literally 18 to 80, the multiplicity of shapes and sizes, of sexualities, of genders,  I experiences a thrilling moment of empowerment and liberation.

“My God” I said to myself, “There are so many of us.”

I will be at Cirque again this Sunday, no longer a nervous newbie. There will be live performances, fabulous costumes, friends to catch up with and, not least, new people to get to know. I will be in a iliac skirt suit and brogues, looking a bit schoolmistressy with my cane. Do come and say hello if you see me. I won’t even require you to bend over for six of the best, not, that is, unless you have been very naughty.

On The Other Side of the Fence

In my sub days I had often wondered what it would be like to be on the other side of the fence during a CBT session. Now I was finding out.

I have been on the receiving end on more than one occasion so knew exactly what was going through the head of my sub who was strapped helplessly to the cross as I slapped on the surgical gloves and laid out the pegs in a neat row on the table. What was going on was what I wanted to be going on, apprehension, anticipation, the fear of the unknown. Above all the fear, for good BDSM play is as much about what you might do as about what you actually do do.  Mindfuckery is at the heart and for the domme a key element in the pleasure she has from the scene. But I was nervous too. This was a new departure for me in my still young domming career.  But I didn’t let my sub see that. Be in control, be composed, be dommely in every word, every movement. Do nothing to break the spell.

I took his cock in my hand, stroked it, felt arousal pulse through it before pulling back the foreskin and flicking hard at the end. He winced and breathed in sharply. I moved my face in close to his and laughed.   Then I got to work with the pegs, a colourful arrangement around the tip, along the shaft, on the scrotum and a few in his bushy wiry pubic hair for additional suffering.

I applied the penis gag and ordered him to suck. I stood back, amused at his predicament, and admired my work. It was artistic what I had done, a Mohican of pegs along the top of his cock, blue pegs dangling like cows’ udders from the bottom, red pegs as sentinels around the tip from which precome was starting to dribble. I flicked hard again and his erection began to subside as he whimpered through the gag. I stood back to admire my handiwork again. A pathetic inadequate cock had been turned into a bold strutting peacock, a creature of savage beauty exacting its due toll of pain.

I left him in that state for several minutes and, to mess with his head a little more, took out my canes, stroked them lovingly, smelt the heady aroma of my cruel rubber flogger, ran the lovely tails through my fingers. A taste of delights to come. I walked up to him to tweak a nipple, whisper in his ear.

When the moment came, the knocking off of the pegs with the cane was pure sadistic delight. I laughed again, removed the gag and could feel the rush of relief going thorough him, and gratitude to the domme who had inflicted this pain and yet shown him mercy. I almost felt that he would do anything for me. He had offered me his manhood to play with. He was mine.

I think that CBT can be one of the most beautiful of all BDSM activities, and not just physically. It symbolism is profound. It is the taking of the organ that is a locus of power and pleasure, often both together,  a tool of the subjugation of women, and remodelling it as the locus of humiliation, of pain and of subjugation to woman. No man who has offered his cock to a dominant woman to be cruelly used for her amusement c an ever be the same again, For it is not just that he gives her, it is his soul.

Sharing the Love – Eroticon 2015

It’s been a while since I last posted a blog post. I’ve been too busy sorting my life out …oh and being naughty. Now I think I have something to say again. And my weekend at the start of the month in Bristol renewed my commitment to what is a lovely, supportive community of eroticon fiction writers and bloggers. I feel I would be letting people down if I didn’t start writing again. It is with Eroticon 2015 that I will begin…..

“I feel loved” I said looking Ruby in the eye.

“You are loved” she replied.

This is not the introduction to (or even the end of!) a love story but an exchange with Eroticon founder and organiser Ruby Kiddell in the bar of Bristol’s SAS Radisson as I reluctantly prepared to return to Temple Meads station for my train home. The conversation actually picked up the threads of one from the previous evening. I had come to Eroticon 2014 in male persona so this year was my first time as a woman. And the fact that I have taken this step is due in no small part to a very profound (and unexpected) conversation I had at the bar at Eroticon 2014. You see, I owe a lot to this event.

I had expected to be accepted, after all the sort of people who have a problem with transgenderism are not generally the sort of people who are likely to go to Eroticon anyway. I got much much more, support, encouragement, and from several people a real sense that they were happy for me. It was in this sense that I felt loved.

There is actually an awful lot to love about Eroticon. The presentations and demos are always interesting, frequently fascinating and sometimes utterly amazing (the rope bondage demo will stay with me for a long long time) but it is the people who make this event. Where else can you find a group of people who, whilst coming from diverse backgrounds, essentially get sex and sexuality, will not judge, and are always ready to talk and engage with you.  I, for example, found myself in in very deep conversation over pizza and Prosecco on the Saturday night, this with two people who had been strangers only 24 hours earlier! This is what Eroticon does. Knowing you will not be judged, you can open up and share. And really, the trust implied by others sharing intimate things with you is humbling.

I should also add that the people at Eroticon are also fun to be with as well and partying is a big part of the weekend (even if the noise in Revolution bar was a bit much for some!) Nervous newbies don’t stay nervous long in this environment. For me Eroticon is a family, one that I could really not do without.

After the final session with an awful feeling of anti-climax descending many of us went back to the bar at the Radisson. I decided to stay an extra hour and catch a later train. I am so glad I did because it gave me an opportunity to have a deep and thought provoking conversation with Remittance Girl .

I’ll mention a few others I talked to at the event. Apologies if I missed you out but in no particular order: Rebecca who blogs about sex education and tweets as @sextracurricular, @earotica aka Jonathan Keith , Marie Rebelle, Ashley Lister, Girl on the Net, Preston Avery,  KD Grace. Lily Harlem, Violet Fenn,  Celia Vargas, F Leonora Solomon and  Charles J Forrest, recipient of a free cocktail as I rushed for my taxi on that final evening, this in the spirit of Eroticon generosity of course and not a hint for next time we find ourselves in the same bar!

We shouldn’t wish our lives away but I really can’t wait for Eroticon 2016 to come round. And you now what? I’ve not felt the drop this year. Yes I felt loved and I want all those I engaged with at Eroticon to know that I love you too.

And you know what? I haven’t felt the drop so much this year. I was left with a feeling of being sure of where I will now be going in life, in terms of gender, sexuality and kink, a feeling of being deeply comfortable with who I am. And the lovely vintage frock I had ordered arrived while I was away. That sort of things lifts any girl’s spirits!