(Cane + Rope) x Erotic Pain = Peace? Really??

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What is it about erotic pain that can so dramatically shift one's focus to a place of profound peace? How can it be that the cut of the cane against tender flesh can somehow segue into pure, white hot pleasure? Can a thorough body flogging really send a person to that height of ecstatic experience sometimes referred to as flying?


To those who have never felt the yearning for the rope that binds, or the tingle of skin longing for the kiss of leather, it must be hard to comprehend this lust for erotic pain. Stubbing a toe is not at all sexually satisfying or desirable, yet the pinch of clamps against erect nipples can send a sexual masochist into spasm of pleasure.

Clearly there are different types of pain. How and why can submitting to erotic pain bring such utter serenity?

Is it the intensity of experience that is the draw? And what of this concept of flying? What is it, exactly? How do you get there?

For me personally, getting there isn't always easy. In fact it's never easy. That's part of its power. It's sort of like the religious concept of Purgatory - you have to go down into the fires in order to ascend to that place of perfect peace. Each stroke of leather tresses, each biting kiss of the cane, takes me one step closer to that state of grace. It isn’t that the altered state into which one enters puts out the fire out, but rather softens its flame. Instead of enduring the pain, one encompasses it.

I’ve tried to capture it over and over in my writing, but I don’t think, alas, it is truly possible to put it into words. Not that that’s stopped me from trying. Here are a few examples below from my novels.

From Accidental Slave:
"It hurts, oh, Cole, it hurts. It’s too much. I can’t do it." Elizabeth danced on her toes, twisting in a frantic, futile effort to escape the stinging lash.

"You can. You are. I can sense you’re almost there. Breathe. Go with it. Stop fighting the pain. Become the pain. Become the whip. You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re almost there."

Almost where? Where am I going? Ah... Elizabeth let her head fall back. She didn’t have the strength to lift it again. The sting was still there, but somehow more bearable. Her skin, a moment ago on fire, began to cool.

Her head still hung back, eyes closed. Her lips parted and she drew a slow, shuddery breath.

Something shifted. He continued to whip her, if anything harder than before. She felt the sting but no longer defined it as pain, no longer processed it as suffering. Her fingers, which she hadn't realized had been clutching the chains, relaxed. Her hands went limp and she sagged against the thick cuffs at her wrists.

She was aware of Cole behind her, aware the whip was still biting into her flesh but she no longer felt it. She no longer heard the whistling warning of its trajectory. Her mind emptied, her breathing slowed...

Silence.

Serenity.

Euphoric peace.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, blinking against the bright light. On one level she’d been aware of Cole dropping the whip, Cole releasing her from the cuffs and lowering her to the ground, taking her head into his lap. But she had been too deeply nestled in the cocoon of a trance to respond or speak.

She had no idea how long she’d been lying there. She hadn't been sleeping-it was more like drifting, or flying. Flying over a vast expanse of clear sky, weightless. She looked now into Cole’s handsome face. He was smiling at her.

"You did it."

"What did I do?"

"You got there. You got to that place of utter peace, didn’t you? I could feel it happening. It was the most incredible thing to watch."

"It was like flying," she offered, trying to find the right words. "Like soaring. I could still feel the whip but I didn’t feel the pain, if that makes sense."

"Perfect sense. You gave of yourself, Elizabeth. You worked past the pain, you trusted me, you trusted yourself."

From Texas Surrender:
Avery was paying attention, and clearly made an effort to obey, staying still all the while under the barrage of stinging leather. JD was impressed with his ability and willingness to take the whipping, but he wanted more. He wanted to take Avery beyond mere endurance, to that place where pleasure and pain lost their meaning as separate concepts.

He kept up a steady, methodical cropping over Avery’s ass and thighs, watching Avery’s face and reading his body language all the while. After several minutes, he no longer needed to remind Avery to breathe or relax.

Avery was breathing deeply, his hands open and limp on the bale, his eyes closed. The muscles in his face had relaxed, almost as if he were sleeping, and a small half-smile played over his lips.

Avery, this newbie to erotic pain, was entering subspace. He was flying. Though JD had never flown himself, not being one of those Dom who felt it necessary to experience every sensation they provided for their subs, he’d seen it often enough to know it when he saw it. It never failed to thrill and astound him-the knowledge that he was the one responsible for the euphoric trancelike state induced by intense physical play.

Because Avery was so new to the sensation, JD had to be especially vigilant. He would ease Avery into the experience, keeping a careful watch on his reactions. The intense sensations of both pain and pleasure triggered a dumping of endorphins and other chemicals into the bloodstream that acted much like morphine-increasing the pain tolerance of the sub as the scene became more intense. Because of that, Avery might not be aware or even capable of telling JD to stop.

By the same token, if he stopped too soon, he’d jerk Avery from the trance, denying him the complete experience of flying-a sort of subspace interruptus that he’d learned from lovers in the past was the most frustrating of experiences.

"Avery," he whispered, his mouth close to Avery’s ear. "You okay? You don’t have to speak. Just nod." He ran his hand lightly over Avery’s ass. The skin was hot to the touch and flushed a dark red from the cropping.
If Avery didn’t respond, he would stop. But after a few seconds, Avery slowly nodded his head, his eyes still closed.

"Want me to keep going?"

Again Avery nodded. JD dropped the crop and stroked Avery’s heated flesh with his fingertips. Cupping his palm, he caught the bottom half of one round globe, hitting him hard enough to elicit a faint groan. He hit the other cheek just as hard, leaving a handprint on the darkened skin. Again Avery groaned, his eyebrows furrowing just slightly. Gauging Avery had had enough, JD eased off, finishing with a series of light smacks that he slowly changed to more of a massaging stroke.

He sat down on the bale beside Avery, lifting Avery’s head gently into his lap. The smile still hovered on Avery’s lips, and he gave a long, low sigh of contentment. JD smoothed back the hair from Avery’s soot-smudged cheek and tucked it behind his ear.

Avery opened his eyes and twisted his head to look up at JD. "Wow," he offered.

JD grinned. "Feeling better?"

"I feel..." Avery paused, seeming to ponder this. He lay his head back down on JD’s knee. "Amazin’. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like, better than sex. No, that’s not it. It’s like bein’ drunk, only without the sick woozy feel after. No, no, that’s wrong. It’s like..." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "It’s like this one time when I was a kid and my mom took me down to Galveston. I went swimmin’ in the water, and I got kind of far out. I was tired, so I just lay back and let the water buoy me. I was floatin’ beneath this clear blue sky and it seemed like everythin’ was right with the world."

And, you might ask, what does the Dom get out of all this? (S)he becomes an intrinsic part of the equation.

The love, concern and total connection necessary between the two is essential to create the right environment for a sub to fly. It’s one of the few acts of erotic lover that can’t be mimicked in any masturbatory or auto-erotic fashion. It takes two, which makes it that much more special, and more powerful.

From Heart of Submission:
She sat at the bottom of the bed, perched on the edge, a look of dreamy contentment on her face. "Gosh, Chase. That was amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I guess that’s what they call flying, huh?"
Chase knelt on the rug in front of Kate and put his hands on her bare thighs. "Yeah. It’s really something to watch, to be a part of. There’s no greater high for a Dom than taking his sub there. It’s..." He paused, trying to come up with the right words to capture what was, essentially, indescribable. "...it’s a moment of intense connection. There is no other time, or place, or past or future. Everything is completely concentrated in that moment. It’s like a beam of light as focused as a laser, and as powerful." He laughed at himself. "I know I’m making absolutely no sense."

"No, no, you are. I mean, I experienced that too-the connectedness. Like the flogger was an extension of your arm, like you were," she paused and ducked her head, finishing shyly, "making love to me with it." She laughed. "Now who’s making no sense?"

"It makes perfect sense," Chase murmured, stroking her impossibly soft skin. "It’s about trust. I could feel your trust and that freed me to take you further on the journey. You give me the power, you see, when you give me that trust. That’s what I mean about an erotic exchange of power. When it happens, there’s nothing like it. I take that gift very seriously, Kate. And I would never abuse it."

"Thank you," Kate whispered.

"Thank you," he responded, "for your gift."

And thank you for reading this far! Remember, nothing presented in this article is written in stone. It’s just my own personal take on the experience, and my feeble efforts to give words to the feelings. I’d love your comments on this post, on flying, and on your personal experiences and ideas.

Respectfully submitted, Claire
The next stop on the anniversary tour is #32 Keta Diablo URL:   http://thestuffofmythandmen.blogspot.com/
Have fun!

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Safe in His Arms - Hot Off the Press!

I'm delighted to announce my newest release, Safe in His Arms. This story picks up where Wicked Hearts left off, but don't worry if you haven't had a chance to read that one yet. Safe in His Arms is a stand alone.

Hank Seeley is an obnoxious guy - arrogant and entitled and definitely on the way down. A lot of readers who read Wicked Hearts asked me if there was any hope of redemption for this cocky, cruel scoundrel. I thought about this a lot - is there hope, no matter who you are, no matter what you've done, to turn things around? You'll have to read the book yourself and let me know what you think!

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Love, Claire

Freak Parade - Check it out!

Way back in 1996, when I had just penned my very first novel (Sarah's Awakening) and had basically no clue what I was doing, Marilyn Jaye Lewis somehow found me and asked if I'd like to be on her radio show in NYC. She did a wonderful interview, drawing me along with interesting questions and insightful observations that put me at ease. We've kept in touch over the years, and I've participated in a few anthologies for Ms. Lewis along the way. She is a distinguished, successful author of cerebral erotica, and this latest addition to her catalog is no exception. Click Here to check it out, or stop by Marilyn's website!

From Marilyn's site: "Dare to enter: Freak Parade is a no-holds barred, deliciously sensual, erotic novel with a social conscience." 

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Safe in His Arms - A Most Unusual Excerpt

Nearly done with the rough draft.  Some fine tuning left to do. 

Here is an excerpt in which we see Russell the sex worker plying his trade. He doesn't view his work as just "turning tricks". He sees it almost as a calling - reaching out to men who are lonely and in need of affection. This is not your typical m/m erotic sex scene, but I thought you might enjoy a peek...

The house was small and located in a modest neighborhood, not at all the sort of place the Garden’s usual clientele resided. Briefly Russell wondered how the frail old man who opened the door could afford to pay the escort service’s steep fees for an hour’s pleasure.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m Russell. From the Garden. Are you Mr. James Smith?” The man squinted at him, pulled the screen door open and stepped back. “Come in,” he said in a quavering voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Russell stepped into the small foyer and was assailed by the strong though not unpleasant scent of the man’s cologne. His sparse hair was white and neatly combed over a pink scalp. Bright blue eyes shone from a face heavily lined with wrinkles. Even so, but the fine bone structure beneath was still evident, with high cheekbones and a square jaw.

He wore a crisp white shirt with a blue tie and gray trousers with a military-sharp crease down each leg. He was smiling shyly at Russell, his hands twisting nervously at chest level. “I’ve made some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

Russell smiled. “No thanks, Mr. Smith. I’m good. But if you’d care to—”

“No, no,” the old man said. “None for me. Too late in the day. To tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous,” he added unnecessarily. “I’ve never done this before.” He produced an odd smile that looked more like a grimace.

“Never called an escort service?”

“Never been with a man.”

Russell kept his expression neutral and nodded, waiting for more of an explanation, though if none was forthcoming, he wouldn’t pry. James Smith wouldn’t be the first client he’d been with who had waited most of their life before getting up the nerve to explore homosexual feelings. 

“Well, I hope the experience measures up to your expectations, Mr. Smith. I’m honored to be your first.”

Mr. Smith chuckled, though he continued to wring his hands. “Please, call me James. I feel old enough without the mister business.”

“James it is.” Russell reached for the man’s hands, covering them both briefly with his own much larger hand. “This is your hour. I want to make you comfortable and happy. There’s no written script or agenda. Whatever works for you is what we’ll do, okay?”

James’ smile was genuine this time. “Okay, that sounds good to me. I like you.” He glanced at his watch, adding, “Time’s a wasting. I guess if you don’t want coffee…” he trailed off uncertainly.

“Would you like to show me your bedroom?” Russell asked, glancing toward the stairs.

“Excellent idea,” James said with a small, nervous laugh. He led the way up narrow stairs to the first door at the top. “After you.” James waved Russell into a small but immaculate bedroom. It was clear the rug had just been vacuumed, and the scent of lemon oil hung in the air.

“I, uh, I don’t know what comes next,” James said. Anxiety was radiating off him in waves, and Russell’s heart went out to him, thinking what courage it must have taken to even make the call to the escort service.

“How about let’s get to know each other a little? Would you like a massage? It might help you relax.”

“Okay, yes. That sounds good to me,” James said, but he stood stock still, making no move to undress.

Russell waited a few beats and then suggested, “Maybe you want to take off your pants and shirt so they don’t get wrinkled?”

“Oh! I, uh, okay. Yes, okay.”

Russell knelt in front of James, who flushed slightly and said with a small laugh, “Oh, the royal treatment, huh?”

“Absolutely.” Russell untied the laces of James’ spit shiny black shoes and pulled them off, one by one, along with the black dress socks. Carefully he unbuckled his belt and opened the fly, drawing the zipper down. James shut his eyes tight as Russell drew his trousers down, but didn’t protest. He didn’t try to remove the man’s boxer shorts, not yet, but couldn’t quite suppress the smile when he noticed the price tag still affixed to the waistband.

James unbuttoned his shirt himself and removed it, revealing pale, hairless skin. “Lie down and relax,” Russell urged. “I’ll just sit here beside you.” James obeyed, draping himself face down on the bed.

Gently, Russell began to smooth and lightly knead what little muscle remained on the man’s bony back. After a few minutes, Russell could feel James begin to relax. “So,” Russell said, “tell me a little bit about yourself. Why did you wait so long to be with a man? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” James replied, settling more comfortably into the mattress. “I was married for fifty-four years to a wonderful woman. Back when I was coming up, homosexuality wasn’t an option, it was a perversion.”

He twisted toward Russell. “I remember the priest at my Sunday school, warning us that those kind of sick feelings were an aspersion against God, a crime against nature. He took us boys into a room one day, while a nun was no doubt doing a similar number on the girls, and told us that, not only was masturbation, or self abuse, as he’d called it, a sin that would send us straight to hell, but if we even thought about another boy in sexual terms, just the thought would be sufficient reason for God to cast us forever into the fires of hell.”

Russell shook his head, thinking how many lives had been ruined by the misguided censoring and condemnation of natural feelings and desires. Wasn’t life hard enough without that kind of bullshit being thrown at you?

“I bought it, the whole kit and caboodle,” James said with a deep sigh. “Married the first girl that’d have me and spent my life keeping those impure thoughts at bay. Luckily she was a good woman—my best friend. She died a year ago last May, rest her soul.” He was quiet a moment, before adding, “I got to thinking I don’t have a whole helluva lot of time left myself. I decided if I’m going to burn in the hell fires of eternity, I might as well do it right.” He barked a laugh.

“Now you,” he continued, “you’re just what the doctor ordered. I picked you out of that catalog they sent me. You remind me of Timothy Dylan, the redhead I bunked with in boot camp before being shipped off to Korea in nineteen hundred and fifty. He was big and tall like you, and built like a tank. I’ve never admitted this to a soul, and I’ll deny it if you say it outside this bedroom, but he’s the one who’s always come to mind, right in the moment of passion, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Russell replied, grinning at the man’s quaint turn of phrase. They were quiet for a while, as Russell continued the massage.

James rolled over suddenly, fixing Russell with an intense gaze. “You’re my birthday present, did you know that?” he announced with a grin. “I decided to treat myself.”

“Well then, Mr. Smith,” Russell said with an answering grin. “We must unwrap your present.”