Christmas cranberries, ainsley-ts and a wooden fork

When I get home, Rebekka is wearing her leather boots in the bath. “I opened my Christmas present early because you said it was a sex toy. But it isn’t!” She says. “I could have opened these in front of Aunty!” Read more

A New Way to Find Rubber Fashion: RubberPages.com

RubberPages is a great idea – an online shopping mall, bringing top latex fashion designers together in one place for you to browse.

Says Matt, the CRO (Chief Rubber Officer) of RubberPages.com…

“I started this site because there can be a lot of factors to consider when buying rubber and every day it seemed like a new shop emerged with a great set of products. I am confident that there are a ton of people out there with the same frustration and hopefully this site will help them. In fact, I plan to make my own next purchase using RubberPages.com”

You can find a we variety of rubber clothing, bondage, toys and accessories from retailers worldwide. Every product listing has a full description, colour samples and customisable details to help you make a decision.

Searches can be narrowed down to the last detail by filtering up to 50 options including price, thickness, colours and sizing. Prices are also available in seven different currencies and updated daily.

Another interesting feature to help you save time and money is the custom design request. After joining the site for free, you can post a request for any type of product and all of the listed retailers can choose to bid on it.

And to make your search experience even easier you can create wish lists, save searches and be up-to-date with all of the listed retailer promotions.

These photos are all from one of our favourite designers on RubberPages, Lady Lucie. You can find her designs, among many others, on the site.

Visit www.rubberpages.com to start your search today.

Miss Makeover. A Handsome Client

Why would a handsome young man pay for sex? Because his wife or girlfriend won’t be dirty. Far too many people are squeamish about sex games. Oh well, more money for us sex workers. More pairs of shoes for me.
Shall I do the obligatory shoe paragraph? Then it’ll be over for good.
I’ve been dying to for ages. Martini Osvaldo, Gianna Meliani, Pollini, Zocoli: even the names of these high heels are pure poetry. To glide around exclusively on these superb creations would be heaven but you must cherish these shoes. They’re almost too good to wear. I would certainly never let a client touch them, although they do ask. Even men – those swinish slobs who are blind to the aesthetic imperative of anything except breasts and bottoms – even the porcine ones can gaze upon the highest of heels and know rapture.
Sorry, but someone mentioned shoes and I went off into a little dream. I have an ideal client! Which might as well be a dream as most of them are flawed. Jerry, my ideal, is clean, courteous and punctual. I couldn’t possibly fall for him but then I don’t want to. I’ve already got enough unrequited love for a lifetime. I won’t need any more. Jerry is a builder (Lady Bracknell. “A builder?”  Well he’s young, smart, fit and handsome. And deliciously rough.)
He had claimed to be big and burly and so he was. Burly as the proverbial brick outhouse and just as solidly built. There was a spare tyre which he had constructed from fry-ups and lager but that’s real men for you. It’s rare to find a six pack on straight men, although they’re standard issue on Muscle Marys. He’s a charming client, wanting nothing more than a spank and a wank, perhaps a thicker strap-on than last time. Most up themselves Dignity Dommes would consider this beneath them, having started to believe their own publicity. They prove only that absolute power corrupts and are best avoided.
My client’s submissive endearments sound genuine yet he’s not clingy. Being happily married (they’ve only just started) he just wants this obsession out of his system before going back to argue over custody of the remote control. I haven’t the heart to tell him that it’s just going to get more intense.
“I’ve going to IKEA later,” he said, without the whipped dog demeanour most men would adopt.
“Your wife taking you?” I asked, a little impishly. I do like a tease.
“Nah! You don’t want women along, do you? Everything you see they’re saying ‘That’s nice. Let’s get that. That’s nice.’ You’d never get out of there.”
Well. Really! I should tell him off. Maybe I should just thank him for him for his refreshing candour.  The condescending,  patronizing bastard. However, his smile could unfreeze Germaine Greer. He’s a handsome bastard. I spank him much harder than usual though, ignoring his outraged cries and gasps, as he has transgressed the unwritten code, thou shalt never criticize another of the sisterhood.  When he starts to struggle, even, heresy!, trying to worm out from where I have trapped him between my thighs, I scold him long and hard, threaten him with a ban, and then tan him till his pert little bottom cheeks are dark crimson. It doesn’t take long to bring him off after that, just three rubber gloved fingers penetrating him and some angry whispers in his ear.

“I’m so disappointed in you. Take your punishment like a man. Not a sniveling little boy.” A final virtuoso accelerando and he’s come therefore  desperate to leave. Which is of course what he’s paid for. Anonymity and the right to leave immediately.

“Don’t write about me,” he says, bounding towards the stairs and  domestic bondage. Soon he will be in IKEA. Furnishing his prison cell. Keeping the head warder happy.
“Of course not!” I call after him.
As if I would…

Cosmic Ware in Cologne

If you are in Cologne, don’t forget to visit one of the biggest fetish and BDSM stores in Germany. Cosmic Ware have a big showroom, with a huge range of fetish stuff and bondage gear. Read more

Club Rub. Does Rub stand for rubber or right up yer bum? The debate continues.

A Decade of Decadence – Club Rub’s Tenth Birthday Party

Club Rub does fun fetish better than anywhere else.Ten years on and it’s still rammed, raunchy and extremely RUDE.  The
Club’s deserved success is a combination of a loyal, lively crowd and
attractive hostess Kim’s people and party skills, (plus pulchritude). Check out  her amusing & informative newsletter at http://www.club-rub.com.
You’ll see why people want to be part of the positive pervery posse.
There’s reasonable bar prices, helpful cloakroom and bar staff and
unobtrusive security. It’s glitzy yet unpretentious, they don’t make
the paying customers wait outside to create a buzz, or because sloth
or incompetence delayed the opening time. (How very rock’n'roll.)

The music is house for humans, much more soulful than your average
Hard House dustbin clanging and the people dress to impress but not freakishly  so. You don’t have to be Salvador Dali on acid to put a costume  together. There’s no shortage of glamourpusses in upmarket rubber or kink  couture but anyone following the basic dress code will be welcome.

If you’re a bloke looking for inspiration  just get some military or
Police gear, which will flatter your body, unlike rubber gimpery, and
is much more durable.  As ever, trannies are extremely welcome,
indeed they seem to be getting younger at Rub – maybe that’s just the
pervy Policepeople. Speaking of law and order, I watched as the expert Playpenz security  team Dave and Annie (swoon) looked after a woman who got her  chemistry experiment wrong, patiently and gently nursing her back to  walking wounded status. You don’t actually need anything illicit to  enjoy a dance or fetish play event and you’ll probably stand a better chance of meeting that special someone if you can string a sentence together.
In the dungeon downstairs there’s ample room for two or three couples
to be whipping up a frenzy or slowly toasting proffered buns. When
cheeky little minx Tank Girl is involved there’s no finer view.
Nearby is a curtained harem area for couples who want to get cuddly
and overall the club has almost as many nooks and crannies in which
to misbehave as the human body itself. Incidentally, there shall be
no nudity and no shagging. This be the law. And they mean it.
There’s no rule against making new friends though and even I have
managed to find several young and gorgeous trannies here, proof
positive that even Grim Reaper lookalikes have a chance at Rub.
Despite being bi and arriving in a black leather cowboy hat and shiny
boots I was surprised to be told that I ‘read’ as straight, which
would be news to the appalling teenagers in Kent who have decided
unanimously that anyone not wearing football kit or a hoody must be
gay. Should I tell them that gay clubs regularly run footie kit
nights or that they lust after scally teens? (excuse me while I
barf.)  3 a.m. consciousness may impede rational conversation but not the  giving of foot massage, often the quickest way to please weary women
in boots. It’s also a good way to make an introduction. Sucking and
kissing a Goddess’s toes provides mutual sensual delight, and also
ensures that the male comes out with fewer inanities than when he’s
putting his own foot in his mouth.
A glacial blonde beauty finally took pity on me when
I went into sub-slut mode, (the usual loved-up, brain dead
shambles.). Thanks Ma’am, it was a privilege to massage a rare beauty
who so recently graced the cover of Forum magazine.
If anyone is considering fetish clubbing for the first time, and is
perhaps concerned about fashion snobbery or online ogres tediously
flaunting their personality disorders, just come along. (After
reading the dress code and etiquette advice) You are likely to find a
warm welcome at Club Rub. Perhaps because it doesn’t attract bitter drunken  wrecks. So here’s to another decade of Rub. Fresh, funky, frolicsome – fuck it! Just go and see for yourself.

Miss Makeover: Narcotics Anonymous. Enough to Drive You to Drink.

Maybe I should have gone to a sex addiction meeting. I might have pulled. As it is I’m stuck with monologue addicts. Who don’t know where to stop. “And as long as I listen to my higher power I won’t repeat those behaviours.” Behaviours? What’s wrong with behaviour? Which used to be good enough. Before the invention of psycho-babble. And what’s this hooded pizza-faced teenage turd doing in a City of London meeting anyway? Maybe he’s doing the recommended sixty meetings in sixty days, for which you have to travel. (I’m fifty eight short)  Maybe he’s local.  You’re never that far from a Council Estate in London, even in the centre. (Nothing against social housing, just hooded teenagers on crack).  I’m dressed down, by my standards. No cleavage, no red high heel shoes. But it still falls short of the ‘dress decently’ suggestion on my Just For Today card. Actually, it feels more like a command than a suggestion and these brainwashed robots are starting to annoy me. Now he’s telling us about ‘acting out’. I hear that a lot at meetings plus ‘behaviours’, that plural I dislike. Shrinks, social workers and probation officers use these terms. Three good reasons to stick to jargon-free English. And not American. Sorry. I’ll be writing to the Daily Mail next. I have a ball gag which would fit nicely into that babbling mouth. And some nettles to rub into his balls. And the end of his horrible little nob. Nothing like a bit of urtication to give him something real to complain about. Perhaps some figging too. Never mind shaving a little shoot of ginger, I’m sure he could take a couple of bunches. Ginger up his fundament a treat. He’s probably the sort of clown who keeps his stash and a mobile phone up there. Where the Police or Prison Officers would never think of looking. The “Chatham pocket’ they call it, down in chavvy Chatham where Dickensian poverty is matched by stupendously idiotic villains.
The Just For Today card tells me not to criticize. But it needn’t stop me telling you guys. (“That’s American, you silly cow. ‘You guys’”. You’re right. So I won’t argue. Or get angry or bitchy. Despite you interrupting my flow. Any more of that and I’ll get on to my imminent period.  Ah, my male heckler looks sick all of a sudden…)
Hoodie Pizza-face gets a signal from the chair to cease and desist, but he ignores the four minute rule. A little more ego toss and then he’s shot. They say women talk too much. Maybe we do like to talk – having a laugh, sharing our troubles. But I have yet to see a women go over time doing a share at a meeting. Men often do. I rest my case.

Then a respectable older woman talks a little about being excluded from some clique at school. This comes up a lot, which excludes me, oddly enough. I seemed to find my clique of kinky Goth outsiders easily enough. But then we were all happy to be excluded. Who cares what some spoiled bitches thought? Decades ago?

There’s a coffee and cake orgy afterwards at which an evangelical Christian asks me, seriously, if I am a ‘person of faith’.  So even the Christians talk American now.  “No”, I tell him. “I interpret God as Goodness. The greater good. For the group. That’s my morality.” Will that do? He couldn’t care less. He then talks for five minutes non-stop on the last few years and how Jesus has saved him. Because I don’t like hurting people I don’t say anything. Just my luck to meet the Ancient Mariner.
So. I can’t get annoyed. According to NA. I’m not supposed to watch junk tv or read anything pleasurable. I’m not supposed to do anything much except repeat a lot of misery mantras and pray.  I leave, glad to have only been hugged once. I somehow get past the bars full of smiley happy people on my way home. I don’t ring my dealer who lives two minutes away. I don’t ring Geezer. Because a part time coke dealer falls somewhat short of whatever ideal a recovering addict would have for a partner.
The coffee keeps me awake till dawn. I do not make a gratitude list. As recommended for recovering addicts. Although my vibrator eventually makes me grateful. It’s harder to come since I upped my anti-depressants. But you can always turn a vibrator up. So I do. Praise the Lord! May the Goddes be blessed! Oooooh… .

I don’t like how the munch is being run.

Dear BDSM Bad Advice,

I recently started going to munches with a male friend of mine. However, based on my experience at my first munch last week, I think that the hosts of the munch are doing it all wrong and I think I would do a better job. Also, my friend is being mentored by one of the munch leaders and I don’t like her. I feel that my weekend experience as a slave and my involvement in the furry community have made me more knowledgeable and that I should be given more respect as a 19 year old Mistress. What is the best way for me to go about taking over the hostess position at this munch and how should I exert my power as a Mistress over my male friend and other lesser people in the community?

Thanks for your help,
Mistress C

Read BDSM Bad Advice’s answer at BDSMBadAdvice.com.

Miss Makeover: Bad Sex on Drugs

Geezer is pronging me relentlessly. I’m bouncing up and down, or being bounced, on a Cialis cock, which has somehow got through the cocaine barrier and will be at his disposal for at least 48 hours. Which might sound like heaven but what he’s trying to do is to get his mostly numb body to orgasm, using me as a sexual aid.

So he’s going to try something new. I get dumped face downwards, bum up, with the merest whisper of an endearment to remind us we are lovers. It’s been a long night. At various points he has spanked me raw, then pistoned back in from different angles, not all advantageous to me.
I ought to hate this. But I’m numb too. Stuffing anything up my nose tends to lead to getting everything stuffed down below. It’s a poor relation of love. With someone who isn’t My Man Max.
Is Mongrel Man enough? Geezer: intelligent and loyal. House trained. Frightening enough to keep any attacker at bay. Hard Hound Hardnut. Once a ‘Top Boy’,  now he’s a top dog. Do I want to be his bitch though? Not bloody likely…
I feel even fuller this way up – or down, face stuffed into the pillow.
When he next gets close to coming, and realises that only a heart attack will do it, I tell him that he doesn’t have to come. It’s tantric sex. Look at it as charging himself up for next time. He tries once more. Eventually he realises that if he stops pumping me he can have more coke. He disengages.
I groan with gratitude. My poor, sore lady parts.
“Babe. It’s great,” I breathe. “But I have to sleep.”
Sweat drips into his eyes. You could probably get high from licking it. But I want to drift into my dreams.
“You’re lovely,” he tells me. Before ruining it with a monster snort and stuffing a finger up his nose. Wouldn’t want to miss any bits now would we? My Man Max would never do that. He’s a two glass of wine man. Where is he?

Atsuko Kudo Couture Latex at Lingerie New York

Atsuko Kudo’s debut runway show at Lingerie New York October 21st 2010, Cipriani’s 42nd Street. Atsuko presented an entirely new collection for the New York show and was (as far as we know) the first entirely latex full scale runway show anywhere in the world. Crystal Renn completed the show walking champion poodle Nightfall.

David Beckham: Prince Albert Piercing?

Popbitch.com has been insinuating that Metrosexual God David Beckham may have a genital piercing, this might be the intimate detail some sex worker or other can identify. In a case we won’t be able to read about because of an injunction. Probably. Onwards. A poster has claimed that men with small Prince Alberts and foreskins may still pee standing up, using the foreskin to direct the flow but bigger Prince Albert wearers will have to sit down. Indeed so. I have a top of the range size eight ring which would require a professional piercer and a pair of pliers to remove. (Too much information? Well it is a fetish site.) At an age where sitting down is the option of choice in most areas it’s not a problem to squat to urinate. This has the added advantage of not driving the woman in your life insane by mistakenly leaving the seat up. Plus the ring lodges in my partner Missus Lovett’s G spot, giving me an unfair advantage. As Andy Warhol once wrote, (or whoever wrote his books for him, probably Paul Morrissey,) on looking young, “I’ll use anything. Smoke, trick mirrors.”

New Men (remember them?) on the Continent apparently sit down in solidarity with women. Male feminist wusses like Mark Kermode (real name Fairey, as I never tire of repeating) will no doubt find this admirable, as will self-hating sub men, “Can I move in, Mistress? I’ll  live under your stairwell. I won’t be any trouble.” (See BDSM Bad Advice’s excellent comic strip on this subject. http://bdsmbadadvice.com/?p=174) Male Subs may have successfully skewed the public fetish dynamic permanently in favour of morbidly obese, gruesome, ballkicking harridans but then the majority is generally wrong.

Back to healthy sexual exploration, I’ve come to the end of my Prince Albert journey, which took about fifteen years from smallest ring insertion and mind blowing orgasm on first day (against piercer’s advice) to the massive ring and ball closure which must be the final step as my not overlarge equipment can’t take anything heavier. (It’s a grower not a shower but the respectable full tilt can’t take any more.) The old chap, Odin’s Hammer, (yes, that was a joke) ‘the snake’ (thanks to Hank from  Larry Sanders), call it what you will, is occasionally pinched and painful lugging its heavy duty cargo around. A French piercer in Camden (not Cold Steel but near there) told me he had to downgrade from this size 8. The pain of its insertion (I did two upgrade steps in one piercing not recommended) pushed me off the wagon for a disastrous afternoon of boozed idiocy but I’m glad I couldn’t take it out. Soon the ‘like a dog with two dicks’ novelty asserted itself and I had another fresh lease of sexual life. To whoever invented this wondrous accessory I raise a glass of sparkling mineral water (with ice and a slice). Thanks for enhancing the lives of so many men and their partners.

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