Between BDSM and the DSM: The Relationship of BDSM and Psychology

I have posted a copy of  Between BDSM and the DSM: The Relationship of BDSM and Psychology, By: Doron Mosenzon (Instructed by: Dr. Otniel Dror) Seminar Paper for the Course “Gender and Science” 2013-14. 

You can read the full paper at: https://goo.gl/HK3r1F

Dominant Views in Psychology and Psychiatry

What is Sexual Deviance?

Early Sexology and the Creation of the Deviant

"Sex and sexuality were always an inflammatory subject, and every religion, ideology, and discipline has an interest in the way people relate and operate with their sexuality. More specifically, trying to decide what sexual acts and dispositions are “normal”, “healthy”, “natural”, and “moral” is an important part of any philosophy or area of study that deals with human sexuality.

Pony Boot Camp - A must read BDSM story

I absolutely must recommend the deliciously wicked stories written by the sinful and creative author Venom (pen name). His blog VENOMSTORIES contains a myriad of fantastic BDSM stories. 

To entice you further, below is part 1 of Pony Boot Camp. To enjoy part 2 of this story, you will need to follow the link at the end of this post...

Enjoy fellow deviants.

Pony Boot Camp — Part One 

Prologue (Law and Order)

It was either this, or two years without probation or parole. Maybe I’d really pushed it too far this time. My latest stunt crowned a dubious career that had started when I’d been fifteen, and with a true classic: shoplifting. Breach of the peace, public nuisance and damage to property had followed; they had even nicked me once for hacking the server of the public library (don’t ask what reason I’d done that for).

 I forgot to introduce myself: My name is Alexia Wert. But you can call me Alex.

 I consider myself intelligent, have never done hard drugs, never shown violent or otherwise deviant behaviour. I never was rebellious as such, never wanted to fight the system. I was just bored, wanted to test myself and my environment alike, wanted to know what I could get away with. And with what not.

This time they had dragged me out of a stolen car. It had only been a joyride, nothing more. I may be a troublemaker, but I’m not a liar – and I stand by my actions. However, the prosecutor not only claimed theft, but felt free to spice things up with intent to resell. And if that wasn’t enough, he added abscond from justice for good measure, since my silly self hadn’t stopped the car immediately when spotted by the coppers (a circumstance that had earned me a healthy bite of tarmac sandwich, a rib contusion and two pissed policemen’s knee prints on my back – not to mention the titillating experience of having a nine-mil pressed against the back of my head). To top it off, I was over eighteen by now, and considering my mighty criminal record the judge refused to show lenience by once more applying law related to juvenile offenders.

 It dawned on me that I was running fresh out of luck.

 “Salvation” came in form of a one-time offer near the end of my trial: three months in a special boot camp – that, or the prosecution would aim for two years in prison. By then I already stood under the impression that the judge would go for the requested twenty-four months pour encourager les autres. Which caused me to listen to the offer. They were somewhat thin on the details, yet “educational techniques also used for the dressage of animals” didn’t sound too hot. Would I be taught how to fetch and play dead? But three month to have my spirit broken and reshaped into a form useful to society was still better than sticking my tongue all the way up a bull dyke’s minge for the next 730 nights.

So the verdict came to pass that I, after the complete healing of my rib contusion, was to be transferred to the Deepfall Advanced Correctional Centre and kept there for a term not shorter than ninety days.

CLICK FOR PART 2 OF PONY BOOT CAMP 

Consent NEEDS communication.

There's a lot of discourse about consent going on lately. And that's a good thing. We've ignored consent violations too long, both as a BDSM community and in American culture as a whole. As much as it's frustrating and painful to talk about such things, talking about consent and what it means is good and healthy for us. It's like lancing a wound, it hurts and a lot of pus comes out at first, but it's what's required to start the healing process.

BDSM Consent in Non-BDSM Sex

By Kayla Beare - Original Post HERE

In a post-#MeToo world, the need for a clear-cut and comprehensive definition of sexual consent has become a topic of conversation for many. The BDSM community is often said to be ahead of the curve in having this conversation, and there is much that can be learnt from this community.

 BDSM, an acronym referring to bondage/discipline, dominance/submission and sadism/masochism, is a term that encompasses a broad range of intimate activities that often, but not always, includes some component of sexual play. BDSM has been around for centuries, as early as Mesopotamian times, but has only recently become part of public discourse in Western societies thanks to kinky books and films such as the 50 Shades of Grey series.

 Unfortunately, the 50 Shades of Grey series, although hugely popular, is not an accurate depiction of healthy BDSM. The books, and films, underplay the consent negotiation process generally present in BDSM play. Consent in BDSM, much like consent in sex more generally, is often considered morally transformative. This means that it defines the morality of a sexual act: without consent, it is abuse but with consent, it is a shared, actively chosen experience.  Consent is so vital to BDSM play that is one of the tenets of the BDSM code: “risk-aware consensual kink “ Arguably, we should all be having sex in which we are aware of the risks and are fully consenting, regardless of whether or not we are engaging in elements of kink or BDSM. Let’s explore the key facets of the BDSM model of consent and its use in non-BDSM sex.

 

Do as I say... or suffer the consequences.

Courtesy of : Jay Boy who emailed me this rather delicious story.

There I was again: Standing at Mistress Leyla's cross, naked, spread-eagled, wrists and ankles cuffed to the frame of the sturdy wooden cross. The leather mask over my eyes made it impossible to see anything but the slightest shimmer of light. I could only hear Mistress walking around her play room, opening and closing cabinets and drawers, clearly getting ready for things to come.

I had been in this position before - many times. I had been beaten, tortured and humiliated while at Mistress cross. I had my balls bound and weighed down, my nipples, cock and balls adorned with clamps ranging from mild clothespins to agonizing alligator clamps. Mistresses had subjected me to electric shocks, whipped my cock and made me the subject of the laughter of some her slave and associates.

I was wondering what Mistress Leyla would do today - almost dreaming as she had let me stand there quite a while, full of anticipation. Mistress had said that today's session would be different. Suddenly something hard with  rounded corners touched my right arm. I shuddered, wondering what instrument of torture  Mistress held in her hands.

A Halloween Short Story For My Mistress Leyla

At the time, a Halloween fancy dress party had seemed like the perfect excuse for a fun night out and Marie decided she needed a fun night more than anything else in her life. But with it starting within the next hour now she wasn’t quite so sure.

Her week had been hectic to say the least, non-stop work till late every night, and tomorrow she was planning to spend all day with her mother preparing her for the imminent move into a nursing home.

Now she stood in front of the full-length mirror set into the wardrobe door. Her fancy dress costume looked okay, not as good as it did when she’d seen it on her computer screen but then shopping online always led to disappointingly high expectations she thought to herself.

She was dressed in a black catsuit decorated in fluorescent bones making her look like a glowing skeleton in the dark. However under the bright room lights it was very figure-hugging and left her feeling a little exposed. At 37 she still had an enviable figure but felt it was better to dress to suggest than be too blatant. If only she had a black cloak she could wrap around herself, Marie thought, she’d look mysterious, spooky and quite possibly sexy as well.

Once again she considered not going; she could call or even text Joanne and tell her she wasn’t feeling too well. No, she decided she would go and even try to enjoy herself.

“Marie! Lovely to see you, come in,” exclaimed what looked like a half-drunk Joanne leaning perilously out of the front door of the large town house where she lived with her husband Greg. Marie gave her friend a quick hug and the obligatory peck on the cheek and moved past the pile of discarded coats just inside.

Session with Mistress - A BDSM Story

Submitted by Slaveash

It was quite bright when I got out of my house and looked around. There are not many people on the street. It had stopped snowing a few weeks before; you could still feel the nip in the air. My hands were shaking while locking the door. This had less to do with the cold and more out of apprehension of being seen. I was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. I was wearing a long overcoat over a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. I had put on my blue 6” stilettos.  Under my clothes I was wearing matching black bra, black lace panties and black lace garter belt holding up my fishnet stockings on my newly shaved legs. I had a medium size anal plug up my rear. I was now ready to meet my Mistress.

I walked to the bus stop and to wait in queue for the bus, with full my concentration on walking properly in these heels. This was a part of my obedience training. I was to take public transport to mistress’s dungeon. Mistress had given me an option of wearing a knee length pleated skirt or 20 stokes of the cane. I decided on the latter. I was not gaining any extra credits today.

It was still early in the day and there was only a lady ahead of me. She smiled at me and we made small conversation on the weather and the transportation network. Her eyes suddenly spotted my shoes, and she gave me an all knowing smile. I continued speaking on the bus network, blushing with embarrassment. I thought I was saved when the bus arrived, but my anxiety only grew when I saw a group of 4 teenage girls in the bus. I quickly found a seat in the front of the bus and sat down. Only then I realised how high the jeans hike up when I sat. I heard one of the girls exclaim loudly. I could see the 4 of them looking in my direction, whispering in each ones ear and giggling. I looked towards them and tried to smile, which made them burst out in laughter. I must have turned a deeper shade of red. My destination bus stop could not have come any sooner. I rushed out of the bus and started walking towards my mistress’s dungeon. What would usually take me around 10 minutes to cover the distance, took me twice as much today while walking in heels with a butt plug up my ass.