Whimsical BDSM?

Back when I was populating the web with assorted personas searching for polymorphous perversity something was lacking.

Mostly with the dominant men. I remember only one exception but he lived on the other side of the US. He’d recognized the Dr. Blasphemy t-shirt - I’m wearing it as I type - in a profile. The dominant women were nicer. They as well were too distant (excepting the one who gave me my first taste of being blindfolded bound and tormented. Something she bestowed because we had fun talking online).

Ah, but all those Sirs with their capitalization fascism. If someone I became fond and involved with felt a need for me to refer to myself as ‘i’ Probably I’d comply. But being forced to do something so lame and hackneyed might weaken any bond. I always thought the Gorean removal of pronouns compellingly humbling.*

Here were these guys, claims to distinction unknown, demanding Old Guard protocol. Strangers whose eloquence rarely rose above “I am an alpha male.” Bless their little hearts. I’m a bright guy who has controlled his own destiny for over twenty years. I needed just a tad more than cliches from The Leatherman’s Handbook (with all the respect that is due Larry Townsend’s memory).

Many of them I gave a chance with a playful response or two. That always drew a blank and they went on to tell me about their cock or how I had to be “for real.” They were too real.

If one of them would’ve cracked a joke or responded to my never disrespectful whimsy my interest would’ve quickened sharply. Probably all they wanted was to cyber. My impoverished imagination leaves me unable to cyber. Not even with Alexandra. Which is a pity.

Waggish BDSM, is it impossible? Can you imagine a session with the sly wit of a Luke Vibert track?

In the short Cruella / OWK video samples I’ve seen the closest thing to a gag I remember is laughing at the guy’s penis. Probably best to let the whips have most of the dialogue.

D/s is full of (one person’s) whims but probably can’t be whimsical. When we adopt roles of owner and property it doesn’t feel like a game. For a time we move into a different reality. The more fully this alternate version of life blocks out the normal one the more satisfying it is.

Laughter doesn’t fit it. Well she has a very humiliating laugh and I’m the joke.

But I’m not being coy when I say I’d never dare laugh at her. Not for (just) for fear of being beaten. I would destroy what we’d created. And it could take an unhappily long time to reestablish that special rapport.

Maybe we’ll one day evolve a playful style dominance and submission, Not that I can envision it. I’m gratified by how we play together now.

Pure sadomasochism without the power exchange wouldn’t conflict with tomfoolery. We’d begun to explore that kind of S&M and lighthearted bondage when I got sick and then Alexandra had to leave for a time.

When she’s back it’ll be interesting to see if laughter alternates with lashes.

Since she’s absent it isn’t surprising that I’ve fantasized about erotic teasing. Scenarios that are as playful as cruel are easy to imagine.

So many possibilities.

Matisse has alluded to what she called I think anarchic S&M with ‘Roman.’ I keep hoping she’ll share a bit of that one day.

So reader, gentle or ungentle, have you engaged in frolicsome torture or giggling D/s (play parties don’t count) ?

* ‘I’, ‘me’ or ‘mine’ are eliminated. E.g., instead of saving “I’m sorry, Goddess” you’d say “Your slave is sorry, Goddess.