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Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Tying up loose ends

“Honey, can you untie me?”  If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that… I’d have a dime.  You are probably thinking, “You are married to a bondage model, how is it possible that you haven’t tied her up before? “  The simple answer is that she does not film her kinks, and I don’t know what my kinks are. 

On this trip, we have done two bondage shoots.  On the first, I was a spectator and helper for Tony of, and on the second was for a private collector/first time photographer where I actually did some of the rope work, with the guidance of my lovely wife.  Both shoots were glamour bondage/damsel in distress videos and stills.

 I learned the finer points of glamour bondage, the importance of making sure that the ropes don’t overlap and that the ties look as tight as possible, but without cutting off circulation and leaving deep pressure marks.  I saw several different chair based scenarios, Ms. Marvel in either business skirt or evening gown, legs tied with various foot, ankle, calf and thigh wraps.   

Her arms were tied around the shoulders and elbows, and wrapped under and above her 
 breasts, constricting them and making them stand out even more, which is quite impressive considering how blessed she already is by the boobie faerie. 

 After the tie and wardrobe was selected, the next phase of the set was selecting a gag.  She has a bag full of bandanna that can be used for a cleave gag, which is simply folding a bandana and wrapping it around the head and between the lips.  The cleave gag is purely done for appearances, as it is quite easy to talk through.  There’s also a ball gag, which is a ball that goes between the teeth and fastened behind the head with a leather strap.  Tape can also be used, duct tape, medical tape or foam tape.  The final type of gag I witnessed (I’m sure there are a ton of others) was a bit, similar to what is used on horses. A big leather bar goes between the teeth and is strapped around the head.  I saw each of these used with various outfits.

Doing this for over five years, my wife has become an expert at many elements of bondage, a fact that frequently rears its ugly head while we are relaxing and enjoying a TV show or a movie.  A character on the show will be taken hostage and tied up in some way shape or form, and a diatribe such as follows will occur.  “Look at how loose those ropes are! She could wiggle out of those so easily! There’s only one layer of duct tape on her legs, she just have to twist her ankles and she could easily get out.  That gag is a cleave gag, it’s not going to stop her from yelling at all…” At this point I usually roll my eyes and say “Honey, leave it at work, will ya please?”  Though to be fair, I do the same thing with fire safety equipment depictions in movies.  You never want to watch Backdraft so I can’t complain too much about it.  But I digress.

Once she was all tied up and gagged, the producer would then film a five plus minute video of Ms. Marvel struggling against her restraints, utilizing her uncannily expressive face and eyes to their full dramatic power.  She does an amazing damsel in distress/doe-eyed look, and depending on how tight the gags are placed, she will drool in surprising quantity.  She twisted and pressed and pulled against the ropes, flexing her legs and ankles, drooling, moaning and grunting through the gag.  The producer would click it off, check to see if she was okay, and remove the ropes.  I was occasionally called in to lift, rotate, or place her on the floor, which was often difficult due to the way the arm ties are done.  I had to make sure not to pop her arms out of the sockets or crush a shoulder.

I was easily able to discern the difference in the ties between Tony, a seasoned producer and the first-timer. The private collector's ropework was functional, but not so much a featured part of the clip.  I could see how delicately and carefully the ropes had to be wrapped in order to look the best, and how meticulous Tony was with his ties, making sure that Ms. Marvel was comfortable, and also that the ties looked really good.  He had a few specific requests to fulfill, but mostly, he just picked three sets of clothes out for her, and sat back and let her do what she does best, which seems to be squirming and drooling and big panicked eyes.

At a request from a very frisky septuagenarian, the final set of Tony’s shoot involved a hogtie (where the feet are attached by rope to the hands and the subject is placed face down) and a vibrator rigged to a rope running between her legs. Not surprisingly, this is called a crotchrope.  The picture at the top of the blog is a candid from this shoot. Ms. Marvel writhed and squirmed against her ropes, and even got herself to tear up and freak out so convincingly that both Tony and I damn near ran over in the middle of the shoot to make sure she was ok.  She really is quite good at this stuff.

She also happens to be really good with the ties, having paid close attention to the ropework over years of many different bondage shoots with different producers.  She can even tie herself up, an occasional request from some of her followers. She helped both the private collector and I tie her up and get what he wanted from the shoot.  She coached us on different positions we could do with legs and arms, chest ropes, shoulder ropes, how to anchor the ropes so they wouldn’t slip, different ways to tie her to the chair, etc. 

I’d like to see some of the other varieties of content that can be done.  I’m certain there can be a lot more to it than the girl/secretary/superhero next door tied up and pleading and struggling.  I am beginning to gain an appreciation for the look of the ties, I was even fussing with them, trying to get them to look just right.  There is definitely a sense of accomplishment when you take your time and get a tie just right so it not only looks good on stills, it keeps form when struggling occurs.  I’ve always enjoyed knots and ropework, from my time in Boy Scouts, to rappelling, belaying and rescue scenarios in my Rescue Practices class, it seems it may be time to dust off my roping skills and getting some practice in!

 A special thanks goes out to Tolstoy Tony for his hospitality,blog plugs and the header photo.  Check out his beautiful babes in bondage (the man loves alliteration as much as I do!) at!

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Playing it by ear

Anyone ever grab your ear as a kid?  Maybe to get your attention, or as punishment for something you did?  I can’t recall it ever happening to me, or if it did, I don’t remember it, and I certainly didn’t sexualize the experience.  There is, however a group of people out there who have.  Most fetishes seem to take root during childhood.  According to the videographer, the ear twisting is a big fetish among Indian men, as ear twisting is a common punishment .  In order to fulfill more of the requests, Mrs. Marvel and I shot an Ear Twist video.

I played the part of the lazy boyfriend sleeping on the couch on a Sunday instead of doing chores, and just in case you are wondering, it was a stretch for me.  I’m the husband, and I sleep on the bed.  Mrs. Marvel came in acting angry and was supposed to twist and manipulate my ears in order to get me to do what she wanted. 

My ears are pretty sensitive to happy time touching, but apparently not very sensitive to pain at all.  I found out that my ears can be twisted to the point of being almost horizontal without it hurting.  This was put to good use when Mrs. Marvel used my ear to leverage me up and off the couch.  I hammed it up, and shouted and yelled about how much it hurt, and that she was going to rip my ear off, breaking the cartilage, etc.  Apparently, that is of paramount importance to the fetish. 

She lifted me up and then dragged me down to the ground, forcing me by the ear to do sit-ups, and then squats.  The camera zoomed in on my twisted ears as I screamed in mock pain. Mrs. Marvel yelled about what a lazy slob I was, and used the ear twisting to get me to admit my slovenliness and agree into do the plethora of chores asked of me.

This went on for about eight minutes of tugging, yelling, and twisting.  I can only imagine what the neighbors were thinking as all this went on.  Afterwards, my ears were extremely warm to the touch, and the next day, they felt like they were sunburned, and were even sensitive a few days later.  Another successful shoot in the bag, another new experience chronicled.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

The game is afoot

Mrs. Marvel has pretty feet, an observation confirmed by how much foot work she has done and constant commentary from photographers.  I’ve never really been into feet, but I can certainly acknowledge the attractiveness of her feet.  She can spread all her toes out from each other, grab things with them, and she has a very high arch that is extremely desirable to the foot community.  I spent the better part of two days up close and personal with those legendary feet.

I was her dedicated foot sub for about 8 different shoots.  I did several sessions of sock worship, licking her socks up and down,  peeling them off her feet, and putting as much of her foot in my mouth as possible (which turned out to be about the first twenty percent or so, I’ve got a big yap), then peeling the sock off and stuffing it in my mouth.  I also at several points put as much of both of her feet in my mouth getting almost all toes on both feet, and managing to get them all a couple of times.  I drank water that rolled down her leg and cascaded off the sock into my mouth.  She found the dirtiest looking clean socks she had, so the desirable quality of nasty, sweaty, dirty sock could be attained for the video, helped by the descriptions of strenuous physical activity that Mrs. Marvel was supplying.

After that I did some high heel worship, again with the implication being that the high heel to be worshipped has been walked on all day, through dirty floors and carpets, and that the sub is licking all the dirt off.  She had several pair of heels that had never been used, and thoroughly disinfected them before I put my mouth on them.  I licked and kissed all over the shoe, getting them nice and shiny.  The coup de grace of high heel worship is to have the sub suck on the heel spike, which I did.  It’s very difficult to get your head at the right angle to do it right, without whacking your face on the body of the heel, or scraping your teeth with the spike, which is really uncomfortable.  The shoes were also placed on my face where I was told to loudly and deeply inhale, thus solidifying the illusion that the shoes were well worn. 

Witch Hazel is the disinfectant/cleaner of choice, apparently due to its lack of taste after a cleaning.   I found that it tasted like bad soy sauce.  Better than rubbing alcohol though, that’s for sure.  I didn’t particularly enjoy either worship session, but I would say the socks were worse.  The fuzzyness, the gag reflex trying to kick in as the sock is stuffed in your mouth, the way the texture scrapes on the tongue, and how the taste would get worse after a session, due to my saliva soaking in.

Included in these shoots was also some foot abuse, where she would fishhook my mouth with her toes, smash my features with her toes, force facial expressions on me with her toes and feet, slap me in the face with her feet, crank my neck and choke me with her feet, etc. 
At the end of two days, we shot a custom requested video where Mrs. Marvel stretched and manipulated her feet and toes for an awfully long time.  While she was doing this, I was rolling around and rubbing my back and shoulders on the carpet like a high school kid on ecstasy, trying to get some redness on my back so that when she walked on it, her foot and toe prints would show up.  I was called into the shot, did some more foot worship, and then she walked on my back.

She’s walked on my back before for chiropractic reasons, but this time, in order to fulfill the request, she was trying to leave prints on my back.  It was a different experience.   She was walking on me for several minutes, and when she was trying to dig in, I would flex my stomach and roll my shoulders back, lifting into the pressure.  It wasn’t particularly painful, but it was strenuous.  After that, I flipped over on my back and she stood on my chest.  I’ve never had anyone walk on my chest before, and that was tough.  I whispered to her to move onto my stomach so she could also put a foot on my face.  She had a little more difficulty standing on my chest, which caused her balance to shift, which was a lot more uncomfortable.  Then she commanded me to get up on my knees, where she faux kicked me in the junk, and after I doubled over, kicked me in the ass and walked out of the frame as I rolled around and writhed on the floor.  

I told her afterwards that I had had enough of feet for a little while.   But, the shoot did inspire some interest in playing with her feet and trying to get a different reaction, and not in a dom/sub type of scenario, so that was well worth the journey.  It was a really interesting experience shooting, as the videographer kept seeing more and more potential for our shoot to cover various requests, so one shoot with me turned into 5 hours of different shoots.  I ended up getting 4+ blogs worth of material from two days.  I took a good sized bite of the fetish pie.  It tasted like feet.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

New posts coming soon

Had a couple of wild and crazy days, lots of content to write!  Will be posting new experiences soon!

Spit it out

The last time someone spit in my face was in eigth grade, and we were having a heated discussion by the gym.  He got in real close to me and as he was yelling, he was slobering on me like a drunken St. Bernard.   I got right back in face and said through my teeth, “Don’t spit in my face.”  I hit the sibilants real hard, making sure he got some of his own medicine.  I was pretty hot-headed in my youth, so I got into several of these confrontations throughout my middle school career, and generally didn’t think too much about the consequences of my actions.  He responded to my growled request by spitting a loogie right in my face.  I punched him in the chest and he fell down a short flight of stairs.  He got up, charged me, and the whole thing deteriorated into a good old fashioned middle school donnybrook that was quickly broken up by various classmates..  What a difference 17 years,  fifty bucks and a wedding makes, huh?

My wife and I filmed a spit video yesterday.   It was one of many aggressive/dominant videos we shot.  Most of the day I was playing the role of foot sub, mostly doing foot and sock worship.  The photographer asked if I would be okay with doing a spit video.  The photographer had been trying to get content for a spit video request for almost two years.   My wife would say degrading and humiliating things and spit on me for 6-8 minutes.  The requester of the footage is almost always interested in the most extreme aspect of the fetish, which in this case would be Mrs. Marvel hocking a loogie and dripping it into my mouth.  The noises are pretty much for the sake of the camera, she wasn’t really trying to bring anything up, and she was drinking root beer to make them look worse.  I made it a goal to not shy away from things on this trip, and to at least give it a shot.  We swap spit all the time, and various other bodily fluids, how bad could it be?

Pretty bad, when that’s all the mental barricades you set aside in advance.   We did a dry run(not really the best descriptor when spit is involved, but we’ll  roll with it)  with no camera rolling, and when it dripped into my mouth, I was okay.  At first.  And then I started to gag.  I came pretty close to hucking right then and there.  I took a minute to regather myself, and the photographer grabbed a teeny little vase to catch my forthcoming involuntary protein spill.  Mrs. Marvel lost it at this point, the thought of her large husband trying to contain a large quantity of vomit into a tiny little vase  too much for her sleep-deprived brain, and collapsed into giggles.  At that point, I didn’t think I would be able to continue.

I told them that I needed a minute to reset, and they assured me that if I didn’t do it, that it was okay, Most people aren’t able to shoot spit fetish, it was why she hadn’t been able to shoot it for almost two years.  I went in the next room, took some time, checked myself and reminded myself that it was okay, went back in and did the shoot.  I took it like a champ,  about 10 minutes of verbal beration and a whole lot of spit, mostly in my face.   She dripped a couple of long ones into my mouth, and I pretended to swallow them.  The photographer wrote a message on her phone that I could spit them out as she panned away, but I was okay.  Thoroughly drenched in spit, I went to change my shirt and wash my face off, and they were laughing and high fiving that I made it through and pleased I was able to do it. 

It has been a lot easier doing some of these things than I previously thought.  You just kind of get in this zone and stay in character, and then when the camera clicks off, you’re you again.  It’s almost like it happened to another person.  When she talks to me, I know that she is acting, I know she isn’t really the things she does, and she uses a different tone of voice than when we normally interact, so that makes it easier to keep the separation as well.

Maybe the next person who spits at/on me won’t get knocked down a flight of stairs.  I definitely feel like these experiences are giving me thicker skin, and that my wife and I are closer than ever.   Tomorrow, she pulls and twists my ears, walks on me, and maybe a few other surprises as well.  Who knows what the next day will bring?

Diving in headfirst (or ass first, as it were)

So, knowing that I would be experiencing and witnessing first-hand many different fetishes and shoots on this epic road trip, I decided to dive right in, and do a shoot all by my lonesome.  I have attended a few of my wife’s shoots, and I have a fair amount of on camera/performance/acting experience in my background, enough that I felt I was prepared for a basic gig.  The revelations came fast.

I was able to fully appreciate the complete lack of useful information that can pass between 50+ emails, and how much effort it takes to keep connected with the photographer, and try to be prepared for anything that might be thrown at me.  For the first time, I got to ask my wife which jeans make my ass look the best (words I had never once uttered in my life prior).  She went over the model release with me and helped me make sure that things would be handled the way I want.  I know some of the lingo so I was able to discern the type of content I would be shooting.  It was a 2-3 hour crush shoot involving some balloons and toys, using only my body weight and my ass. Sounded simple enough.  I spoke with him about wardrobe requirements and the like, packed accordingly, showed up and modeled my pants for him.  He selected the pants he felt would work best, and I changed into them, going commando underneath and begun the process.

I’m 6’5”, 240 lbs, so I figured my size and weight would be a big advantage, that it was going to be an easy shoot.  Boy was I wrong.  Everyone has popped a balloon at some point in their lives, maybe even sat on one to pop it.  After a quick rundown of the content and what was expected of me, I sat on my first balloon off camera.  I plopped down on it with all my weight, thinking that would be enough, but it wasn’t.  I wiggled from side to side, with the grace and sensuality of a epileptic bull elephant and when I felt like it was going to pop, I involuntarily scrunched up my face and flinched.  I immediately recognized that none of this would make for arousing content, an impression confirmed by the photographer.  Reminding me that this was supposed to elicit a sexual response from the viewer, he gave me a few tips on how to position the balloon, and how to move, and then I popped a few more balloons, and he was satisfied with the results. I was no longer flinching, waiting for them to pop.  After that we moved on to the next logical object, which of course was an alarm clock.

It was round, and made of hard plastic.  I composed a character and some basic dialogue in my head, and waged posterior warfare on the hapless timepiece.  It retaliated by rolling out from under my ass, upon which I would grab and replace it, roll it under me to where it would start to crack a little, then squirm out and whack me in the manberries, sometimes hitting the camera.  Did I mention the camera was less than six inches from my ass or crotch at all times?  This went on for quite some time, and then I found that rolling it under my thigh would work, and it started to break more and more.  I would modify my technique with each different area that started to break, until I was dripping with sweat, out of breath, and the clock was reduced to an impressive tableau of chronometric violence.

The next shoot involved a bunch of kids’ toys and balloons, to which I created a character of a dad throwing a birthday party for his kid, who bought extra presents and balloons to ensure that he got his enjoyment out of the setup for the party.   I once again came up with some dialogue. I found that sitting on the balloons was a nice change from the glute-grind that was the clock, so I did truly enjoy sitting on and breaking the balloons.  After that, I let loose a deluge of derrierial destruction on two toy robots, decapitating both and removing arms and legs with my mighty backside. I attempted a diecast aluminum car and dismantled it to the point that it looked like it had been run over by Grave Digger, and then attempted in vain to smash a singing toy turtle,  but had very little success. The little bastard was really well made, so I put it on the ground and stomped its head off.  He was very pleased with the shoot, and asked me to do more balloons, and then some packing material, which was quite interesting.  He complimented me on my pants selection, and said that between the natural light coming into the window and the silvery sheen on my pants, that he could really see the outline of my nutsack.  What can you say to that?  “Uh, thanks!” was the best I could come up with.

I have seen my wife go into character in her mind, in order to get herself through uncomfortable situations, and while always knowing why she did (being an actor of sorts), I can really empathize with the situation.  If I hadn’t been able to fully immerse myself in the characters I whipped up on the spot, I would have been too focused on the fact that some dude I had only just met and interacted with for less than an hour was sitting on the floor with a camera pointed at my nether-regions, and that I was doing Elvisian pelvic gyrations on top of a ten dollar toy robot, and that someone out there would watch a video of this and think that I was a sexy mofo performing just for them.

A week ago, I would have never written that sentence.  I couldn’t have made that up if I had tried.  The photographer asked me to get in touch when I get back from our impending roadtrip, and that he is interested in doing another shoot with me. I’m not sure if it is an experience that I am too eager to repeat, but it was definitely one of the more interesting days I have had in a long time.  And he was certainly right about one thing.

I’ll never look at inflatable packaging material the same way again.  Ever.

Origin of the Blog

Being married to a fetish model is the adult equivalent to the old “kid in a candy store” adage.  My wife and I were best friends for years before we got hitched, but we never really talked too much about sex, kinks, etc.
When we finally hooked up, she asked me what I liked, what I was into, what really turned me on, and said that any of my wildest fantasies would now be able to come true.  I had a little experience with some light bondage, Dom/Sub, restraints, flogging, spanking, tickling, and I knew I liked those, but nothing really past that.  I realized, to my chagrin, and her disappointment, that I had no fantasies.  Nothing.  The kinky world was my oyster, and I didn’t even know where to dive in.  I was the kid in front of the candy store with a hundred dollar bill, every kind of tasty treat at my fingertips, and I had no clue what I wanted, or would enjoy, and no clue even where to start!

I’m a sci-fi/comic book/horror guy, so I figured maybe something from years of various and sundry nerdery would have planted some kind of sexual idea, would I get turned on by seeing her dress as Leia, or Wonder Woman, Penelope Pitstop, anything?!?  While I think she would look sexy in those costumes, and it would be fun, it doesn’t really flip a switch for me or anything.
My career took a turn for the worse in early 2011, and rather than not see my wife for 4 months while I sit home depressed and trying to find work, we decided that I should go on tour with her, see more of the country than just the four states I have been to other than California.  Really get out there and experience a different scene and perspective.  Her career has helped her really figure out who she is and wants to be, and what she needs and wants from life.  Being an internet fetish model has done wonders for her personal growth, and maybe, traveling with her could impart some similar wisdom for me.  I could break away from the routines, and really try something different.  I could focus more on writing, and find more inspiration and ideas, figure out my next move, visit some family and friends I haven’t seen in a long time.  When else would I get an awesome opportunity like this again?

I will also find out a lot about myself.  How can I handle being crammed in a car for 10+ hours a day listening to nothing but the sounds of the road and NPR?  I have a need for noise, sometimes quiet makes me uncomfortable.  Do I need a gym membership, or would I enjoy doing Yoga in a hotel room?  Do I need a comfy apartment and big bed to sleep in to be happy, or could I happily exist jumping from place to place?  I’m somewhat of a homebody, never suffering too much for wanderlust, how would I adapt to these scenarios? I could really strip away a lot of bullshit and unnecessary trappings of suburban life and really get down to my essence.

Then things got really interesting when she mentioned to her bookings that I was going to be with her, and that places to crash would be appreciated, and they started asking about me for shoots.  She asked me what I was and wasn’t willing to do.  I had no idea.  I have explored many other boundaries in my life, but never my sexual boundaries to this extent.

She has told me many times about what she does out on the road but there’s a difference between hearing about getting hypnotized, or hit in the ass with a pie, or holding completely still while pretending to be dead, and actually experiencing it.  Which is what I am setting out to do.  I am setting my status as open to just about anything, I welcome the opportunity to be silly, have some fun, do some really weird and crazy things, let go of my inhibitions, and walk the proverbial mile in my wife’s stilettos.

Soon, we leave our love nest and kitties behind, and embark on a 3.5 month journey of personal discovery, national exploration, strengthening our bond and marriage, and to answer the age old question that has plagued philosophers for centuries: How difficult is it to destroy a toy robot purchased at a gas station using only one’s ass?