Image: Energy Arc, central electrode of a plasma lamp – Piccolo Namek, via Wikimedia Commons

Growing up in a country known for its agrarian-based economy, I learned pretty early on that touching an electric fence was not a good idea. At the age of six, the jolt I experienced upon touching a live wire (of sufficient strength to keep Black Angus bulls contained in the appropriate paddock) was not only enough to make me dance and hop about like I was standing on hot coals, it also instilled a healthy respect for electricity and electrical devices in general.

I was the kid who was too frightened to touch the metal edge of the trampoline for fear of receiving a static shock.

I was the kid who was too terrified to touch the plasma globe at the local science show for fear of the unpleasant sensations it might generate.

So how on earth, you might ask, did I become interested in violet wands? Or, more accurately, how did I become interested in having one used on me?

Well, that’s the funny thing about kinks and, really, sex in general. Over time, as you explore your own personal hot buttons, become more comfortable with what they are and how they make you feel, it’s entirely possible for them to morph and change. Open up doors to places you may never have thought you’d venture. And suddenly, you find yourself peeping into a room full of possibility that, mere months before, you’d have locked up tighter than a prison cell.

But that doesn’t really answer my question, does it?

I’d have to credit my initial curiosity to a select group of electrical play scenes described in fictional texts. Inexplicably, and despite my previously described feelings about electricity, certain extracts evoked a response that I would, previously, have thought impossible. None of these situations described the use of a violet wand as punishment, although I appreciate that others might use them in this way (with the consent of the person being punished, of course). Rather, they were contextualised within exploratory and sensual parameters, with the wand being seen very much as a tool to heighten both erotic discovery and evoke feelings of deeper submission and trust. Take, for example, this extract from Maren Smith’s erotic romance Kaylee’s Keeper:

‘“At the first snap and subsequent buzz, she jerked back, but almost immediately reached again. Tap, flinch. Tap-tap, flinch. She spread her wildly buzzing fingers out and finally just let it chew its blue lines all over her shaking palm.”

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“Are you reading to trust me?”

Trembling, she nodded.

He smiled again, and oh, how that look made her feel. Like his praise, his softly uttered ‘good girls’ bolstered her and helped to keep her fear in check while he lay her back on the coffee table and began to strap her down.’

You may say at this point, ‘Well, that’s all very well, Jane, but you realise that fiction is exactly that – fiction. And what occurs on the pages of a book can not, and should not, be used as a guide to real-life experience.’ And I would say ‘yes, you’re right – to a certain extent’. Because, ultimately, books are about gaining power through knowledge. Would I read an article on mountaineering and them immediately set off to conquer Everest? No. I would not. But I might find that article interesting enough to make some tentative enquiries down at the local alpine club and ask if I could come in and talk to someone a bit more about it before signing myself up for a beginners’ course.

And that’s what happened with my burgeoning interest in violet wands. I Googled. I read some non-fiction articles about them. I confessed my interest to my other half. And then I attended the London Alternative Market and allowed someone experienced in operating one to show me what they feel like. (More information on that experience in my next Violet Wand Diaries post.)

Of all the things M and I have played with to-date, the violet wand has been the trickiest to master; because of the way it’s designed, the degree of variation in the sensations it can generate is significant – hence the idea for this post series. Bluntly, we haven’t fully gotten to grips with our latest toy box acquisition (even though we both understand its potential) and I thought it would be useful to chronicle our progress and our learning curve.

Stay tuned for part two …

The post The Violet Wand Diaries: Part One appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title:

Mary Shelley meets Grey’s Anatomy meets Torture Garden.

‘Let’s experiment’ is the tagline for FrankenDom and flippin’ heck does it ever. Reading this book was the literary equivalent of walking into Heston Blumenthal’s Michelin-starred The Fat Duck, ordering the snail porridge and, after a tentative taste, scraping the bowl clean with enough enthusiasm to chip the porcelain.

FrankenDom is by far and away one of the most original and engaging BDSM books I’ve read this year; the plot is awesomely wacky, the characters original, and the D/s relationships in play both unusual and captivating. A medical drama on crack and filmed in a Rocky Horror Show-esque dungeon, if you will. (Or more, accurately, castle Bangenschloss in Montavena.)

I’m not really sure I can give a non-spoilery plot synopsis for this book – not one that will make much sense, anyway – but I’ll do my best.

Rachel McBride, a talented vascular surgeon whose career is on the rise, is confronted with a very tempting offer. The chance to work on a highly confidential project with her ex-lover, Doctor Colin Carter, and his boss, the brilliant and charismatic Julian Kilmartin, who many view as a medical visionary. Professionally, she knows she’d be crazy to pass the mysterious opportunity up, despite a sixth sense telling her there’s some sort of catch. Personally? Let’s just say that being attracted to the two men she’d be working beneath doesn’t make her decision to participate any less complicated.

“From a professional standpoint, I’d have to be insane to pass up such an offer—I knew I has the diagnostic instincts, the surgical skills and the competitive drive to play with the big boys, and this project could be history in the making.
But from a personal standpoint, I was hopelessly outclassed and likely to make a complete fool of myself.
I’d have to be insane to accept.”

Sometimes a little insanity is a good thing and in the case of FrankenDom, it’s a bloody excellent. If you’re not wriggling around like you’re on the slab yourself whilst reading this … well. I’m not normally turned on by electrical play in BDSM fiction but I must admit, even I started eyeing up the electrical sockets in the house after reading this book. And there’s a, uh, rather well done medical scene in this novel that I think is fair to say would not likely be covered by any sort of standard health insurance. I dare you not to laugh out loud at Julian’s playbook folder-naming conventions, too – well, Rachel’s folder anyway.

Joking aside, for all its quirkiness, FrankenDom isn’t a comedy. It actually asks some pretty heavy ethical questions of both the characters and the reader. Further, the relationships it portrays – and, yes, there is more than one at the heart of this book – are not necessarily conventional. I was actually quite surprised by the dynamic that settled into place at the end of the story. (For me, the most climactic part of FrankenDom was actually in the middle, rather than at the close.)

My favourite FrankenDom moment ? Julian’s treatise on erotic pain:

“Think of your pain tolerances rather like the strings on your guitar. Each has its own perfect pitch in a given moment, but they tend to go flat between uses and you have tune them every time you play.”
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“That magical line, where the pain is most intensely pleasurable, is the perfect pitch I’ll strive for each time we play.”

There is irresistible urge when reading FrankenDom to contrast it with Mary Shelley’s original gothic novel, to try and work out who slots in where, even though I’m not sure that we (as readers) are actually meant to. Jordan, I think I can place quite easily (!) but Julian feels like some sort of Victor Frankenstein/Lord Byron hybrid; Colin, perhaps, a melding of both Captain Walton and Percy Bysshe Shelley. Rachel? I want to say Mary herself.

One final note. This is a self-published work and a very well written one at that. However, there are some typos in the text. My personal view? The story is strong enough to make them seem like irritations rather than major annoyances.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase a copy.

Amazon.co.uk:

• FrankenDom - Kindle

Amazon.com:

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