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30 Days of Kink — Day 20

August 22, 2013 By Trent Evans

Day 20: Talk about something within kink/bdsm that you’re curious about/don’t understand.

I’d like to talk about two different topics here — one I don’t understand, and one I’m curious about.

“Stop doing kink that way! You’re going to ruin everything!”

I’m probably going to step on some toes here, but one of the things I don’t understand with regard to kink is why a significant cohort of kink practitioners/proponents feel a need to lecture or instruct others on what the “proper” form of kink expression is.  Note that I’m not referring to people who talk about safety — it should go without saying that advocating safety is a good thing.

No, what I’m getting at is this idea that’s put forth that certain types of kink are beyond the pale, or that if anyone decides to engage in activity outside the protective confines of SSC or RACK then they have somehow gone off the reservation. Often it’s quite subtle, but I’m seeing it more and more online — and it baffles me. One of the best, most freeing aspects of kink is the basically subversive nature of it; in many ways, kink is a rebellion against the confines of vanilla sexuality or mores. I’m guessing that that very nature of kink is the source of at least some of its appeal.

There is an ongoing movement afoot to get kink entirely removed as a psychological disorder from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (commonly referred to as the DSM). The most recent iteration, DSM-V, while not removing paraphilias as a disorder per se, has demoted the status of paraphilias from a full-blown disorder by applying a nebulous if/then equivocation to potential diagnosis: if the paraphilia causes distress then it is a disorder, otherwise, go about your perverted ways, you sickos!

I think this particular type of reevaluation is a good thing indeed, despite the gray areas that remain in APA treatment of kink. Those who’ve followed along with me know that I usually hesitate to deem the experiences of the LGBT community as analogous to those of the kink community (it’s difficult to deem anything as a clear analog to kink), but it is worth noting that the evolution of the treatment of the two respective communities by modern psychology seems to be following a somewhat similar trajectory. The bottom line, to me, is that things appear to be (slowly) moving in the right direction.

But what I’m seeing more and more often is this tendency to “normalize” (read: homogenize) kink in the popular culture. When I see instances of it, the tone often feels like a clumsy sort of kink sales roadshow; frequently it’s discussed in terms or ways that are “lighter” or interspersed with (or drowned in) nervous humor. Perhaps this is an effort to make the “lifestyle” less threatening to people out in the vanilla world? Or maybe it’s just that these kink normalizers simply want to help destigmatize kink? If so, their motives are laudable. However, an effort to destigmatize kink that results in a watering down of the things that make kink distinctive is ultimately (IMHO) self-defeating. Maybe I’m weird — okay, not much “maybe” about that — but I don’t want kink to be “normalized”. Life is full of enough guidelines, rules, and laws as it is, so the last thing I want is kink forced into some neat, tidy, sanitized box.

It’s possible (even likely) that I’m not seeing the “big picture” with this normalization of kink, but what I’ve seen thus far is … troubling. If there are any out there who’d like to explain to me why this brand of kink normalization is a great thing, I’d love to hear from you — either in the comments or privately via the contact form above. I’m genuinely baffled, so I’m open to being edumacated on this subject:)

Now, on to the “curious” topic.

I think it’s fairly clear where my own orientation within kink falls. No, Sheri, bat-shit crazy is not my orientation:) Where was I? Oh yes. Curious.

I am very curious about female switches. Always have been. I’m going to digress a little here, but I promise it will eventually steer back on topic. In fiction, I’m not particularly a fan of femdom where the Domme treats the male sub as a disgusting worm, with really heavy humiliation, and where she generally regards him with outright contempt. That doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with that particular kink though. It’s just not for me. YKINMKBTOK.

What does sometimes interest me, if it’s written well, is the depiction of “strong” male submissives in a more loving (though still strict) D/s dynamic with their Domme. Joey W Hill does this particularly well. I’m certainly not normally oriented toward the male sub mindset, but when depicted in that way, I can definitely see the motivation, feel how that dynamic might work for the couple. It’s something I have to be able to do with female subs when I write about them, so I think it’s valuable to be able to get into that headspace with a male sub too. This is where female switches come in.

They are comfortable in both roles, though in my (admittedly limited) interaction with real-life switches, I’ve noticed that they often seem to lean toward one side more than the other. What fascinates me about them is that they don’t see things in a binary way; they don’t feel either dominant or submissive, rather they seem to have a fluid sort of orientation that’s adaptable to the situation at hand. I actually admire them for being that comfortable with themselves that they aren’t threatened by embracing both halves of the D/s dynamic.

Even as I admire them, I’m curious as to how they actually do it. To be blunt, I would not feel comfortable in a male submissive role (I think I’d be constantly trying to take over and do shit my way), so it amazes me when other people can be both dominant and submissive, depending upon the needs or wants of the situation or relationship. I don’t know. I’m not 100% closed off to trying it — I’ll try just about anything once — but it’s definitely not natural for me:)

If there are any switches out there who’d like to chime in with how they’re able to do it, I’d definitely love to hear your take.

Until Day 21.

Trent

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Filed Under: Trent's Thoughts Tagged With: 30 Days of Kink, APA, baffled Trent, BDSM psychology, BDSM safety, D/s, destigmatizing kink, DSM-V, female submission, female switches, health, kink normalization, kink shaming, male submission, mental-health, paraphilias, trent's thoughts

New Release – Night Beach by Trent Evans

October 12, 2012 By Trent Evans

Hello everyone!

My new release Night Beach is on the shelves. It’s  a novella length (approx 22000 words) contemporary BDSM title that follows a day and night in the life of three people looking to take their relationship to a new level of intimacy. I hope you check it out.

As always, if you read and liked it, please leave a review with your preferred retailer. These reviews are hugely helpful to authors, and will help us get you more of the stories you love 🙂

Best,

Trent Evans

New BDSM erotica release!

Night Beach

————————————————————————————————-

(Contemporary BDSM erotica)

A Dominion Trust story.

What is a modern, independent woman to do when the only thing she truly wants is to be enslaved? Erica, a young, beautiful college student is looking for that something which speaks to what she truly is deep down inside. Is it possible to finally find peace, even happiness within the strict bonds of utter submission?

When Blaine a powerful, successful businessman realizes he and his wife are ready for something new, a deeper exploration of the love and lust they’ve shared as husband and wife, the naive, fetching Erica enters the picture. As a member of the Dominion Trust, Blaine has seen the unique energy of other couples who’ve taken a submissive into their beds, and into their lives.

Blaine’s wife Kathryn, a fiercely driven executive in her own right submits to her husband in all things, but as the years have gone by, new needs, darker desires are stirred within her. Is she ready for a submissive of her own? Is their D/s marriage ready for a third, a slave, to join with them?

In this story, three people come together to find out if happiness really can be found in the complicated dance of dominance and submission, pain and pleasure of a BDSM menage relationship.

Warning – this contemporary BDSM novella contains the following:

D/s, Spanking, Paddling, bondage, clamps, sadomasochism, rough explicit sex (MF and FF), and a young, wide-eyed woman exploring the depths of her submission.

Note – This is a novella. Word count: approximately 22000 words

For mature readers only.

Available through:

Amazon (Kindle)

Amazon UK (Kindle)

Barnes & Noble (Nook)

Smashwords (Apple, Sony, Diesel, Microsoft Reader, Palm) – Coming soon!

All Romance (various formats) 

Kobo (various formats)

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Filed Under: On Writing Tagged With: BDSM, bdsm erotica, books, clamps, D/s, Dominance and submission, Dominion Trust BDSM series, dubious consent, FF, forced exhibitionism, Lesbian BDSM, literature, menage, MF, MFF erotica, New Release, paddling, pain, pain and pleasure, sadomasochism, sexual slavery, spanking, successful businessman, The Dominion Trust, utter submission

Excerpt from upcoming release Night Beach by Trent Evans

September 26, 2012 By Trent Evans

Hello everyone,

First, I must apologize for the delay in updating the blog. Real life has prevented me from posting much of late, and it just hasn’t been feasible to get back to the blog until now. I will do my best to get things back on schedule.

My newest book Night Beach is somewhat of an experiment. It is the first in a planned series of connected stories that will reveal different personalities and aspects of the Dominion Trust. There are several other stories either mostly written or fully sketched out, but the order and number of the stories will really depend on the readers. If they hate them, and want something else, it may be a rather short series. We shall see 😉

The first couple rounds of edits are almost done, so this thing should be buttoned up and ready for the beta readers by this weekend (about three weeks later than originally planned, unfortunately). As a result, the book likely won’t be released until the first or second week of October. I will get it out sooner if at all possible, but at this point, it’s looking doubtful.

Until then, I’ve included an excerpt below (please excuse any errors, as editing is not quite finished). Have a look and let me know what you think!

Best,

Trent

*****

EXCERPT –

Night Beach by Trent Evans

Erica was one night away from fulfilling her lifelong dream — becoming a slave. Why does a modern, free woman seek to give away her liberty? To fritter it away in pursuit of that one state of being, that singular experience that is true submission to another’s will?

Standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, she felt lost in the immense room, lost within herself. There were people outside, far below on the beach, walking along the car-choked road crowded on both sides with businesses all jockeying for the same tourist dollar. Atop the hill, nestled among Douglas fir and towering Western Hemlock, the sprawling house — her temporary prison — surveyed all.

The late afternoon sun hit the water at just the right angle, the light captured, reflected, transforming the blue green, foam-flecked ocean into the mottled iridescence of flowing, molten metal. Erica had always loved the sea, and though she’d lived most of her life within ninety miles of it, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d actually seen it. Every time, it took her breath away; the enormity of it; that confirmation, at once humbling and freeing, of just how small and insignificant a human being really was.

“Come to the ocean to be . . . not free,” she whispered. “You should have listened to Mom.”

A mother’s job is to protect her young, and Erica remembered that night she’d told her mother she’d be taking a break from school. There were the questions, the suspicions, all of it overlaid with the unspoken fear a good mother feels when her young, naive children stray from carefully laid parental plans.

Erica found those plans nothing less than a numbing path to invisibility, the captivity of normal expectations; she sought captivity of quite another sort.

No, mom, it’s not because of a boy. Erica couldn’t really tell her could she? Some things just can’t be processed.

No mom, it’s not because of a boy. It’s because of a boy. . .and a girl.

When your life has been meticulously arranged, managed by your parents all the way from diapers to term papers, you’re going to be taking some flack when you decide to quit said college — and Erica took a lot of it.

Worse than her worried mother though, had been the stone-cold silence from her father. He wouldn’t even talk to her. It was like something you’d watch in a Lifetime movie: daughter delivers Big Reveal; seething Father, brow properly furrowed, stalks off accompanied by mournful piano score. End scene.

Erica didn’t blame him, of course — not one bit. She’d have been livid if she’d been in their shoes. But they didn’t really know, couldn’t really understand. How do you explain the appeal of subjugation; the frisson of lust a girl experiences amidst diabolically cruel humiliation; the soaring, otherworldly high following the searing pain of a caning? Trying to explain that to her loving parents would be about as successful as attempting to teach algebra to a toddler.

So she ran. It had been six months since that night.

The door opened behind her, but she stayed rooted to her spot, gazing out at the freedom just beyond the glass. The elegant maid Eva had said she’d be up soon to deliver Erica’s “meal”. How bread and water was regarded as a meal, Erica would never understand.

She’d been warned though. Sir had outlined to her over the phone what accommodations she could expect at the beach house, and part of her at least (that unthinking part south of her waist), really didn’t mind the idea of mealtime-as-penance. As long as it was by his direction, by their direction, she’d obey. . .and want even more.

Down there, a lazy summer evening unfolded, the crisp, salt-scented wind banishing any trace of the afternoon’s summer heat; Erica, the tall, lonely bird, caught in her gilded cage looked on, at once wistful and grateful. Her keen vision could pick out the red flash of color as someone slid across a sheen of waterlogged sand on a boogie board. Much further out she could see the white smudge of a low-slung cabin cruiser, bobbing as it drew too near to the surf zone.

Then a moment before she felt it, she saw the slight movement, the black color out of the corner of her eye, reflected in the thick double pane of the huge plate glass window. She moved to turn, but a hand pressed to her upper back, pushing her against the cold plane of the window. Nipples stiffened under the thin blouse, her chest against the hard glass. “Stay right there. Hands on the window.”

It was him! Her heart hammered in her chest, her hands shaking. She put her heated palms against the cool glass.

“Higher.”

She ran them along the smooth surface, grateful for something to mask her shakes.

“Mm, so tall,” he murmured, standing close behind her. His cologne wafted over her, along with something else.

Smoke?

“You stay right where you are, Erica. I’m taking a shower. Need to get this fucking cigarette smell off of me.” He pressed the solid length of his body to her back, the bulge at his crotch against her buttocks. “If I come back to find you’ve moved one inch, I’ll be giving that cute ass of yours a beating earlier than I’d planned.”

His lips nuzzled her earlobe, his stubble rough against her skin. Then he was gone, leaving her trembling against the glass, held as fast as if he’d bound her in truth. She wondered what one of those summer tourists would see if they but turned to look up the wooded hill? Could they spot the slim woman spreading herself against the window as if she were being frisked? The sudden mental image of Sir’s big hands roughly manhandling her vulnerable flesh sent her clit humming. She knew the locals would smile knowingly, moving on with the remainder of their day.

Blaine Forster meant as much to the town as ten thousand tourists did, and the long-time residents knew it. So what if the rumors of what went on at his stunning vacation home occasionally drew raised eyebrows and clucking tongues? Those who knew him, knew what he represented, understood when it was wise to make an issue, and when it was prudent to simply move on with life.

“I’ll just leave your lunch for you here.” Erica nearly jumped out of her shoes. The maid. How had she missed the woman’s entry?

Erica heard a tray laid down on the wood of the bar. She smiled. Only someone as loaded as Blaine would feel the need to have a fucking bar in his bedroom. “Ah, thank you Eva. I—”

“No need to explain, Erica.” The satisfaction in the woman’s soft voice made Erica want to crawl under the bed as her face burned. She heard the door close behind her, grateful that the maid had not shown up later — though she had no real idea what was coming later.

Fighting the absurdly strong urge to turn to look at her meager repast, she kept herself plastered to the glass like a perp thrown against a convenient wall by a cop to be searched and cuffed.

She assumed the cuffs would be coming out later.

The sun had lowered considerably, its waning, filtered light shining directly into the room. Erica wondered at the shadow her body must have cast on the wall behind her. Alas, she didn’t dare turn to look at it. Yes, the idea of Blaine whipping her ass didn’t exactly sound all bad, but she hadn’t yet summoned up enough courage to defy one of his orders outright. Besides, she knew she wasn’t a brat; she found it a richer, far more exciting experience to obey him . . . in everything.

So there she stood, watching the daytime world slowly give way to that of the night. She grew up in Portland, Oregon, and she remembered the remarkable transformation that occurred in downtown on the weekends. Where during the daylight hours there were the business suits, the tasteful, stylish skirts, the occasional garishly dressed hippie bucking the staid conformity of the business day, those gave way to the night — and an entirely different city seemingly grew right out of the ground. There were the street kids, the slumming, BMW driving teenagers, the punks, wanna-be gangbangers, the hookers — she’d even once seen a man walking across Ankeny wearing nothing but a pair of assless chaps.

That concept of two beings in one had stayed with her, for it was something she felt keenly. She’d given up trying to relate to friends swooning over the romantic dinner their boyfriends had taken them on, when her idea of “romance” was to be bent naked and bound over the back of her couch to be spanked and fucked. She’d ceased arguing with friends who’d used sex as a tool, leverage to be used against boyfriends that she generally found rather nice (though there were one or two douchebags as well, truth be told).

The very idea of withholding sex seemed. . .alien to her. Erica couldn’t really get enough of it, as long as it was kinky — preferably depraved. She liked giving pleasure, and her drive, her urge to serve had always unnerved her. Her mother tutted at Erica when she deferred to others, strived, often at her expense, to make others feel better. She loved taking care of people — and that drive naturally extended into her sexuality.

The blue white of arc-sodium streetlights randomly flickered on below. The coastal road was almost gridlocked with vehicles, a single, poor police car, strobes and blues flashing, crawling up through the mess. It surprised her to see only one cop on the night of the Fourth of July, but then again, the night had barely begun. People from the valley would be flooding in, and the cops would have more pressing matters to attend to than directing traffic. Up in her world though, none of that mattered, really, for her concern was only for him . . . and for her. It was a big night, and she just hoped she didn’t fuck it all up.

“You’re a good girl.”

Erica had been leaning against the window, her shoulders burning, and she straightened at his voice.

Glass clinked together somewhere behind her,  a mass of humanity gathered down below her, preparing to celebrate.

“Do you remember our first meeting, Erica?” She felt him moving close behind her. Her arms trembled with the fatigue of holding them up for so long.

“Of course.”

A finger tapped her shoulder. “Don’t ‘of course’ me, girl.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I’ll let it slide, but only because my fearsome wife hasn’t arrived yet.”

“She’s coming . . . here?” Erica gulped, thinking ‘fearsome’ to be a particularly apt description for her strict Mistress.

“Mm hmm,” Blaine said sipping from his drink, and leaning his back against the window, letting her see him. His close-cropped hair, white t-shirt and muscular arms made him look more like a mixed  martial arts fighter than an executive, but she knew he purposely eschewed the look of a “suit.” The fact that he owned this house and close to a dozen other properties in this town alone confirmed he was every bit as successful in business as she had no doubt he’d be in an octagon.

He cocked his head. “Why the face? I thought you’d be happy.”

“I—I just didn’t know, Sir.”

His eyes glinted, and he smiled over the rim of his glass. Though he looked like he could tear phone books in half with his hands, his eyes gave the whole game away. It was what struck her that first night, and it still struck her now. Despite the fact that he was her Sir, commanded her obedience, those eyes of his held such warmth, such kindness. She’d not realized how much her life needed those two things until the night she’d agreed to let her friend Cam set her up to meet a friend. Cam knew what kind of man Erica was after, and when she’d first gazed in those hazel depths, and seen the playfulness, the caring, she thought maybe Cam had known more than she’d let on.

“You’ll have to get used to that.” He winked at her, shrugging. “I don’t know where she is half the time, either.”

Erica smiled. “Yes, Sir.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Kathryn — quite the opposite, really. But the woman was a lot to take in, a trial to be sure — and Erica wanted to be ready for her. She was attracted to the cold beauty of her Mistress, like a supplicant to a cruel Goddess. She craved kneeling at her feet, wringing whatever kindness she could from the smallest of gestures from the aloof woman. Those  kindnesses gave Erica pure joy — perhaps because such things from her Mistress were so very rare.

Truth was sometimes hard for Erica to come to grips with, and in this case she knew it wasn’t just that fleeting kindness she craved from her Mistress. No, she needed the other part of her, needed that darkness, that willingness to revel in Erica’s pain, take pleasure in her humiliation. It was only with Kathryn, did Erica realize fully what she was, what she’d been all along but hadn’t the words to describe it.

Blaine’s hand reached out, molding itself around her ribcage, stroking the fabric of her blouse. His touch sent a ticklish electricity through her skin. “You do remember that night don’t you?”

“Every second, Sir.”

“Then you know what I want you to do, don’t you?”

She shot a glance at Blaine. “Now?”

Lips tight and jaw firm, he nodded slowly, light dancing in his eyes.

She unbuttoned the blouse quickly, keeping her eyes on the task, not trusting her trembling fingers to complete the job without direct supervision.

His hand patted her ass, and he walked away. She turned toward him, slipping the last button and pulling the blouse from her slacks.

“No, turn back around.”

“Blaine—”

He glared at her, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry. It’s just that . . .they’ll see.”

“And what if they do, Erica?”

She inhaled, her breath shaky. “I don’t. . . know.”

“That’s something else you’d better get used to, girl. If you really want to do this, be mine, that body is going to be on display. A lot.”

He was at her back once more, his lips touching her cheek, kissing the smooth flesh at the join of shoulder and neck. “Yes, I think you’ll have some adjusting to do won’t you?

“Yes, Sir.” Her hands clutched both sides of the blouse. She was grateful for something to hold on to, her fingers trembled so.

His arm reached around her, the warm hand sliding up her belly. Fingers worked at her bra, releasing the front clasp in moments, the lace falling away to let cool air caress her breasts. “How will you react when we make you walk down a city street in a skin tight shirt but no bra? Your hard nipples on display for everyone to see?”

Clutching them both in his big hands, he squeezed her breasts firmly. “I think we’ll make you wear some nice tall heels too. Get those hips rolling and these tits bouncing.”

She dropped her eyes as her deep blush traveled down her neck, the flushing evident even on the slopes of the breasts still clutched in his big hands.

“I love your reactions,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You can’t hide anything from me, you know.”

“Yes, Sir.” She didn’t want to hide anything from him — ever. She only hoped it would be enough, her submission the key that would unlock his heart to her.

He spun her around, forcing her chest against the window. His hands pulled the blouse and loose bra out to the sides and she gasped as her breasts made contact with the cold glass.

“Don’t you dare move,” he growled. He clawed at her slacks, yanking them down along with her black thong.

“Sir, wait I—”

“Shh, just be a good girl. Obey me.”

Breathing labored, heart racing, she closed her eyes against the embarrassment of it. She felt as if every eye down below was trained upon her now, watching the girl with her naked boobs squashed against the window.

Urging her to lift each foot in turn, he slipped off her heels. His hands massaged the grooves the straps left in her flesh, then pulled her slacks completely off. Naked from the waist down, she fought the insanely powerful urge to bring her hands down to cover her pussy. They could see everything!

“Spread your legs.”

His hard hand stung her ass, and she tried to ignore the embarrassing jiggle of her flesh. “Wider.”

She moved her feet shoulder width apart, trying to ignore the image of what she must look like, the dark patch of pubic hair drawing the eye like a beacon to the sex nestled between pale thighs.

Strong hands gripped her buttocks, kneading the flesh. “God, I thought about this ass all day long.”

Erica’s breath hitched as his fingers dipped into the valley between the cheeks, stroking the velvet flesh of her bottom hole.

“I had Jack Weber giving me construction estimates for the new server farm, and all I could think about was being inside you, fucking this wet cunt.”

A hand smacked against her soft labia, and she yelped. Despite the sting, she could feel the slickness of her sex increase by the second. He always knew how to touch her — just that right mix of roughness, possessiveness. His fingers spread her labia apart, the air cool on her heated inner flesh. Two thick fingers slid in, sinking deep into her wetness, and a low moan escaped her lips.

“All ready I see,” he chuckled, planting a light kiss behind her ear. “Soon enough, bad girl. Soon enough.”

There was a sound of a zipper lowering.

No, not here. No fucking way!

Erica turned, dropping her hands from the glass, moving to step around him. “Wait, not—”

His hand clasped her upper arm in a bruising grip, his other hand grabbing her by the hair, pulling her up short. “What are you doing?” His voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear it.

“I can’t do that . . . there.”

Blaine’s hazel eyes locked with hers, boring into her, searching. She saw the warmth there, warring with the lust, the need to control, to own her. He kissed her, hard, his tongue plundering her mouth even as his fist twisted further in her hair, holding her fast. He bit her lip, sucked on her tongue, the almost imperceptible growling from deep in his chest making her pussy spasm.

“You’ll do what I tell you, girl. No questions.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, it’s just—

A finger, scented with her juices pressed its wet length across her mouth, silencing her.

“What happens to girls who disobey? Slaves who disobey?”

Erica knew this was right, had fantasized about this as long as she could remember. It had felt like a dream come true meeting a man like Blaine. But sometimes it unnerved her, the reality of her submission more raw, more intense than even the darkest of her fantasies. She reveled in it even as she tried to flee from it. Flee from the woman she was deep inside . . . the slave who craved this.

She whimpered as he jerked her head, the sensitive roots of her hair protesting.

“I’m waiting.”

“Slaves are — punished, Sir.”

“That’s correct.” His voice lowered, the sound vibrating in her chest, through her pussy. “And do you deserve to be punished?”

No! Yes! I don’t fucking know!

“Yes . . . Sir.”

“Good. You will be.” He released her hair, and pointed at the bed. “Bend over the side of the mattress and wait for me.”

Copyright © 2012, Trent Evans

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Filed Under: On Writing Tagged With: BDSM, D/s, erotica excerpt, MFF erotica, Night Beach, sexual slavery, The Dominion Trust, Trent Evans, Trent Evans erotica, upcoming release, western hemlock

Cover for Upcoming Release – Night Beach by Trent Evans

September 16, 2012 By Trent Evans

Hello all,

Well, this time I have everything back-asswards! I actually have the completed cover before anything else:) The story, Night Beach, is still in edits (including a likely expansion), and is scheduled for release later this month. This is a novelette length story that is the first of several planned in a series focusing on the Dominion Trust. This organization is an affiliation of powerful elites from industry, finance, and govt who all share very. . . particular, views on the role and purpose of the women in their lives.

I will be posting an excerpt for this story soon as well as some additional background information regarding the Trust. In the meantime, here is the cover. Let’s hope I can come up with a finished product that does it justice! 🙂

Until next time!

Best,

Trent

Upcoming contemporary BDSM erotica release!

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Filed Under: On Writing Tagged With: bdsm erotica, bondage, D/s, Dominance and submission, Dominion Trust BDSM series, forced exhibitionism, MFF erotica, New Release, pain, slavery, spanking, Trent Evans erotica

30 Days of Kink – Day 14

September 9, 2012 By Trent Evans

Day 14: How would you say real life BDSM/kink varies from fantasy BDSM/kink? If you haven’t experienced real life BDSM/kink how do you think it might differ?

The disconnect between the fantasy and the reality of BDSM can be slight, or it can be vast. There are so many facets of BDSM that answering this question comprehensively is, really, not possible. So, with that in mind, I will cite an example that is relevant to me.

I think all of us have central themes or persistent imagery that we keep coming back to in our sexual fantasies; it would be human nature to keep doing what “works” 🙂 One of the central fantasy themes for me is the idea of consensual non-consent. Essentially what this means is that a sub or slave gives her Dom or Master an initial blanket consent which from that point onward allows him to do whatever he likes, whenever he likes — whether she wants to at the time or not.

Why does this appeal to me? To be blunt, I think it’s a “safer” way to play with the fantasy of force. It’s extremely difficult for me to say this, but if I’m going to be intellectually honest, I think this is the unadulterated core of the consensual non-consent kink.

For men especially, the idea that forcing someone sexually is culturally, morally, and legally ingrained into us as being wrong—and outside of a consensual non-consent sexual relationship it IS wrong. But fantasy, which (I believe) is just a way for the mind to process and integrate lower, baser urges into our individual moral consciousness, doesn’t stay within those sensible boundaries . . . nor should it.

(I need to reiterate here that just because a man may be turned on by the idea of consensual non-consent, it DOES NOT mean in any way whatsoever that he is turned on by forcible rape. Please note the word ‘consensual’— it makes a world of difference. There, equivocation over.)

Humans evolved in a harsh, unforgiving world, and like the animal kingdom as a whole, humans survived by adapting. It coarsened us, this requirement to follow baser urges and instincts in order to survive. After all, early man likely saw little use for pondering why the sky was blue as he was being chased up a tree by a smilodon. Early man learned to harness, to mold, to conquer, and those instincts, those urges, are still with us today — whether we want to admit it or not.

Thankfully modern society, and the evolution of our own brains have helped us tame the beast inside us all. Well, most of us anyway. But the fantasy of force is a common one and I believe this is one of the reasons why BDSM is as popular as it is.

(As an aside, I believe the core concepts of BDSM have always been popular — witness the corporal punishment and degradation themes commonly found in Victorian-era smut, or going back much farther, crack open Suetonius to get a glimpse at a society quite open about the baser urges of man. Coming back to the modern era, look at the popularity of “bodice rippers” in the 70s-80s. Though many devotees of that particular form of romance fiction would be loathe to admit it, the themes in those works are indeed close cousins to contemporary expressions of BDSM.)

But circling back to the disconnect between fantasy and reality, there are certainly problems with the nuts and bolts of consensual non-consent. Chief among those problems is that it would be tiring. What, you say? Tiring? Well, yes, it would be. Personally, I very much enjoy women, and find them interesting to talk to, live life with, love. I would not be able to sustain the constant formality such a framework demands. In modern society, it would take an incredible amount of effort, and literally rearranging ALL aspects of both the Master’s and slave’s lives. Anneke Jacob tackles these day to day challenges in a truly fascinating way in her masterpiece As She’s Told. In that story, it quickly becomes apparent that no matter how much two people really want full 24/7 TPE, modern society is built in such a way as to make it practically impossible (and if we can take a step back from our kinks, we will see that this is in fact a very good thing.)

While 24/7 TPE consensual non-consent is indeed an incredibly powerful fantasy, the logistics of it just make it something that really couldn’t be done in modern society. In Jacob’s book, the compromise becomes instituting it whenever and wherever possible, but allowing for those times when it’s just not possible. The result is a constant undercurrent of excitement, fear, anticipation and most of all, lust. Such is the stuff fantasy is made of, no?

What is missing though are those small, quiet moments in life. The ones that we’ll remember on our death beds. The feel of her hand in yours as you walk through the chill night air, her brimming eyes as she catches first sight of her newborn child, the comfort of her embrace on a sleepy weekend morning. These are the things of day to day life that are just as important as the fulfillment of our fantasies. So, in effect what I am saying is that I think the reality is that you can have a 24/7 TPE relationship framework but that the actual execution of it would need to be flexible enough to meet the exigencies of our hectic, modern lives.

Again, this is a question that deserves a much longer, more in-depth answer, but since I am approaching a thousand words of flapping my gums, I will just leave it here;)

Until Day 15!

Best,

Trent

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Filed Under: Trent's Thoughts Tagged With: 24/7, 30 Days of Kink, Anneke Jacob, As She's Told, base sexual urges, bdsm erotica, BDSM fiction, BDSM society, bodice ripper, consensual non-consent, D/s, Dom Hatred, Dominance and submission, fantasy themes, fantasy vs reality, kink in daily life, life bdsm, modern BDSM, moral consciousness, morality of BDSM, non-con roleplaying, Thoughts on consent, total power exchange, TPE, trent's thoughts, Victorian smut

30 Days of Kink – Day 13

September 2, 2012 By Trent Evans

Day 13: Explain as best you can what the appeal of kink/BDSM is to you? Why are you drawn to what you’re drawn to?

Intensity. That’s what comes to mind when I think of this question. Be it physical or psychological (or maybe even spiritual), BDSM is simply more intense than vanilla sex/sexuality. Perhaps that might be a trifle self-serving — after all since I’m not by any stretch of the imagination “vanilla”, I can’t really compare the levels of intensity. But I suspect that I can make a fairly educated guess:)

Part of this intensity, to me, relates to the ability to strip the human psyche down to its most primal parts. When you get right down to it, humans are animals, with animalistic drives.  Sex is one of the most powerful of those drives; witness planet Earth, fair teeming with 7 BILLION of us.

Sexuality expressed within the context of BDSM allows us the freedom to be who we really are deep down inside, to embrace that raw, primal being. This “freedom” is paradoxical, but no less true, for that kneeling sub bound tightly in her rope. In a more subtle way, for the Dom it allows him to throw off the cultural/societal strictures and prohibitions, and get in touch with that inner animal, that being that seeks to control, to conquer, to revel in the power of imposing his will on his beloved submissive.

The animal world is replete with unequal power dynamics with regard to sexuality. Though we like to think we are so very much different, we’re kidding ourselves. Our drives are no different, rather they are tempered, restrained by higher functioning brains, our capacity for reason, our singular ability to be aware of our own consciousness, and our place in the larger world. When it comes down to sex though . . . the ancient, lower functioning (some will refer to it as ‘reptilian’) brain is very much the underlying, driving force.

BDSM allows one to acknowledge that fact, and rather than try to suppress it, one can redirect it, draw from it, for the (hopefully) mutual pleasure of all involved. It’s all too tempting to generalize about the innate natures of males and females here. I’m not going to do it though, simply because the human race is so marked by exception, contradiction, and just plain baffling craziness, that there is no point in it. I can only speak for me, and with luck, most of time such speech will be cogent:)

The ‘why’ of this question is the tougher nut to crack. I suspect many of us in the BDSM “community” (I sometimes scratch my head at the meaning of that term, but I suppose it works) will never really understand why we are the way we are. Personally, I don’t think it really matters. Do vanilla people sit down and navel gaze about why they like what they like? My guess is . . . no. I think we, for whatever reason, were (for the majority of us) made this way. I was going to say ‘born this way’, but then Lady Gaga started playing in my head. Sorry, where was I?

As with so much else when it comes to human sexuality, the why (when it can be determined at all) is never simple. The human mind is so incredibly complex, every process and structure so interconnected, that it is impossible to determine a single causative factor in determining why someone likes what they like. We can deduce, surmise, and guess forever — and we’ll still never nail it down.

For me, part of the appeal is the mystery of the motivation, the uncertainty of the origins of such urges. It adds a spice, an underlying ambiguity, even a danger to everything we do. We pervs key in on this, again, as animalistic beings. We just can’t help it.

I’ve always found one of the most fascinating aspects of quantum mechanics to be the Uncertainty Principle. In laymen’s terms, this states that it is actually impossible to pinpoint simultaneously, with zero probability for error, the exact position and velocity of a particle (physics majors:  yes, I understand I am grossly simplifying here).

I bring this up for two reasons: 1) I’m a nerd, 2) I equate the ‘why’ of BDSM sexuality with this principle. Bet you never thought you’d see someone connect quantum mechanics with whips and chains. Yes, that just happened.

We really can never know, exactly, why we are who we are. To my twisted mind, this not only adds mystery and excitement, but it lends me a modicum of comfort as well. Do any of us really want to be completely understood (or even fully understand ourselves)? If we’re honest, I’ll bet most of us would answer ‘hell no’.

There are, of course, reasons we can cite for individual kinks that we like, but even there we will get tripped up in the exact whys of things. For instance, I am a big time fan of spanking and corporal punishment. I find the female buttocks probably one of the most beautiful, viscerally exciting sights in the world. Spanking a woman . . . it’s just right. The why is pretty easy to guess, but can we nail it down precisely? No, we can’t— if we’re honest with ourselves. Do I think about this as I am spanking a woman, feeling her body against mine, listening to her cry out, watching the color of her bottom deepen further and further? Of course not—I accept, and enjoy.

I’m going to leave this here, because this is such a fascinating question that I could easily write a damned book about it. Rather than continue flapping my gums, I’ll quit while I’m ahead:) Until Day 14!

Best,

Trent

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Filed Under: Trent's Thoughts Tagged With: 30 Days of Kink, animalistic sex, BDSM, BDSM psychology, beautiful female buttocks, D/s, Dominance and submission, kink motivation, mysteries of vanilla sexuality, paradox of submission, primal sexual urges, reptilian brain, science, society, spanking, Uncertainty Principle

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