Prompt #111: Masturbation Fodder

(Second related theme : selfies)

You take a pic. You angle it for your best assets to show. You write a short piece. It’s hot sweaty sticky and delicious. You make these public, you share. Do you care what the viewer or reader does with them? Does it turn you on to know that you stimulate? Do they ask you for permission bringing you into their pleasure? Does it humiliate you to be reduced to their masturbation fodder, you a merely specimen of the species?

Conversely, that picture, the light, the angles, something’s clicks. The words, the ideas, the movement of the story. Your body reacts. You save it for later. You know why. A private movement and moment. Do you value it less for it’s immediate function? Is it art or literature when you masturbate over it? Are they human or porn in that moment of pleasure? Do you read the words or stare intently at the picture, or use it just to get you going? Do you return to favourite pieces?

Sorry, folks. I know my header clip is beyond obvious but I adore this Divinyls song – excellent memories of dancing about to it at university with a dildo and a whole bunch of other girls for the visual pleasure of a single guy (long story) – and just couldn’t stop myself from including it here.

Before I start babbling, can I just say that this is a bloody awesome Wicked Wednesday prompt by @tigger_sub. It made me realise that in the entire two years of blogging here on Chintz that I’ve never done a post on masturbation, which is both extremely shameful (not the act of masturbation, the fact that I haven’t written anything about it) and incredibly ironic considering that of all the sexual acts I enjoy and partake in, it’s the one I engage in most frequently.

Before I get to the crux of Tigger’s prompt, a little background …

I stumbled upon this rather delicious form of sex at a relatively young age and quite by accident. I used to ride a lot as a child and although it’s something of a cliché, I invariably discovered that when I sat astride a pony and my bottom was connecting with the saddle in a certain way (generally at a walk) something bloody amazing happened:

I got this incredible feeling between my legs.

A feeling that, provided I maintained whatever friction and rhythm I had going on against the tack, invariably spread over my whole body before peaking and leaving me feeling unbelievably good. Cataclysmically good … although on occasion pursuing it almost made me fall sideways off my horse. Needless to say, it didn’t take me long to work out that I could recreate this very moreish sensation with my fingers, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I don’t recall specifically when masturbation and fantasy started to hold hands with one another but I can tell you that when I discovered eighties bonk-busters, just before hitting my early teens, that the two become irrevocably intertwined. And that to this day, the written word remains my masturbatory aid of choice.

Why?

Well, while I definitely find certain images arousing to look at, I get far (far) more mileage and satisfaction out of scenes that I am able to paint in my own mind through textual cues. I like to be able to imagine – to spin a situation in my head to make it suit my purpose, i.e. getting myself off.

So, what sorts of things, exactly, will cause my fingers to drift south? And do I return to the same masturbation fodder over and over again? In asking myself these questions, I am reminded of a different one asked of Molly Moore during a session at Eroticon 2013:

“When did you know you were submissive?”

Well, if you were to ask that same question of me (and I consider myself to be a pretty messy mix of bottom and sub), I’d say that my textual masturbation choices gave me some pretty damn strong cues as to my sexual proclivities very early on, even though I didn’t acknowledge them or understand them properly until much later. Indeed, to this day, it is very, very unusual for me to get myself off to something that doesn’t have an element of D/s in it. And I’d go so far as to say that my ‘go-to’ masturbation texts over the years outline pretty clearly my personal sexual trajectory …

 

Age 14: Defy the Eagle, Lynn Bartlett

As a young teen, this scene absolutely fascinated me. It still does. It’s incredibly tame but even though there’s no actual sex in it, the forced bondage element fairly shouts its erotic intent. These few words had my hand (and mind) very quickly occupied.

Jilana lowered herself onto the pile of furs and, while Caddaric towered over her, stretched out full length. He knelt beside the pallet, dropped the rope and then his hard hands bit into her shoulders. When Jilana gasped at his touch, Caddaric merely raised an eyebrow at her and flipped her onto her side so that she faced the tent wall. He released her shoulders and a moment later, Jilana felt the bite of the rope as he coiled it around her ankles. Her arms were pulled behind her back and her wrists bound by the same length of rope which tied her ankles. In the space of a few minutes, Jilana was trussed in a manner that left her immobile. Even as Caddaric rose, Jilana could feel the strain in her muscles and joints as she was arched backwards over the rope.
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She had to strain in order to turn far enough over her shoulder to see him, and when she did he smiled mockingly. “Wait for me, Jilana.”

With those sarcastic words he was gone and Jilana was alone in the dark tent. Wait for me. Jilana laughed a trifle wildly. As if she could do anything else.

 

Age 15: Till We Meet Again – Judith Krantz

This one, I read over and over and over and over and over and over. In fact, I don’t have enough fingers or toes to count how many times my teenage self got off to this particular interaction between Sabine de Koville and Bruno de Lancel. I had no idea that what I was reading at the time was a D/s scene. All I knew was that it appealed to me. A holy hell of a lot.

“Madame must stand absolutely still. Madame must do whatever I tell her and nothing else,” Bruno said harshly. “Does Madame understand?” She nodded gravely, feeling the hot, heavy congestion grow between her thighs as she looked at the boy’s suddenly fierce features.
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“Madam must stand against the wall,” he muttered. Madame will not remove her shoes.” She complied, her back straight and her breasts proudly high. He stood over her, only inches away, his thumbs roughly weighing her heavy breasts while his thumbs and forefingers sought her nipples under the thin folds of silk. He found them and pinched them, knowingly and repeatedly, with stern fingers that came perilously close to causing pain.

 

Age 36: Kaylee’s Keeper (Masters of the Castle, Book 2)

Skipping ahead a fair few years, lest this become a post of excerpts, a book that I picked up about a year ago and have returned to over and over again. There are a number of scenes in Kaylee’s Keeper that really hit the mark for me, but I do so (so) love this one, where the heroine, Kaylee, is punished in front of an audience.

“Look how wet she is,” Alan announced, and soft laughter filled the room. He laughed too, even as he purred down at her, “What kind of naughty girl gets wet during her punishment?”

“My favourite kind,” Master Marshall drawled, winning another round of chuckling laughter from everyone. “Open your legs for him, pet, nice and wide. Give him your naughty little pussy and ask Master Alan to spank it for you.”
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“I’m waiting, pet,” Master Marshall said. Is there something you want to say to Master Alan or do I need to put you across my knee first?”

She shivered even harder, but dutifully raised her chin and, horribly embarrassed, whispered, “Please spank m-me–”

“Spank what?”

“Please, sir.” She moaned, hiding her eyes behind her hand as if that could somehow shield her from this wanton debasement. “Please don’t make me say it.”

And even more recently? This edgeplay scene from Cherise Sinclair’s recent Edge of the Enforcer.

As to the question of selfies … Do I care that people might get off on the pictures that I take of myself? Feel ‘reduced’ in any way? Nope. If anything, it kind of gives me hope that people are embracing the idea of everyday men and women with everyday bodies being sexy and erotic and desirable. Because, as I’ve said before, that’s my ultimate objective when I photograph myself in various states of undress.

I could very easily go on about this topic for another few thousand words but I’ll haul myself back at this point before I bury you any more than I already have done in a grave of verbosity. A thought to end if I may, though:

“To masturbate is to imagine: physically.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

 

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